Squanderous

strewing the floor with our treasures,
littering His place with our concerns.

Practicality.  Efficiency.  Usefulness.  

These are all attributes that most people value highly.  In our day and our society, they make a product more valuable, and often contribute to our decisions to how we spend our days.   We choose to do what is practical in the most efficient manner possible, so that our results are useful to ourselves and others.   Sometimes, we use these criteria because we feel we have no choice – some things we would like to do have to be dropped from our schedule, or our budget, because they are not practical, wouldn’t be an efficient use of our resources, and no useful product or result would be obtained.

It is hard to think of a time of year when we are more likely to make hard decisions using these criteria than right now, what our modern society has come to call The Holidays.  There is so much that we hope to do, want to do, have to do, that we just cannot do it all.  Some things simply must be done; and some things must be allowed to slide -- they don’t make the cut.  Even the parties we choose to attend have to withstand the test of practicality, efficiency, and usefulness.  

I understand.  Really, I do.  My inner German, my training as a professional analyst, my dread of waste; all make me a sucker for such decision-making processes.  However, please allow me to take the opportunity to beg you: Do not to fall for this!

The counter-example I offer you is: snuggle time with your child.  This clearly does not fall on the winning side of the practicality/efficiency/usefulness contest.  Yet, somehow, it carries its own imperative, and bears its inarguable rewards.  Whether the child chatters aimlessly the whole time, asks a Big Question (Daddy, why do people die?), or just falls asleep, it has an immeasurable value.  I don’t think I have to explain to you or verify how this complete waste of time confirms and strengthens the identities and relationship of both participants.

The Sacred Liturgy of the Church similarly fails completely when put to the test for practicality/efficiency/usefulness.  Absolutely nothing is accomplished, and in fact much is lost.  Heck, at a good one, some of our best things get burnt up!  Whether you spend the time reeling off seemingly unconnected preoccupations to God, ask Him a Big Question, or simply settle into a restful peace, this time “squandered” bears great fruit in ordering your life rightly according to your identity and relationship with God and everyone else.

There is nothing practical or productive about worship.  Many words are said, but very little new information is conveyed.  The “Good News” isn’t that new, really.  Much is done, but little is accomplished.  And there are long periods of just ...being there.  Gack!  How unbearably inefficient and ...useless!  What’s worse, it requires pouring out before God our precious time and vital essence, strewing the floor with our treasures, littering His place with our concerns.  That simply doesn’t rate much in a busy society, especially in its busiest month, December.  

But right now is precisely when our worship teaches us that we will never know who we are and who He is, unless we put aside all our tasks and priorities for silence, stillness, and waiting.  It’s an audacious request, but He never fails to deliver on His promise.  

Remember that if you are trying to decide if you can “afford” to attend Mass.  The formerly fashionable concept of “quality time” never really filled the bill with toddlers, or with God.  He offers us holy time, life-giving time, if only we embrace its inefficiency, impracticality, and uselessness.

Monsignor Smith

 

More of the same

You were expecting maybe something different?

Fourteen years ago, the beginning of Advent in 2011 heralded the arrival of a new English translation of the Roman Missal.   This brought changes to some of the most common responses of the people at Mass, including “And with your spirit,” and “Lord I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof,” to the Gloria “and on earth peace to people of goodwill,” and the Creed “consubstantial with the Father”.  It was hard; change always is.

That change was accompanied by much preparation and went very well.  The changes were easily recognized to be improvements, and after months of effort they have all become familiar and reflexive.  But those months were marked by paying attention to the changes at the expense of participation in the liturgy.

It has been my experience that change in the liturgy draws attention to the change.   The Scriptures change from day to day, Sunday to Sunday, and this draws attention to the readings of the day.  That is good.   When the change draws the attention of the worshippers to wonder, what should I say or do now?  That is less good.  

Familiarity and expectation are important to the liturgy.  We say “Amen” a half-dozen times during each Mass, but always in response to recognizable cues, such as “Through Christ our Lord.”  It is a failure of the liturgical text to require an “Amen” without offering an appropriate cue.   These failures occur in the Missal notably in the tripartite or “solemn” blessing at the end of Mass.  There are three options for the celebrant under these circumstances: first, simply wait in silence for the unrequested response, possibly waving a hand; two, add the formulary that indicates the response, like “Through Christ our Lord;” or three, give some other cue, such as “Let the church say Amen.” There is another possible course of action, which I take most often: omit these badly formulated tripartite blessings.

