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When I was
growing up, my Mom and Dad loved to have “company” over, especially on
Saturday nights.
As I recall how
things unfolded, all sorts of elaborate preparations were involved when
the “adult” company would be coming over. I never quite understood why, but
even us kids—who had no company coming over—had assigned chores.
Outside chores had to be completed by “Mr. You-Know-Who” and “Mr.
You-Know-Who’s Brother.” Inside chores had to be completed by “Mr.
You-Know-Who’s Sister.” “Mr. You-Know-Who’s Dad” stocked the bar with
all sorts of adult and non-adult beverages. And, “Mr. You-Know-Who’s
Mom” prepared the hors d’oeuvres, dinner, and dessert. She always
started completing her chores early in the week when company was coming
over. In short,
everybody in the Jacobs family had all sorts of flahoo to finish before the
“company” arrived.
Over the years, I
noticed a ritual pattern was involved when company would come over,
especially adult company. The
ritual pattern consisted of five parts. First, there were all of those
elaborate preparations. Second, when the company arrived, they seemed
eager to be at the Jacobs’ residence and for things to get underway. Third, after the
company arrived, conversation and storytelling seemed to get louder and
louder the longer and longer cocktail hour went. (Actually, I observed
on many an occasion that the conversation and storytelling seemed to be
more of a mutual gripe session concerning things like what the kids did
or what happened at work.) Fourth , there was the meal. However, the
food was sort of a sideline to this part of the ritual because the
conversation and storytelling (a.k.a., the griping) continued.
Fifth,
there was the sending forth, with all of the good byes, hugs, kisses,
and well wishes as people departed for their homes.
A couple of
decades later, in my role as principal of a school in Tulsa, Oklahoma, I
came to dread what I called the “Friday evening cocktail circuit.” This
ritual gathering was sort of like having company over at the Robert W.
Jacobs’ family residence, but the griping
would be about things that were allegedly going on at school as well as
rumors about rumors of things allegedly going on at school, all of which had the currency of being factual.
Then, by Saturday afternoon, the people attending the Friday evening
cocktail circuit had worked themselves into such a frenzied lather that
I’d get a telephone call demanding that I meet with a group of parents
after church on Sunday to respond to what they had taken as fact and
convinced themselves was the compete and unadulterated truth about how
the school—for which I bore sole responsibility—was destroying their
kids’ lives. The reason I called this ritual a “circuit” is
because it moved from house to house, depending upon which family had
the most to gripe about by the close of business on Fridays.
These two
vignettes punctuate something that is so ordinary, so regular, and so
routine in our lives that we might miss it and how the ritual of
gathering to share stories and a meal at home (or in one another’s
homes) is intimately related to the Eucharist we celebrate here each
Sunday. The ritual is the act of gathering—“congregating” it’s
called—whether at
home or at church.
The word
“congregate” is not a noun naming a thing, but a verb signifying a
particular action, namely, “to herd together” or “to flock together”
like sheep. In addition, during that ritual action of
congregating—whether at home or at church—people converse and tell
stories that explain, explore, and expound upon the ideas, problems,
challenges, hopes, and fears they are experiencing in their lives, most
oftentimes, things they are experiencing right here and now. They
then share a meal that nourishes them but also, and perhaps more
importantly, a meal that strengthens their bonds as the community of the
family, the community of friends, or as a community of faith.
For many
families, this ritual takes place not only when the company comes over,
but each and every day as moms and dads and brothers and sisters
congregate in their family rooms as well as around their kitchen tables
to talk about their day, their work, their efforts and interests, as
well as their shortcomings and failures, too. This is the “family congregation”—gathering in the
domestic church—which provides an analogy or link to the ritual we
enact as a community of faith in church each Sunday. We congregate to converse and tell the
stories describing what is central to our lives and to share in the meal
that the Lord Jesus left us as his memorial. The readings from
Scripture (and the homily, too, I hope!) enable each of us to make a
little more sense out of our lives as God’s beloved sons and daughters.
And, the bread and wine—which become the body and blood of
Christ—nourish us so that, as we are sent forth from church and into the
world, we have been transformed to become for those around us—our family
and friends—as well as those we meet—our associates and strangers,
too—the living Word of God and the living Body and Blood of Christ truly
present, active, and at work in our world.
