Worship and Social Responsibility

Worship and Social Responsibility by Joseph E. Mulligan, SJ “The liturgy is made for humankind, not humankind for the liturgy” -- Cardinal Montini (later Pope Paul VI) THE SABBATH AND LOVE OF NEIGHBOR Jesus and his disciples dramatically disobeyed the Law of Moses prohibiting work on the sabbath – at least, they did not conform to the Pharisees’ strict interpretation of the Old Testament Law. Jesus showed his freedom to love on the sabbath on various occasions in the gospels; for instance, in Luke alone, see 6:1-5; 6:6-11; 13:10-17; 14:1-6. Jesus supported his disciples when they were hungry and therefore, even though it was the sabbath (day of rest according to the Law), “plucked some heads of grain, rubbed them in their hands, and ate them.” In their defense Jesus cited what David did when he and his men were hungry: “he entered the house of God and took and ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not lawful for any but the priests to eat, and gave some to his companions.” The hunger felt by David and his companions gave them the right to eat even though they were not priests. Then Jesus asserted: “The Son of Man is lord of the sabbath” (6:1-5). In Mark’s version this verse is preceded by these words of Jesus: “The sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the sabbath” (2:27). The sabbath legislation, providing for a day of rest for all workers, had a clear humanitarian purpose based on social justice; it should not be twisted to prevent Jesus’ disciples from having their needed food. God’s compassion for his children does not allow the possibility that any religious law could prevent them from receiving what they truly need. The sabbath can be understood as representing religious institutions, laws, and customs in general; they are meant to serve the well-being of humanity. On Mk 2:27, W. Harrington comments: “Here, ‘sabbath’ is code for ‘religion,’ so the statement runs: ‘Religion is in the service of men and women; men and women are not slaves of religion.’ Wherever religion is burden, wherever it shows lack of respect for human freedom, it has become oppressor, not servant. Authentic religion must foster freedom.” Cardinal Montini (later Pope Paul VI) made a remarkable statement at the beginning of the discussion of the liturgical document at Vatican II: “The liturgy is made for humankind, not humankind for the liturgy.” Diekmann considered this phrase “tremendous in its implications.” He explained: “Surely Christ came on earth for greater glory of the Father but this was to be achieved through the redemption, through the transformation of humankind.” Good liturgy is able “to arouse the faith and devotion of the worshippers…. If the community’s faith is not stirred by the liturgy, if its devotion does not find expression in the liturgical act, how is God glorified?” “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10), said Jesus, contrasting his purpose with that of some previous religious leaders who, as “thieves and bandits” (v 8), came only to “steal and kill and destroy” (v 10). The episode we are contemplating, and Jesus’ work of healing which immediately follows, consisted of a prophetic nonviolent “action” and the interpretation of this action by Jesus. Did Jesus and the disciples know that the Pharisees were around, watching, when they entered the grainfields? Yes or no, they do not seem to have made any effort to stop or to hide what they were doing when they saw the Pharisees coming. Nonviolent resisters in our era have always performed “actions” in front of the noses of their opponents and then followed up with clear explanations of the meaning of the act. Undeterred by the Pharisees’ challenge to this kind of behavior, Jesus lost no time in performing another act of kindness to a human being in need – this time also in full view of his adversaries. On another sabbath Jesus healed a man with a withered hand as a demonstration of “doing good” and “saving life” (Lk 6:6-11) – an expression of love and a critique of official legalism which filled the scribes and Pharisees with fury and led them to discuss “what they might do to him.” The song, “Lord of the Dance,” captures this well: I danced on the sabbath and I cured the lame, The holy people said it was a shame, They ripped, they stripped, and they hung me high, They left me there on the Cross to die. According to Mark alone, just before the healing, Jesus “looked around at them with anger,” grieved at their hardness of heart (3:5). Thus anger itself is not sinful; in fact, it may be the appropriate and correct reaction to injustice and hard-heartedness. The question is how to use the energy of anger for constructive