An ordinary life

Earlier today, I attended the funeral Mass of an elderly gentleman in a local town. As is customary, the men's choir sang at the funeral, as they do for parish funerals when requested. I did not know the man who had died.  I am always struck by the words of the priest on such occasions.

Almost invariably, the faith of the deceased is mentioned. At today's funeral, the priest recalled how the man had been baptised in the same church where his funeral Mass was being celebrated, 89 years ago. He received his First Holy Communion there and, some years later, was confirmed in the same church. Sixty years ago, he was married there. The priest also told the congregation that he occupied the same seat at the same Mass every Sunday.

Behold what you are; become what you receive

St Augustine (354-430 A.D.) was a theological heavy weight – giving us a huge range of writings that encapsulated the themes of conversion, communion and grace.  Augustine along with others helped set the scene for much of Christian thinking and spiritual life for the next 1,600 years.  The current Pope, from the Order of  Saint Augustinian, draws from a rich Augustinian tradition that is timely in a world threatened by forces that seek to tear it apart.

As a young man, Augustine sought truth, goodness and beauty in many places, but ultimately found their fulfilment in Christ alone. Famously, he wrote at the very beginning of his Confessions:

 You have made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.

Mothers at the altar

Nothing quite compares to the  love of a mother.  That is my view. I see it all the time. I know that some children suffer want and neglect but the overwhelming evidence points to a high point of self-sacrificing love between mothers and their children that is remarkable.  Saint Monica (c. 332-387 A.D.), whose feast day is today, prayed ceaselessly for her wayward son, Augustine. Eventually, he saw the light. He would become a great saint, bishop and doctor of the Church (St Augustine of Hippo) and author of major classics in Christian literature and theology.  He wrote, in his Confessions:

…she had learned to bring to the Churches of the martyrs a breast filled with more purified petitions, and to give what she could to the poor; that so the communication of the Lord's Body might be there rightly celebrated, where, after the example of His Passion, the martyrs had been sacrificed and crowned   Confessions 6.2.2

Hunger for God

Church of the Holy Spirit, Ballyroan,
Rathfarnham, Dublin 

There is a raging hunger in the world for food that lasts. Most people are not even aware of their hunger and thirst.  This is where Jesus brings us something that no earthly food, pleasure or status can bring: joy in the heart.

When we receive with faith God rewards us with his presence and dwelling and nothing can compare to this. Here is something worth living for and dying for because it is pure giving for the life of the world.

Jesus alone offers the food that lasts because it is his flesh and blood that he gives.

'We are all in there together'

An Orthodox Catholic priest explained in simple terms the mystery of the Eucharist in response to a question from a parent of child about to receive Holy Communion. He wrote:

So we don’t just say that we want Christ to live metaphorically in our hearts — we receive Him physically in our bodies. God comes to us, God transforms that bread and wine, so that He can truly become a part of us. Literally.

He also went on to write something very beautiful that I had not quite thought of before:

We don’t just say that we are meant to be in communion with God and with one another, but our priests place bits of bread for the Theotokos and the Saints, for the loved ones who have gone before us, into the communion chalice so that we are all in there together when we approach the one holy chalice as a parish community.

Far from imagining that the real change in the bread and wine was some notion invented in the West in the middle ages, St Cyril of Alexandria mirroring many other early Fathers of the Church wrote in 430 A.D.:

Receiving the Gift: Holy Communion, Tradition and Charity

It is extraordinary how Christians can find so much to argue about when it comes to the finer points of liturgy – language, vestments, posture etc.  Yes, it is really important to give of our best in divine worship and to pay attention to the details – we are responding to a magnificent invitation to sit at the Lord’s Table. However, let’s not forget that it is the Lord’s table and not our own.  It is surely good to follow tradition while being open to adaptation and innovation where initiated or permitted by legitimate authority.

More than a little controversy has erupted in recent times on the esoteric fringes of the online Catholic world where individuals take it upon themselves to pontificate on matters of liturgy. Should we receive Holy Communion on the tongue or in our hands? What is the history of practice in this regard?  Should there be room for diversity?  Opinions multiply and, in the meantime, many ‘do their own thing’. A sense of proportion and, not infrequently, a sense of charity is missing.

The call I did not expect

St Andrew's Church, Westland Row, Dublin

On this day, Saturday 23 August 1980, I made the following entry in my diary:

It was a sunny, warm day. By mid-afternoon I left the meeting feeling very fed up and incapable of continuing on with this way of life. On my way home, by bicycle, I stopped in Westland Row to pray in Saint Andrew's RC Church. I simply went in, genuflected and knelt down and started to pray as I looked towards the tabernacle. I did not stay very long.

The entry is significant because for 7 years prior to that date I had lived as a self-proclaimed atheist.  I had stopped religious practice in the Autumn of 1973. This was a rather unusual step in so far as most people of my age-group maintained some degree of outward religious practice even if not that frequent. 

There is, perhaps, a germ of personal hope in recounting this personal story because it seems to me that the widely adopted option of disowning belief (or simply declaring ‘I am not religious’) which seems to more or less the norm nowadays among millennials or Gen Z persons may not be sustainable in the very long-run. What I am trying to say here, in plain English is that: