23nd Sunday in ordinary time, Sept. 5, 2010
Fr. Anthony Brankin
Gospel: Luke 14:25-33. Renounce all that you have.
Full homily text: I have always loved the special ceremony we call Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. Since the time I was an altar boy, there was something about the incense and music and way it was celebrated with such dignity and solemnity and seriousness that I seemed to learn something about holiness and what it might be like to be before the throne of God in heaven. It is the most beautiful and solemn of Blessings. In fact it is the Blessing of Jesus Himself—because you will notice at Benediction the priest covers over his hands to signify that this is not his blessing. As beautiful though as Benediction is, it is not the Mass.
This homily is brought to you by the Georgetown Visitation Sisters, in Washington, D.C. Saint Francis de Sales’ “little virtues” of gentleness, kindness, humility, and cheerful optimism shape monastic life for these sisters
As Catholics we pray the Rosary. Maybe everyday. And that is an important prayer to pray. Our Lady has asked that we pray it daily.
In the rosary we meditate on the mysteries of our Faith—the Life of Our Lord and Our Lady. We recall all the beautiful heavenly things that have been done by God on our behalf. We place ourselves in God’s presence and by Mary’s side for those precious twenty-minutes and oh what a beautiful and peaceful moment that is. But it is not the Mass.
During Lent we do the Stations of the Cross. Fourteen times we stop along Jesus’ tortured walk to His execution. We pause with Him and think about His cross and why He would do it for us—and how it happened. We suffer with Him and for Him. And we see how our sins have been our ungrateful and selfish response to His incredible love. We imagine—and rightly so—that we do not deserve such Divine Love. And our hearts melt when we do the stations—and maybe even our eyes shed a tear or two. And we are pierced with sorrow when the Stations of the Cross remind us of all this. But it is not the Mass.
The Mass is utterly unique. There is nothing else like it in our whole experience as Catholics. Most everything we do REMINDS us of spiritual realities—the Mass IS the Spiritual reality.
In fact there is nothing like the Mass in any religion—including the religions that call themselves Christians.
The “Christian” Sunday Service is a fine series of prayers and readings and songs, but it is so unlike what happens at our Mass that when you think about it, it would seem that the biggest divide between Protestants and us is what we do and believe about worshiping God.
And truth to tell, what we believe about the Mass is also why we can understand that nothing else that we do as Catholics is as important or as profound or as effective—not Benediction—not the Stations of the Cross—not the Rosary.
And it all boils down to this: The Mass is the very Sacrifice of Christ from two thousand years ago—mystically connected to the Last Supper; and that Sacrifice takes place as often as we have Mass—on that Altar. Every time.
Now on our altar—we do not have the screaming, jeering crowds. There are no flies buzzing in and out of Jesus’ nostrils—and He unable to even wave them away because His Hands are nailed to the wood. There is no infecting dirt and sweat mixing in with the ever-oozing blood. There is no constant pain in all the joints and across the flesh of His Whipped Body. There is no slow but sure asphyxiation.
But the Mass is His Sacrifice—real and true and effective.
Somehow at the very moment when the priest consecrates the Bread and wine—when he says the words, “This is My Body” and “This is My Blood”, and the bells and the chimes are ringing—and the incense is billowing—IN those words—BECAUSE of those words—what took place so long ago—Jesus offering Himself to the Father for our sake—that moment is plucked out of history—out of Eternity— and is made present right there before our eyes.
This is the Sacrifice of Christ all over again—only this time in an unbloody manner.
In this way the Mass is more than nice ceremonies and reminders about how God loves us. The Mass is more than prayers and songs to encourage good thoughts and feelings. The Mass is an actual sacrificial act of worship by which we and Jesus offer to God the Sacrifice that makes up for our sins.
Do you see, then, how everything in the Mass must be co-ordinated to reflect and highlight and show us that reality? From the music to the servers to the readers and ushers. Everyone and everything in the church must take its cue from the fact that the Mass is the most powerful act of worship possible—it is not about us and how we feel—it is about Jesus.
Now I mention all this because the other day we celebrated the Feast of Pope St. Gregory the Great. He was pope in the 600’s and if you have ever heard of Gregorian chant—this is the Pope responsible. No he did not write the thousand and one melodies—he did not put the million and one notes to paper. He simply told the monks to put it all down for the sake of future generations so that they, and the people, would know how to sing the most perfect music for the most perfect prayer—the Mass.
Gregorian chant—even according to the Vatican Council and all the popes since—and particularly our reigning Holy Father, Benedict XVI, is the way the Church has asked us anew to sing the words of the Mass.
Somehow or other, in the 60’s a mistake was made and the rules for Mass said that if we wanted to, we could sing hymns at Mass instead of chanting (in the Gregorian style) the actual prayers. Well, once they said that—that was the end of Gregorian chant! And for the next forty years we have been made to think that the norm for music at Mass is hymn—singing.
There is nothing wrong with hymns in themselves. We have always used hymns for Benediction and Missions and Rosaries and stations.
Good hymns are helpful to our prayer life. But hymns at Mass—if they take the place of the words of the Mass—as nice as those hymns may be—are not the ideal. Because the words of the Mass which are proper to that day and that feast—come from the Bible and the Ancient fathers, and have pretty much been with us for most of the last two thousand years—and they are exactly how the Mass should be prayed.
The problem with hymns (when they are a substitute for the words of the Mass) is that they come in from left field. Most modern hymns were written in some studio by a composer who had an idea. He sat down at his piano and combined some words with some music and took it all to a publisher. In that way hymns are pretty independent of the Mass. There might be something in common between the Mass of the day and the hymns that we choose to sing for that day, but that is only by accident. Hymns are not written to accompany the Mass.
I would not be the first to notice how publishing companies have made of themselves the buyers and the sellers in the Temple. And they have made a ton of money since the Vatican Council selling us on the notion that we should be singing hymns—and particularly— their hymns—at Mass.
And they have hired armies of composers who pump out hymn after hymn—tune after tune—day after day. These publishing companies even send out catalogs to all the parishes and pastors to promote their newest hit songs. I get these catalogs in the mail every day.
I think there is something wrong here, because what the publishing companies have done is convert the Music for the Mass from being the profound and sublime meditations of saintly and anonymous monks daily singing and praying the words of the Mass— understanding in their heart of hearts that the Mass is the Presence of Jesus for us and with us and before us into a sort of Tin Pan Alley of the latest and greatest hits for our musical and Mass enjoyment.
This has been a major factor in impoverishing our appreciation of what happens at Mass. We have been led to think that the Mass is about us and how we sing and how Jesus and the music makes us feel—hints for more effective living—or something to help get us through the day or a thought or two to help us feel good about ourselves.
But the Mass is about God—and nothing less than the very miracle of salvation—the cross of Christ—right there in our hearts and on our altars. The music we sing at Mass can either help us understand that miracle (chanting the text) or make it disappear (singing a hymn).
The Church is asking us to start singing the actual words of the Mass again—the entrance antiphon, the offertory and Communion songs—the Glorias and Credos and Sanctus’ and Agnus Dei’s.
All the Popes and even the Council have told us that there is no better, or more perfect way to pray the Mass than by singing the actual text prayers of the Mass. There is no more perfect music for that than Gregorian chant—the Gift to the Church of Pope St. Gregory the Great.
And within a few months we will start seeing how at St. Odilo this can be done.