Each Sunday when we
congregate, we proclaim: “Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will
come again.” Perhaps we make this proclamation all too glibly. Yes,
Christ has died and, yes, Christ has risen. But, how often do we
contemplate that Christ will come again as we are transformed into and
become what we partake in each Sunday as we celebrate the Eucharist,
namely, the Word of God and the Body and Blood of Christ?
“Do this in
memory of me” Jesus told his small congregation at the Last Supper.
“This” is not a mere symbolic presence, as if we stand in the place of
Jesus. No, the Eucharist is the Real Presence—the Body and Blood of
Christ. And, as we partake of that divine nourishment in the form of
the Word of God as well as the Body and Blood of Christ, what happens
when we are spiritually nourished is similar to what the nutritionists
tell us happens when we are physically nourished: “You are what you
eat.”
All of this is
meaningless gibberish, I am sure, to the spiritually malnourished, that
is, those who experience no breaking of the true bread of their daily
lives. Not seated around the table
each day and not sharing a meal by giving thanks, first, to God—the
divine Source of our lives—and, second, for one another as members of
God’s family who have congregated around the table, congregating in
church on Sundays—what’s called “going to Mass”—is nothing but a dull,
boring, and meaningless—if not futile—ritual having little or
no relationship to or impact upon daily life. I can’t count the number
of people who have said in my presence, “There’s nothing in it for me.
Why should I go?” Well, it must be asked, “How can there be anything in
it for me, first, if there’s no congregating at home and, second, if
there’s no thanksgiving at home?” What does that attitude indicate not
about the quality of the Eucharist but the quality of family life?
Make no mistake about it: the vibrancy of Catholic family life as it is
experienced each day in the home is what
helps us to grasp and appreciate the vibrancy of the Catholic faith as
it is experienced here in church.
That’s why it
breaks my heart to hear so many say, “There’s nothing in it for me. Why
should I go?” The people who utter these and similar statements and mean
what they say don’t
experience what the Second Vatican Council called “the sum and summary
of our lives” and “the source and summit of Christian life.” With
neither sum nor summary in their daily lives, how possibly can the source and
the summit of Christian life have any meaning?
Yes, the people
who make these two statements may come to church, albeit unhappily so. They may also
passively listen
to the Word of God. They likely also step forward to receive their
little white tablet. But, that’s all there is to it. People who make
those two statements don’t congregate, they don’t hear the World of God
and invite it to enter into and root itself deeply in their souls, and
they don’t partake in the divine and human encounter to be discovered in
the Body and Blood of Christ. For these people, going to church is a
burden, an imposition on their time, lives, cluttered schedules, and an
obligation to be fulfilled. Like Hyacinth Bucket, “Going to mass” is
sort of like paying dues to belong to an elite social club just to keep
up appearances or, for those who fear death, it’s like paying an
insurance premium with the hope, if needed, one will receive eternal
life. Or, it may be just that the people who make these two statements
are like the apostles in today’s gospel who said after looking at their
meager provisions, “This is all we have. We can’t feed this crowd.”
Those who find going to church so dull, boring, and meaningless believe
they don’t have very much to give. Unfortunately, no matter what the
excuse, “Christ has not come again” into their lives. These
people leave church having turned their backs on the spiritual
nourishment that would transform them into the Body and Blood of Christ
present, active, and at work in our world.
It doesn’t have
to be this way, however. In the act of congregating, we can choose to
invite God to nourish, strengthen, and fill His people with His divine
life found in Scripture and Sacrament. Then, we can choose to make a
gift of our lives by allowing Scripture and Sacrament to transform us
into Christ’s body and blood present, active, and at work in our small
but very important part of the world.
Physical
malnourishment is deadly but so also is spiritual malnourishment. With
so many families today not congregating to give thanks and to be
nourished, its members are feeling pretty weak spiritually speaking. The
Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches us in this regard: “As
bodily nourishment restores lost strength, so the Eucharist strengthens
our charity” (#1394). Congregating weekly in church to celebrate the
Eucharist feeds our souls and strengthens us in charity so that we may
be holy in our daily lives.
Those who
perceive this mystery—perhaps only as a glimmer—experience in this
weekly act of congregating what St. Augustine noted to his congregation
sixteen hundred years ago: “Receive what you are; become more fully what
you receive.”
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HOMILY