purposes. St. Paul counseled: “Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger” (Ephesians 4:26). Luke’s version alone mentions this detail: “Even though he knew what they were thinking,” he told the man to come to him. The drama is enhanced when Jesus told the man to “come and stand here”; Jesus could have done the healing in private, but he had an important point to make about freedom to love. Jesus asked the man to “stretch out your hand.” But stretching out his hand (either opening the fingers or putting the hand forward by extending his arm) was precisely what the man could not do because of the atrophy (loss of size and muscle) of the hand. Jesus is challenging him: go ahead, try it! The ill person must want to get healed and must make an effort. In doing what Jesus asked, the man is healed. Jesus’ response to the man in need is not just a private act of helping an individual but also a prophetic action challenging the legalistic system which prioritized the letter of the law over human compassion. When the hand was restored, “the scribes and the Pharisees were filled with fury and discussed with one another what they might do to Jesus” (Luke 6:11). Their seemingly extreme reaction shows how radical and disturbing was Jesus’ nonviolent but serious challenge to their doctrinal authority. In these instances, Jesus takes dramatic and risky action and draws out the lesson clearly but without ever threatening violence to his adversaries. Jesus asked: “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to destroy it?” (v 9) Is he suggesting that the Pharisees, even on a sabbath, were plotting to kill him and thus doing work on that day? Indeed, they immediately went out and in their fury discussed what to do to Jesus. His adversaries had already tried to kill him by hurling him from a cliff in Nazareth (4:29). According to the Law, violation of the sabbath rest required the death penalty (Exodus 31:15; Numbers 15:32-36). Many rabbis granted that work on the sabbath was permitted when it was absolutely urgent and necessary to save a life; Jesus is extending the circumstances to include “doing good” on the sabbath even when it is not a question of saving life, for not doing good is tantamount to doing harm. Doing good to one’s neighbor (“love your neighbor as yourself”), as exemplified in Jesus’ story about the Good Samaritan, along with loving God is the path to “eternal life” (Luke 10:25-28). According to Mark, Jesus told a scribe: “There is no other commandment greater than these” (12:31) – i.e., the twofold commandment of love. The Matthean Jesus sums up this teaching: “On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (22:40). Thus the prohibition of Sabbath work, which many saw as a way of loving God and which was indeed an expression of loving neighbor by guaranteeing a day of rest for all workers, must never be interpreted in such a legalistic way as to be an obstacle to loving the neighbor. In the Matthean account, Jesus put this case to the Pharisees: “Suppose one of you has only one sheep, and it falls into a pit on the sabbath; will you not lay hold of it and lift it out? How much more valuable is a human being than a sheep!” (vv 11-12). This understatement leads to the conclusion: “So it is lawful to do good on the sabbath.” THE EUCHARIST AND LOVE OF NEIGHBOR “Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me’ (Luke 22:19). Even in that hour of fear and anxiety, Jesus gave thanks for his life, his mission, and the friends who were sharing it with him. When we celebrate the Eucharist we must take a cue from Jesus, seeing the good as well as the bad in our life and in history, not focusing only or primarily on evil and pain but celebrating the whole picture and having hope that even a frightening present will turn into a new day. “This is my body, which is given for you.” He was giving his body to them, expressing the meaning of the next day’s gift of his body on the cross: that would also be an act of love for them and for all humanity. Jesus was giving his body and blood, his very life, to his Father and to his people, out of faithfulness to his liberating, prophetic mission. That Jesus saw his death as an act of love is clear from his words at the Last Supper according to the Gospel of John: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (15:13). J.C. Fenton entitles his commentary on this passage: “Jesus interprets his death to his disciples.” Paul underlined the connection between the words Jesus spoke over the elements of the meal and his imminent death: “As often as you eat this break and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor 11:26). Paul also emphasized the ethical implications