Familiarity and expectation need not be so frequent and routine as the “Amen” to be liturgical and effective.   Certain actions occur only one time each year and are greatly anticipated for that reason.  Think of the imposition of ashes to begin Lent, or the return of the Alleluia at the Easter Vigil.   Any combination of tune and text, such as the chanted Entrance Antiphon for any Sunday or feast, offers recognition and delight when that day comes each year.  These variations are not random but are regular – they happen according to a rule – and are proper to the liturgy itself.

Other variations are less regular and, I believe, detract from the liturgy.  The Roman Missal is full of options and variety, and the training I received in seminary emphasized the necessity of knowing what all the possible variations were, as well as the reasons to utilize all or at least many of them.  There is more than a suggestion that “mixing things up” enhances the liturgy.

There are three possible greetings for the priest to say after the Sign of the Cross.  There are three possible forms for the Penitential Rite, and one of the forms has numerous if not innumerable different tropes that can be woven in with the Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.  We haven’t even arrived at the Gloria yet, which is required for some Masses, omitted at others, and optional for many of the rest, though there is at least some semblance of a rule.  

I have a friend who loves to mix it up at Mass.  He never ad-libs or invents anything; it is all according the Missal.  But he loves to pull out an unexpected option like a jack-in-the-box.   If I am concelebrating with him, it is distracting and confusing to me when he does this, not least because I do not have the benefit of having the Missal before me, that is, the text.  This has increased my conviction that every regular predictability contributes to the comfort and cooperation of all participants in the Divine Worship.

The importance of sameness to our worship has become more pressing on me the longer I have been a priest.   One year is the broadest range of variation we can compass before we require and return to the same.  Each year brings samenesses of time and season because of which they are intelligible and manageable: calendar year, meteorological year, lunar year, fiscal year, academic year, and liturgical year.  Our worship requires and offers sameness.

As I have in many previous years, I hope to write my letters this Advent about worship and liturgy.  Be ready for more of the same.    

Monsignor Smith 

Catastrophe

 

End of the Line

He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.”  Amen.  Come, Lord Jesus!  (Rev. 22:20)   Thus ends the last book of the Bible.  This is the end, not only how the story ends.  Somehow this is also our desire, the desire of the Church, of “all the saints” (Rev. 22:21) Why would we desire the end?  

The end is the coming of the Lord, the final setting things right that will bring God’s justice and God’s mercy and bring an end to the murder, mayhem, sin, and shenanigans that come with the rule of men.  Confronted with all that is wrong in the world, we raise our eyes and pray, Come, Lord Jesus!  Come fix this mess; repair what is broken.

We take this language from the rhetoric of our time, which resorts often to claiming things are broken.  Our justice system is broken.  Our education system is broken.  But men are not machines, and human society is organic not mechanical.  Cars and computers break; human beings fail.  We fail early and often, and every program of human design requiring human participation will reflect this shortfall.  “It” is not broken; we are fallen.

At the beginning of our life, we expect and become better – stronger, smarter, bigger, wiser, more and more capable of more and more marvels.  We mature and identify what needs improvement about ourselves, and by focusing our attention and our efforts, maybe even obtaining help, sometimes we can turn our weakness into strength.  

Sometimes, however, we cannot modify ourselves this way; our best and repeated efforts fail.  This happens not only in extraordinary efforts like achieving a record in pole-vaulting or learning to write poetry in Chinese.  Sometimes our recurring failures are basic, like doing our job or loving our spouse. 

In a high-speed, high-functioning society, this sometimes magnifies unsatisfactory results to the level of catastrophe.  In any one human life, such failure is catastrophe.   Hence our prayer, Come, Lord Jesus!  Get me out of this mess. 

Standing honestly before the Lord, however, we realize that He did not promise to “fix” what is broken around us.  With time and grace, we object less to what is wrong with the world and more to what is wrong with ourselves.  We lament our failures, our inabilities, our disabilities we cannot repair or reform.  We grieve the damage we have done and the opportunities we have squandered.  Into this irreparable mess steps Jesus, God’s Word become flesh.

Recall that at Cana they were desperate.  They had no wine.  Jesus provided the best wine, which they never would have enjoyed if their inferior wine had lasted.  They would not have known Jesus was there, much less learned what He is here to do.  When all our efforts fall flat, our best and our worst, that is when God’s work occurs for us.   What happens after our failure is better than if we had never failed in the first place; our success would not only have been insufficient, but also catastrophic.

