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Quite
a while back, I think it was 1995, for five consecutive Fridays one
of the guys at the Monastery would finish lunch, leave the dining
room and, then, by the time we’d reconvene for dinner, was dead.
“Toes up” we call it.
The first Friday, the death—though surprising—wasn’t shocking. In
fact, it was sort of uplifting. A gracious and gentle 93-year-old,
Fr. Richard Plunkett (whose nickname was “Stoney” because of his
Stoic demeanor), got up from his seat at the table, exchanged
pleasantries, exited the dining room, and then stopped to sit for a
moment in the parlor. Fr. Plunkett then went “ker-plunk,” breathing
his last…truly the “grace of a happy death” we used to be told to
pray for.
During the course of the next three weeks, things got more dicey.
These three guys not only died unexpectedly, but each also happened
to be my pinochle partner the night before his unexpected death. By
the time the fifth week rolled around, no one wanted to play
pinochle with me as his partner.
True to what was now becoming form, another fellow died on following
lunch Friday. However, his death was what’s
called
a
“merciful” death. The cancer that had ravaged Fr. Larry Gallen and
caused him such agony was so truly awful that no one wanted to see
Larry suffer one additional moment. And Larry didn’t want to
live one minute longer either. I know so because he told me
so. I’m grateful God gave me the
opportunity to be with Larry and to offer him consolation and share
some guffaws during his
time of suffering.
I
share these stories not with the intention of being morbid or
heightening anyone’s anxiety should you happen to be my pinochle
partner, but to focus upon what today’s gospel teaches. Each and
every one of us live in an “in between” time, somewhere between the
beginning of time—when God created the universe in all of its
wonder—and the end of time—when the Lord will return to claim his
own.
This “in between” time and not the “end time” that so many people
fear is the time of judgment. That is, the time
for judging ourselves is now not later, and the time to act on
our judgment is now not later. The criterion by which we are
to judge ourselves, Jesus said in today’s
gospel, is mercy, that is, our compassion for others as
well as our intentional acts of love—not those bumper sticker
“random acts of kindness”—performed on behalf of others, neither out
of fear nor hope of reward, but a result of compassion and selfless
love.
All too frequently, however, we delay the time of judgment, hedging
our bets that there will be plenty of additional time to get around
to all of that. We are prone to say, “I’m too busy,” or “I’m too
tired,” when in fact, the truth be told, we’re just plain,
old-fashioned lazy. Sooner or later, however, we become what we
choose: We are selfish, and invoking an image from today’s gospel, we
have chosen to be “goats.”
Today’s gospel reminds us that the end of time will come and the
Lord will make his appearance to judge the living and the dead. Our
lack of compassion and inherent laziness will be made obvious when
we ask: “Lord, when did I see you _____?” (fill in the blank with
one of those spiritual or corporal works of mercy we all have
learned). And
we’ll only compound that lack of compassion and inherent laziness
when we assert, “If only I had known it was you, I’d surely have
_____!” (once again, fill in the blank with one of those spiritual
or corporal works of mercy we all have learned).
This outcome has its earliest origins when we forget that we exist
in this “in between” time. Instead, we focus instead upon the now—what
I can get now, what I can do now, what is interesting
to me and will give me the greatest pleasure now—and we
overlook the fact that these are the moments when we are making the
judgments through which we shape our character as disciples. And,
before long, we become what we have chosen...“goats.”
Jesus’ teaching is both radical and straight-forward. It’s radical
in the sense that we don’t honor God by consecrating the first
fruits of our labor as pious Jews did, but as we consecrate one
another through our deeds of selfless compassion. Jesus’ teaching
is also straight-forward. The way we treat one another is the way
we treat God himself.
For Jesus, it’s one thing to “talk the talk” of being a disciple.
But it is an entirely different thing to “walk the talk” by loving
one another as we love ourselves.
The time for judgment is now, in the “in between” time.
A brief word about an “end time”…
Today is not only marks the end of the Church year—the Solemnity of
Christ the King—but also the final Sunday that English-speaking
Catholics throughout the world will be using the second edition of
the Roman Missal, the liturgical book used to celebrate the
Mass since the late 1960’s.
Next week, not only will we start the new Church year—the first
Sunday of Advent—but this will also be the first Sunday that
English-speaking Catholics throughout the world will be using the
third edition of the Roman Missal.