of sharing the Lord’s Supper, criticizing the Corinthians for their lack of sharing in the meals associated with the Eucharist: “When you come together, it is not really to eat the Lord’s Supper. For … one goes hungry and another becomes drunk” (1 Cor 11:17-22, 33-34). Diekmann noted: “By eating with Christ we are united with his brothers and sisters, who in holy communion more truly become our brothers and sisters…. Scripture and all tradition emphatically state that if in receiving holy communion we do not deliberately and even painfully recognize Christ in our neighbor in this breaking or sharing of bread, if our sense of social justice is not thereby sharpened, then we eat and drink without discerning the body, we eat and drink judgment upon ourselves.” This essential purpose of communion – to help us to grow in love of others – is brought out nicely in the Prayer after Communion of the 22nd Week in Ordinary Time: “Renewed by this bread from the heavenly table, we beseech you, Lord, that, being the food of charity, it may confirm our hearts and stir us to serve you in our neighbor.” “Do this in remembrance of me.” Do this. Take my gesture and my words of self-offering and make them your own, remembering me as you do this and committing yourselves to put your words into practice in service, solidarity, and prophetic action as I have. Thus we are not only doing what Jesus did but also expressing our own love for others and our willingness to let our bodies be broken and our blood be shed if necessary for the kingdom of justice and peace. Archbishop Oscar Romero of San Salvador gave his body to be broken and shed his blood at the offertory of the Mass he was celebrating in the hospital where he lived. A few moments after he was killed by an assassin’s bullet, he would have pronounced the words of the Lord whom he had been following courageously. In John’s version of the Last Supper, the great act of self-giving by Jesus is his washing of the disciples’ feet. Afterwards he explained: “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you” (13:14-15). This goes beyond the ritual washing of the feet which we do on Holy Thursday. We should follow his example by doing acts of humble service like washing feet. Similarly, at the Last Supper, when he said “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19), he may have been inviting us to give our bodies, our blood, our very selves to the people and to God in faithful struggle for the kingdom of God. Nourishing them with his body, he would live in them. Diekmann brings this down to the nitty-gritty, suggesting that in our “thanksgiving” after communion we should “look around at least mentally at our neighbors and admit that they are our brothers and sisters and draw some practical conclusions…. Is it a fair application to ask that if there is no greater Christian courtesy in a car park after Mass, or at the breakfast table, then have we received communion really worthily?” ADDENDUM: Excerpts from Godfrey Diekmann, O.S.B., Personal Prayer and the Liturgy In 1967, when race riots were exploding in many American cities, President Johnson asked that a certain Sunday in early August be observed throughout the country as a day of prayer, a day for divine guidance as to possible ways of meeting this national emergency and also for self-examination (examination of conscience, in other words) as to one’s personal attitude to one’s neighbor. At the Abbey Church at St. John’s, Minnesota, that Sunday, there was a very large congregation of well over a thousand. Fr. Prior gave the homily. It was an excellent sermon, in the course of which he stated: “Do not any of us dare to join in saying ‘Our Father’ unless we are honestly determined to treat every human being as brother. Not one of us should dare to come up to receive holy communion unless he is generously ready to put himself out personally to overcome his own prejudices in principle and practice. Page 54. If the members of the community in this celebration fail to accept generously the command of love of neighbor as well as love of God, their eucharistic action is not true worship of God. Page 56. Our centuries-long record as a Church of the eucharist is one in which, to quote a recent headline, “We have allowed Christ on the altar to obstruct all too largely our practical response to Christ in the world.” There is an overall record of theocentricity to the neglect of a due anthropocentricity. Page 57. We must keep in mind that Christ comes not merely to be adored, so that we may say “Lord, Lord,” to him; he comes for a purpose, a dynamic purpose. He comes to fill us with his life and love, that we may be living Christs to others. He comes for our