God comes to where we fall.  Christ is the sun that comes with healing rays (Mal 3:20a), rejoicing only the injured and disabled, the chill and the sick.  For any and all who stand athwart their world in triumph, that same sun is blazing like an oven (Mal 3:19).  

Wounds and weakness are where God happens, where our rescue happens.  To turn away from catastrophes of our own making is to turn our back on the Lord who comes.  To look at failure and fault and reject the people who “allowed this to happen” is to reject the good wine that only comes when we turn to Christ in desperation.  God fills empty vessels and empty hands.  

We are not broken in need of fixing; our best efforts and our world are not broken waiting for us to repair them.  We are wounded, unable to rescue ourselves from the deadly field where we have fallen.  We await a savior.  

What He brings when he comes to save us is better than anything we can imagine, much less achieve.   He comes with His gifts and his grace and makes us glad we fell, glad we failed, happy to have been helpless.  It is a mistake to ignore or avoid our desperation.  We can and should go there, stand precisely there, and call out:  Come, Lord Jesus!  Do not wait for, much less wish for, the end. 

Monsignor Smith

Rot not

Souls being rescued from damnation by a rosary

The Last Judgment, Michelangelo Buonarotti (detail)

He deserves to rot in hell. 

That is strong language, but not as uncommon as one might hope.   Hell is the last of the Four Last Things, and it is the BAD one – the very worst thing there is, in fact.  Fire and torment, deprivation and devouring, all of these things have described hell.   Also permanent, endless, and inescapable.  Eternal.  It is so bad we are inclined not to think about it.  If we do think about hell at all, to think that perhaps it may exist, we cushion the impact by asserting it is a possibility for a tiny few, and certainly it is not terribly likely for us.  Maybe we can invoke hell as the destination for somebody who has really, truly, and totally displeased us:  He deserves to rot in hell. 

The Scriptures are redolent with insights into hell, and Our Lord Himself mentions unquenchable fire, and where the worm does not die, a place worthy of every painful effort to avoid. (cf: Mark 9)  Maybe it is some sort of mental self-defense mechanism that we are most likely and best able to think about hell for other people.  Jesus wants us to think about hell, at least some of the time, and not only for our enemies.  So let’s split the difference, then, and think about hell for someone else – whom we love.

How about a friend?   A dear friend, somebody who has been good to us, somebody who has depended on our help with important things.  We look on that friend with eyes of love and desire our friend’s happiness.  But we know our friend well enough to know that all is not right, all was not right when the great Game Over came calling and ended all choosing and doing, when death arrived.  Picturing our fond friend suffering the consequences of some very bad actions or attitudes can make us desperate.  We can dismiss hell and its criteria entirely, or by some mental dishonesty exempt our friend from merited hell.  Then our Lord reminds us that hell is real and is not fungible.  Do we listen?

Picture a son or daughter, grandma or grandpa, suffering the consequences of his or her own worst actions.   Grandma or grandpa?  No way!  My son, my daughter?  I would rather die myself than let that happen to one of them.  Once we start thinking this way, our whole attitude begins to change.  We cannot change or eliminate hell.  We cannot change our friend or eliminate choices made and doings done.  What remains?   We remain, or, the rest of our days remain for us, and this is our field to achieve change.   

The Lord God looked on every mortal life with this same horror at merited destruction, and changed not the mortals but rather changed Himself, becoming mortal flesh and blood in His only Son.  And rather than see us suffer each our proper punishment He chose rather to die Himself, lest it happen to the ones He loves.  This is how rescue is achieved, and for all who have eyes to see it is an invitation to participate in that rescue.  

We must think about hell enough to realize it is the danger which will destroy the ones we love unless they be rescued.  We must identify and acknowledge the danger in order to desire and participate in the rescue.  Moved by thoughts of hell for someone we love, we recognize that in the power of the cross we are not helpless even in the face of death.  And to do this for someone who has hurt us?  That is what they call “next level.”

To choose and embrace a suffering, a sacrifice, for the benefit of another is to obtain release, partial or even total, from the very hell that is their purchased prize.  Our puny sacrifices, our fervent but frankly pathetic prayers, our grief and petition toward this purpose more than any other transport us to the company of Christ Himself as He hung upon the cross.   Looking at the faces of the crowd that demanded and participated in his death, He acknowledged they deserve to rot in hell.  But His love for them, for us, gave Him to resolve I would rather die myself than let that happen to one of them.  