We
can look upon the changes that will be introduced in next Sunday’s
Mass with a sense of loss, namely, that something we have grown
accustomed to and comfortable with has suddenly vanished. From
studying and practicing the third edition, I can assure everyone
that much has vanished. Changes to words and phrases will only
reinforce that sense of loss. Then, too, a more formal recitation
of the Mass will also reinforce that sense of loss. I have a
suspicion that some people will allow that sense of loss to grow
into feelings of regret, indignation, and perhaps, alienation.
For me, the greatest loss will be that of spontaneity. In the
seminary, we were taught to follow the Roman Missal, but to adapt
its non-essential words and phrases to “personalize” the experience
of the Mass for the members of the congregation. For example, the
phrase I use in the doxology following the recitation of the Our
Father, “useless worry and anxiety”—which I have taken from St.
Paul—will be gone. Vanished. The statement I use to introduce the
beginning of the Communion Rite, “My brothers and sisters: This is
Jesus Christ the Son of the living God who became human like us in
all things but sin”—which I have also taken from St. Paul—will be
gone. Vanished. So, too, the brief statement I use to relate the
gospel and homily to the communion in which we are to partake will
be gone. Vanished. Over the past 28 years, many people have
commented how much they appreciated those little personalizations.
Why the change?
The answer is simple: Pope Benedict XVI has said so. And, as Roman
Catholics, one of our defining characteristics is that when Peter
speaks, we listen because we trust Peter. Where Peter leads, we
follow because we trust Peter. Not blindly but also with open
hearts and minds to learn from Peter. In this instance, Peter
has challenged us to pray with greater fidelity to the Latin text of
the official Roman Missal and to this end, has entrusted to us a
gift: The third edition of the Roman Missal. Peter believes this
gift will provide the opportunity to deepen our understanding of the
Mass and to appreciate better its meaning and significance for our
lives.
In
2004, then-Cardinal Ratzinger observed:
How
often do we celebrate only ourselves, without even realizing that He
is there! Here “He” refers to Jesus Christ crucified, and risen, the
great missing person of so many new liturgies, which have become
meaningless dances around the Golden Calf that is ourselves.
Yes, there will be a sense of loss. But, Pope Benedict XVI is
presenting English-speaking Roman Catholics throughout the world a
wonderful opportunity to experience the faith of the Roman Catholic
Church and the presence of Jesus Christ in the Mass in a somewhat
new and, for a bit of time, somewhat foreign (or alien) way. New
phrases and words—in more accurate and poetic English—will enable us
hear and reconsider familiar ideas. In that sense, the new Roman
Missal will provide a moment for catechesis. “Consubstantial,”
what’s that? “Thrones and Dominions,” what are they? “...and
for the many,” what happened to “all”?
Sure, greater fidelity to the Roman Missal will make participating
in the Mass at first feel less personal. But, doing so will
also focus us upon the fact that we have come to Mass not to make
ourselves feel good but to worship God through Jesus Christ in the
Roman Catholic Church.
Speaking solely for myself, I greet the new translation of the Roman
Missal not with a sense of loss or even regret—perhaps
understandably so because after all, it’s the only Missal I have
ever used in my 28 years of ordained priesthood—but with a sense of
enthusiasm that the changes it mandates will make the Mass less
about being “relevant” and more about being “authentic.”
Comparing the second and third editions side-by-side, I have found
the new translation to be more uplifting through its use of more
poetic language. The third edition of the Roman Missal certainly
represents a markedly different way of speaking to God in the Holy
Sacrifice of the Mass—notice
how different that sounds from “in the
liturgy” or “in the gathering”—and
the language is absolutely not the general style of the way we speak
with one another. The images the new translation calls to mind are
rich in meaning, to be pondered for their depth.
I
think the most noticeable change most people will experience will be
in how I will be celebrating the Mass. Having memorized much of the
previous edition, I wasn’t “tied down to the text.” But, beginning
next week, I will have very little eye contact with “the people in
the pews” because I will be concentrating upon reading the text
accurately. That is my job:
“to say the black.”
Because some parts of the text are the same or similar but other
parts are strikingly different, it’s not possible to “wing it” for
the simple reason that it’s very difficult to find the exact place
where I am if I’m not looking directly at the text.
So, I ask for your patience and understanding as I learn—like you—to
pray the new translation of the Roman Missal in the coming months
and years. My guess is that in retrospect—perhaps in 20 or 30
years—it will be regarded as a wonderful gift, part of the legacy
that Peter—beginning during the pontificate of Paul VI, continuing
in the pontificate of Blessed John Paul II, and now through Benedict
XVI—will have bequeathed to the Church.
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HOMILY