personal consolation too, but if we content ourselves with that we shall be like the three disciples on Mount Tabor. Peter, in the name of James and John, said, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; let us build three tabernacles….” Page 58. Christ’s body and blood are not a spiritual tranquilizer; they are a desperately needed food for work, for the hardest work in the world, for self-identification with Christ who gave himself for people, for the world. We grieve over the scandal of indifferent Catholics and by that we mean those who fail to fulfill their Sunday Mass obligation. Is it not, however, a far greater scandal, over which God and the angels grieve even more, that so many of those who do go regularly to Sunday Mass are Catholics who are indifferent about the fate of the family next door, about the problems of decent housing, racial justice, honest government, and so on? The eucharist is dynamite, and so far we have largely failed even to find the fuse. The simple fact is that we Catholics, who boast about having a true priesthood and valid eucharist, are not head and shoulders above all others in passionate concern for justice, peace and love of neighbor. Crist said, “By this shall all people know that you are my disciples, that you have love for one another.” This means that we have failed the eucharist, failed Christ; all our singing and praying together, moving the altar about and all the rest that is associated with liturgical renewal is so much tinkling brass, is a waste of time, is objectively hypocrisy if it does not add progressively to a greater charity of neighbor, to an openness to the needs of the world. Page 59. We worry about our young people who are willing to join the Peace Corps but are bored by Sunday Mass. We ourselves have been accustomed to associate God with church buildings, with candles and incense, with chrism and water, with crucifixes and images, and nobody would criticize this, of course. But is it really less Christian on the part of many of our young people that they rather recognize God in their black brother, in the poor and suffering, in the destitute of India? Perhaps God himself is, as it were, stepping out of the images and is again revealing himself to us in the traveller fallen by the wayside. Perhaps he is again saying “Here I am, whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me.” Page 60. As a recent author has stated, “If prayer does not affect our relations to others, it is not true prayer, but simply preoccupation with a God of one’s own making.” When we very legitimately seek a quiet corner or go to the church to visit the blessed sacrament or for quiet prayer in order to be intimately alone with God, we should also be aware that this is the lesser side of our prayer obligation, for we are withdrawing then into a world apart, whereas the real world in which God has placed us is the world of our family, of our neighborhood, our business activities, of our country with its problems of human misery, of the entire world with its hopes and fears and pains and joys. This is the world with which Christ wishes to put us into conscious and loving contact when he allows us to be united to him in that sacrificial act of love we call the Mass. “Not everyone who says to me ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter into the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven,” and that will of the Father is that all people be saved, that “Thy kingdom come.” Of course, the temporary withdrawal too is not only legitimate but necessary, something which makes it more readily possible for us to face the challenging prayer-demands of the Mass. Even Christ withdrew to a mountain top where he spent the whole night in prayer before choosing his apostles. This quiet personal prayer, this communing with God, clears our vision, helps us to see more clearly what is the will of God in regard to ourselves but also, necessarily, our neighbor and the world. In sum, the Mass is of its very nature mission. I think it would be an excellent and very desirable reform if the final dismissal after Mass were to exhort us explicitly to go and bring Christ into daily life – “Go and recognize Christ in your daily work and personal encounters; go and grow in love.” Pages 61-62. One of the most felicitous and inspiring recent messages of Pope Paul VI was when he set the record straight in regard to an axiom which had long been applied in a dichotomous sense as a cloak for escapism. He reminded us that the Church is in the world, and although she is not of the world -- and this is where he adds the wonderful phrase -- she is for the world, and this means first of all for people. Pages 62-63.