Monsignor Smith

Contention

 

It is a standard joke among seminarians that someone have a devotion to Saint John Lateran.   “Lateran” is in fact a family name, but it belongs to the Basilica, not to Saint John.  The Saint John in question is The Baptist, son of Zechariah and Elizabeth.   The name “Lateran” originates with the family whose property was given to the Bishop of Rome by the Emperor in the fourth century.  What that Pope and his successors built on that property is a grand basilica that is the cathedral of the diocese, a spiffy ancient baptistery (8^th or 9^th century), and a residential and administrative palazzo.  There, the newly elected Pope Leo XIV was ceremoniously “seated” in the cathedra, or bishop’s throne, on May 25.  

After last weekend’s double-header of All Saints and All Souls (with the Halloween warm-up act), again our regularly scheduled Ordinary Sunday (the 32^nd) is displaced by a feast.  We mark the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica, celebrated universally throughout the Church as she is counted the “Mother of all churches”.   It is good to remember the importance of sacred places and that the buildings themselves serve a symbolic and sacramental purpose in addition to a practical one.

This detour might take our attention off the usual focus for these last weeks of the liturgical year, which we call the Four Last Things:  death, judgment, heaven, and hell.  We wrap up the year with the reminder that everything Our Lord Jesus has been trying to teach us all these weeks has not been How To Be A Good Person, but rather the very matter of life and death. 

That we have this reminder in November is helpful, as we might otherwise be distracted by other contests and lose sight of real battle.  The World Series is not the only sporting championship that is decided in November; there have been several others on our own back field.  The real on-field drama is our daily contest against sin, and consequently death.  Our opponent the devil, a roaring lion, prowls about the world seeking someone to devour.  (cf. 1 Peter 5:8) In that contest, there is no way to challenge the call if it go against us.

November is also our month for electoral contests, which have even more hype than sports and are invariably billed as the potential End of the World.  We who are near to the Lord realize that the End is in fact near, but it has nothing to do with who gets elected to any office and everything to do with our being elected to the flock that Christ the Good Shepherd has chosen.  In fact, we know that as far as this world goes, we are just passing through, because our true citizenship is elsewhere. (Php 3:20) 

But just like sports and election seasons, coming to the end can focus the mind wonderfully and draw forth extra effort and enormous drama.  November is the month where we open our eyes to the real drama of our salvation and realize that it’s not over ‘til it’s over.  Yes, the victory is already accomplished, but our effort is indispensable to securing a share of the sweet fruits of that victory.  I am not talking about a tickertape parade, much less four years of executive authority.  

So even as we have many examples before our eyes of the simple statement Game Over, we have a chance to focus on the big Game Over that comes for us all.  Yes, it’s dramatic language, but that’s because this is the authentic drama that requires our full attention.

Meanwhile, we have the opportunity to draw near to Him Who is the Victor over sin and death, and receive from Him grace, mercy, and peace that will endure to everlasting life.  He is to be found exactly where He promised he would be, at a sacred place near you, where this week we commemorate the dedication of a more distant sacred place, Saint John Lateran. 

Monsignor Smith

Chasing Novelty

 

Same old same old.

Before folks took to inquiring relentlessly, How are you? to open every encounter, the more casual What’s new? was more common.  The generic response Not much is both less revealing and likely more honest than the now-obligatory Fine.   But even though nobody asked, let me observe that quite a lot is new.  

In the first five months of this year, we here in the Church of Washington have received (in chronological order) a new Archbishop, a new President, and a new Pope.  For reasons not needing discussion here, the second of this trio has received the lion’s share of the attention and comment, yet there is good reason to believe that of the three he will have the least impact on us, both as a local population and as a local church.  

The greater curiosity here at the parish is the result of the near simultaneous change of the other two guiding lights in that threesome, the ecclesiastical persons rather than the national one.  Whereas this last one has demonstrably been going hammer and tongs at precisely what he announced he intended to do, the two churchmen have been rather less forthcoming, even coy, about the differences they intend to bring.  This nurtures an air of uncertainty in church matters, which matter quite a lot to people on this campus.

Our new Archbishop, Cardinal McElroy, in between trips to Rome to elect and install a Pope has been meeting with all the priests of the Archdiocese individually, and with lay representatives, three from each parish in five-parish groupings.  He may have been able to discern what the newly-elected successor to Saint Peter wants and does not want him to undertake.  He had a nasty deficit to address which required staff reductions and other unpleasant actions.  This means he does not have a lot of resources to spend on initiatives, but the time has come for whatever he intends to do.