A Visitor's Impressions of the Liturgy

A VISITOR’S IMPRESSIONS OF THE LITURGY
By
Joseph E. Mulligan, SJ

December, 2013

            During a visit last year in the U.S., I celebrated Mass at a number of parishes – first having familiarized myself with the new translations. After returning to Nicaragua, where I have been working with Christian Base Communities since 1986, I reflected on my experience in my native country and tried to sort out some impressions.

            This essay is offered as an expression of what the great moral theologian, Bernard Haring, called “the virtue of loving criticism” – i.e., constructive and respectful criticism. It is also presented with full recognition of my very limited experience of the Church in the States.

Pope Francis seems to have an approach to liturgy which is profoundly pastoral and human, ready to adapt to circumstances, and not preoccupied with the letter of the rubrical law.

Indeed, in his Apostolic Exhortation, “The Joy of the Gospel,” he noted that “in some people we see an ostentatious preoccupation for the liturgy, for doctrine and for the Church’s prestige, but without any concern that the Gospel have a real impact on God’s faithful people and the concrete needs of the present time. In this way, the life of the Church turns into a museum piece or something which is the property of a select few” (#95).

            I hope that on my next visit to the U.S., the liturgical spirit of Vatican II will once again be at the heart of our celebrations.

            I am inspired by one of the four formulas for the dismissal at the end of Mass: “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.” It is not apparent why this is superior to the former, “The Mass is ended, let us go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” But it does make an important point: that we love and “glorify” God by our daily actions. This echoes Jesus’ words at the Last Supper: “I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do” (Jn 17:4). Living in and working with Christ is the fruit of all liturgical and other religious activity.

Holiness by vocabulary?

            However, the very fact of revising and promulgating the translation, with all its preparation and attention to detail, may lead many to conclude that the painstaking implementation of these changes is more important than the incarnation of gospel values in our lives. Are the differences in translation so significant that they have warranted such effort by bishops, priests, and laity? If some of the new wording is closer to the Latin (even though awkward in English), does that help people to raise their hearts and minds to God and really feel what they are saying? (Let us recall that the Last Supper was celebrated in Aramaic and the early Eucharists commonly in Greek.)        

According to Vatican II’s Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy: “The rites should be distinguished by a noble simplicity; they should be short, clear, and unencumbered by useless repetitions; they should be within the people's powers of comprehension, and normally should not require much explanation” (#34). That Jesus as the Son is “one in Being with the Father” is a mystery which is part of our faith; is it any clearer or more within our powers of comprehension to say that Jesus is “consubstantial” with the Father? If we want to attract young people and keep parishes alive in inner-city areas, why would we make it more difficult for people to understand the prayers?

            But my main point is not that we should lead the charge against “and with your spirit” or come up with something (anything) more graceful and expressive than “dewfall.” In Spanish we have always said “y con tu espiritu.” No big deal. Rather, I am wondering whether the insistence on such details gives the impression that we are being more obedient Christians and better worshippers than we were in the past.

Holiness as strict observance of rubrical detail?

            A similar impression has to do with the inordinate attention being paid in some parishes to purifying chalices and altar linens and other such details. In one sacristy I spent a considerable amount of time between Masses reading the detailed instructions on how to clean the linens in a special basin. This gets dangerously close to the practices denounced by Jesus himself: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and of the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup, so that the outside also may become clean” (Matthew 23:25-26).

            All of us, priests and laity alike, are subject to the pharisaic temptation of thinking that laborious attention to legalistic minutiae is a more authentic sign of Christian holiness than the practical following of Jesus in everyday life. Would we not be truer disciples if we spent more time and energy reading, meditating upon, and discussing the gospel rather than legislating exactly how the purificators are to be purified? Would we then have to confront, in ourselves, the greed and narcissism (“self-indulgence”) of our culture?

            In Mark’s version of Jesus’ dialogue with the scribe about the greatest commandment, after agreeing that it is the double mandate to love God and to love one’s neighbor as oneself, the scribe compares such love to certain temple practices: “this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices” (12:33).

            The gospel is indeed a call to perfection, but not in the sense of a perfect performance of a ritual; rather, we are called to love and forgive one another as God loves us. “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Mt 5:48).

Vatican II’s passion

            The passion of Vatican II was for a liturgy which would sanctify people, helping us to live out our faith and to be “one in holiness”: “the renewal in the Eucharist of the covenant between the Lord and man draws the faithful into the compelling love of Christ and sets them on fire (#10).” The goal of the Eucharist is not attained merely by a “correct” celebration nor by a “beautiful Mass”; rather, the Eucharist, like all the sacraments, is to bear fruit beyond itself in “the sanctification of men in Christ and the glorification of God, to which all other activities of the Church are directed as toward their end.” Liturgy exists for the good of people, not people for liturgy.

The person fully alive is the glory of God. Do most liturgies today set us “on fire,” or do they cast a pall over the congregation? Do they help us to grow in our intimate knowledge of Jesus, in our love for him, and in our commitment to follow him in daily life? Do they really bear the intended fruit: union in and with Christ?

Those of us who are pastors or presiders would do well to reflect on our duty according to Vatican II:  “Pastors of souls must therefore realize that, when the liturgy is celebrated, something more is required than the mere observation of the laws governing valid and licit celebration; it is their duty also to ensure that the faithful take part fully aware of what they are doing, actively engaged in the rite, and enriched by its effects” (#11).

            In a section entitled “The Promotion of Liturgical Instruction and Active Participation,” the Constitution gives voice to its other passion: its “earnest desire” that “all the faithful should be led to that fully conscious and active participation in liturgical celebrations which is demanded by the very nature of the liturgy. Such participation by the Christian people as ‘a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a redeemed people’ (1 Pet. 2:9; cf. 2:4-5) is their right and duty by reason of their baptism.

            “In the restoration and promotion of the sacred liturgy, this full and active participation by all the people is the aim to be considered before all else; for it is the primary and indispensable source from which the faithful are to derive the true Christian spirit; and therefore pastors of souls must zealously strive to achieve it, by means of the necessary instruction, in all their pastoral work” (#14).

            Later this document underlines the priesthood of all the faithful: “The Church, therefore, earnestly desires that Christ's faithful, when present at this mystery of faith, should not be there as strangers or silent spectators; on the contrary, through a good understanding of the rites and prayers they should take part in the sacred action conscious of what they are doing, with devotion and full collaboration. They should be instructed by God's word and be nourished at the table of the Lord's body; they should give thanks to God; by offering the Immaculate Victim, not only through the hands of the priest, but also with him, they should learn also to offer themselves…. (#48, italics mine).

The message of Redemptionis Sacramentum

            In recent years the Church has focused on the unique function of the priest rather than on the people’s offering “with him.” While the faithful have their own functions, the priest is urged not to “cede to them in any way those things that are proper to his own office” (Redemptionis Sacramentum --On certain matters to be observed or to be avoided regarding the Most Holy Eucharist, #32, an “instruction” issued by the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacrament, 2004).   Lay ministers of communion are grudgingly allowed to continue their role, but only when there are not enough priests or deacons on hand.

            In some places there is a return to an undue emphasis on priestly roles and status and on the “apartness” of the priest, as if that old notion of sanctity were still valid. In one parish twelve ministers of communion came forward but did not ascend even the first step of the sanctuary; the celebrant had to make six trips to them with chalice and paten in hand.

The passion of Redemptionis Sacramentum is to defend and indeed exalt the unique role of the ordained priest, whereas the passion of Vatican II was that the liturgy should nourish the   transformation of persons and promote their full and conscious participation. Is the 2004 document being studied with more reverence and care in today’s seminaries than Vatican II’s Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy? It should go without saying that the latter document remains the font of our liturgical piety and practice.

The tone of the 2004 instruction is negative and punitive; the word abuse is used thirty-two times in reference to liturgical transgressions. In one paragraph (#11) the “perpetration” of grave liturgical abuses is vigorously denounced. Could such language give some the impression that such abuses are as serious as others perpetrated in the contemporary Church? With the pulverization of priestly pedestals in the last few decades, are we now trying to enthrone the priest on cultic pedestals, as if solely by ordination he is a more faithful disciple of Jesus?

In his letter to the Romans Paul removed slavish fear from the disciple’s heart: “You did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear [emphasis mine], but you have received a spirit of adoption” (8:15). As “children” and “heirs” of God and “joint heirs with Christ,” we confidently call to God as “Abba, Father.”

If all baptized Christians have such freedom and dignity as full members of the church, and if they are not slaves even of God, then why should they be treated as (or at least appear to be) slaves of priests?  Every Christian has the right, as a “joint heir with Christ” and full-fledged child of God, to feel perfectly at home in church, respecting priests and other members but not intimidated by anyone.