That makes now the perfect time for an Archdiocesan Priests’ Convocation, when all of us get together for a double overnight at a conference center about two hours away and have meetings and meals and present ourselves to be addressed by the Archbishop and anybody else he chooses.  We have been doing this every other November since 2003, but our most recent one was just last year.  It remains to be seen whether this is just a return to the same (odd) years we were meeting before we skipped one for Covid, or the new pattern will be to have one every year.  To have one this year, though, is especially helpful because of all the newness.

All the parish priests of the Archdiocese are expected to attend, which makes it hard to staff all the weekday Masses on the regular schedule.  Ours is not among the parishes having difficulty finding coverage or even cancelling a Mass or two because our very own Fr. Marcin Wiktor will be covering all the Masses while Fr. Swink and I are away.  That is a huge help to us and to you, so this week if you find him here holding the fort, be sure to thank him.

Father Swink and I will be out of here and in the mix, glad to see our brother priests and paying attention to the signs of the times.  I don’t think any of us are expecting a big initiative, a significant change in practice, or sweeping requirements.  However, in the conversation about the basics of the life and health of the church, in the emphases and exhortations from the leaders, in the problems and difficulties acknowledged along with the remedies proposed, we will have a better idea what to expect in the coming years.  Not only listening to the words of Cardinal McElroy, we will also be attentive to every sign that might inform us what’s new. 

Monsignor Smith

Strange fun

The Strategic Candy Reserve is ready to be deployed.

Next weekend is going to be a strange one.  Strange means unusual and good in this case, an array of familiar things in unaccustomed places.

Every year I look forward to Halloween.  Anticipation starts in late August, when Mr. Dao, the fixer of all that is broken around here, begins to plan the acquisition of our Strategic Candy Reserve.  I recall the previous Halloween to ascertain whether its stockpile of sweets was sufficient – last year’s was not – and adjust our procurement accordingly.  That evaluation leads me to recall in slow-motion the rapid-fire barrage of silliness and delight that happens here as small, shrieking trick-or-treaters surge in near-ceaseless waves to the door of the rectory, subsiding into sporadic appearances of inarticulate adolescents too aware of their age to don costumes but still young enough to want candy.  It is a hoot and a half.

Halloween is a big secular holiday nowadays; whoever thought that there would be such a thing as Halloween lights?  We know it is rooted in the sacred worship of the Church.  The night for all this mayhem is set in anticipation of the next two days, in which holy people and holy prayer cast out any demons or devils, and even the fear of death itself.  That’s why they get this one evening to romp.  

Goblins romping to the rectory are advised to recall that because it is a Friday, Our Eucharistic Lord will be exposed for adoration in the church from 4:00 until 8:00 that evening.  They are welcome to stop in and offer a prayer if they want, costumes and all, thereby revealing their true identity as beloved children of the living God.  But whether they enter to pray or simply romp past the doors of the church, they should keep a respectful quiet.

That all occurs on Friday this year, because for the first time since 2014, the Solemnity of All Saints falls on a Saturday.  The bishops of our national conference do not wish to burden the faithful with excessive worship and have lifted the obligation to attend Mass that day.   Nonetheless, we will offer an extra Mass at eleven that day for anyone who does not find rejoicing in the Saints to be a burden.  The regular Saturday evening Mass will have prayers and readings proper to the solemnity, though most folks attending that will be fulfilling the obligation for Sunday.

Consequently Sunday is different, too, as the Commemoration of All Souls falls that day.  The Mass at eleven will be our annual parish Requiem, in which we remember by name those we have lost and buried over the previous year, with the prayers of the Mass set to marvelous music by Gabriel Fauré.  All our Sunday Masses will be Masses for the Dead, in which we fulfill our obligation to offer prayer and sacrifice for our dear departed – and maybe some not-so-dear, too, as it is salutary to pray for souls who have nobody willing or able to pray for them by name.  

There will be an extra hour in the weekend as well, as we fall back into Standard Time.  You may use the hour to rejoice in the Saints for the Solemnity on Saturday evening, to get more sleep overnight, or to pray for the Souls in Purgatory on Sunday, or even some combination of the three.  However you spend the extra hour – it’s really just been held for us in escrow since March – make certain to set all your clocks back when you go to bed Saturday, or else you’ll be early for Mass on Sunday.  We can’t have that, can we?

Sunday afternoon, after all is accomplished, the curtain of darkness will descend earlier than accustomed on this strange and wonderful weekend.  

Monsignor Smith