The reader may be wondering where I have been since the 2004 issuance of Redemptionis Sacramentum. Am I just now noticing its life-draining effects on both priests and people? In the barrios and remote settlements in the mountains of Latin America, it is not possible to carry out all the detailed prescriptions of the document. On mule or horseback or slipping and sliding through the mud, we cannot carry a full wardrobe of priestly vestments; we try to keep our alb and stole clean and our hosts dry. Nor can we bring along a complete set of liturgical vessels, especially of the heavier metallic variety; we make do with lighter and more portable but still beautiful ones.

Our “Church of the poor” cannot afford to buy an elegant sacrarium for the painstaking washings of the linens; appointed members of the community wash the cloths carefully and with reverence whenever there is running water available. Where people living on $1 a day are struggling for daily survival, we stick to the essentials of the gospel as “good news to the poor” and as Jesus’ call to form true and loving communities; and we want our liturgies to be joyful celebrations which energize and strengthen the people.

St. Paul:  “The freedom we have in Christ Jesus”

I sense that an infantile fear – of God, of the bishop, of the priest, of the “liturgical police” lurking in the pews – rather than a mature reverence for God and for the sacramental presence of Christ is being inculcated by the liturgical style of many parishes. Indeed, our Protestant brothers and sisters could well draw the conclusion that we are regressing to that “works righteousness” which St. Paul cautioned against.

That is, fearing God’s punishment, we seek to justify ourselves and find salvation in our meticulous observance of the religious (in this case, liturgical) law, instead of trusting in God for forgiveness, receiving God’s mercy as grace (pure gift), and then getting on with the business of loving God and neighbor as best we can with the help of the Spirit.

The focus on cultic detail almost calls to mind St. Paul’s words of exasperation about the Galatians’ regression to the letter of the law: “I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you in the grace of Christ…” (Gal 1:6). The people were succumbing to pressure from the religious police within the community; Paul characterizes these as “false believers secretly brought in, who slipped in to spy on the freedom we have in Christ Jesus, so that they might enslave us” (2:4).

The Eucharist as solidarity

With all our attention being paid to rubrical correctness (which is not the same as liturgical effectiveness), we would do well to remind ourselves of Paul’s criterion for the validity of a Eucharistic celebration: that the related meal, the agape, be an expression of sharing between the rich and the poor and not an occasion for conspicuous consumption by the haves. “When you come together, it is not really to eat the Lord’s supper. For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk” (1 Cor 11:20-21). Those who thus “humiliate those who have nothing” show “contempt for the church of God” (v 22).

In his encyclical Ecclesia de Eucharistia (#20), John Paul II cited Paul’s critique and then, in a footnote, the graphic words of St. John Chrysostom: “Do you wish to honor the body of Christ? Do not ignore him when he is naked. Do not pay him homage in the temple clad in silk, only then to neglect him outside where he is cold and ill-clad.

“He who said: 'This is my body' is the same who said: 'You saw me hungry and you gave me no food', and 'Whatever you did to the least of my brothers you did also to me' ... What good is it if the Eucharistic table is overloaded with golden chalices when your brother is dying of hunger. Start by satisfying his hunger and then with what is left you may adorn the altar as well” (In Evangelium S. Matthaei, hom. 50:3-4).

John Paul II continued: “All who take part in the Eucharist” must “be committed to changing their lives” and “to transforming the world in accordance with the Gospel.” Christians should “feel more obliged than ever not to neglect their duties as citizens in this world. Theirs is the task of contributing with the light of the Gospel to the building of a more human world, a world fully in harmony with God's plan. Many problems darken the horizon of our time.” The pope pointed to the need to work for peace and justice and to defend life.   

Observer-participants from South America

After conducting a series of workshops in various U.S. parishes, two Brazilian pastoral theologians recently reported that “the majority of the people did not know what a Council is and knew nothing of Vatican II.”  Fr. José Marins and Sister Teolide Trevisan, advisers to Christian Base Communities throughout the hemisphere, also observed that the pastoral focus of many parishes is “clerical and intra-ecclesial, with great attention paid to sacraments and devotions.”

Recent years have seen a “constant preoccupation with the liturgy, not in the sense of the paschal mystery but rather in regard to rules concerning sacraments and sacramentals. A great deal of time, money, and energy have been concentrated on the new English missal. Some priests are studying Latin and celebrating Mass with their backs to the people. Some priests and bishops seem convinced in their hearts and sometimes state that Vatican II is responsible for the crises in the Church.”

After a workshop with over 180 young adults, the teachers noted that they have been taught to focus more on intra-church activities and ministries than on work for justice in the world. “The adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, which needless to say is of great value, is more attractive to many than participation in a group which would seek to analyze the social reality and to discern appropriate responses…. A commitment to transform the world [which the 1971 Synod of Bishops identified as an essential element of evangelization] appears to some as ‘meddling in politics.’”

I have raised a question in some Latin American communities which could certainly be asked also in the U.S. and elsewhere: “Is it possible to err by spending too much time in church or in religious practices such as processions?” Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament is, for some, a meaningful and sincere expression of their love for Christ; but are we also loving and serving Christ where he himself said he would be – in the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, the homeless (Mt 25:31-40)? In addition to adoring Jesus in the host, do we contemplate his life, love, and teachings as found in the gospels and then work as “other Christs” in the world?

Let us conclude with a question: Do we leave the Eucharistic celebration feeling that we have seriously renewed our commitment to “glorify the Lord” by our lives, as we now say, and that we can count on Jesus as the Bread of Life and on his Spirit of Love to enable us to do so? Are we more dynamically united with Christ as members of his Body, with new food and energy to be his ambassadors in love, service, and prophetic criticism of the world?

                                                END

The author, a Jesuit from Detroit, works in Nicaragua with Christian Base Communities and with people with disabilities (special abilities).

Does the Pope Love the Rich?

Does the Pope Love the Rich?
By
Joseph E. Mulligan, S.J.

   While rejoicing over Pope Francis’ clear and constant emphasis on the Church’s “preferential option for the poor,” presented movingly in his Apostolic Exhortation Joy of the Gospel, some of us who have been trying to make that option for decades may be a bit troubled when we wonder how this message is coming across to our friends and relatives who are clearly not “poor” in any material sense of the word. Whether they consider themselves upper-middle or upper-upper class, they may be feeling left out of the pope’s circle of concern, as if he is excluding them from his pastoral outreach.

   Jesus’ wealthy contemporaries may have had similar doubts about his love for them. However, in reality he wanted their hearts to be filled with love and their lives filled with meaning. But in order for the rich to experience this gift, they had to empty themselves of superfluous possessions and wealth, getting free of those inordinate attachments which enslave us.

   Jesus invited people to come to him with little baggage: “sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me” (Luke 18:22). Joining his community of disciples, they would share resources equally and satisfactorily for all.

   That he really loved the rich is stated explicitly in Mark’s version of Jesus’ encounter with the rich man: “Jesus, looking at him, loved him” (Mark 10:21); he then invited the rich man to sell his possessions, give the money to the poor, and join Jesus’ community of sharing.

   Similarly, Pope Francis’ love for the rich moves him to invite them to a more just way of life which includes a more authentic kind of fulfillment: “The great danger in today’s world, pervaded as it is by consumerism, is the desolation and anguish born of a complacent yet covetous heart, the feverish pursuit of frivolous pleasures, and a blunted conscience. Whenever our interior life becomes caught up in its own interests and concerns, there is no longer room for others, no place for the poor. God’s voice is no longer heard, the quiet joy of his love is no longer felt, and the desire to do good fades. This is a very real danger for believers too” (Joy of the Gospel, 2).

   Francis empathizes with the inner anguish and pain of the comfortable, a malaise born of a covetous heart with its concomitant feverish lust for superficial pleasures.

   The pope’s invitation knows no class boundaries: “I invite all Christians, everywhere, at this very moment, to a renewed personal encounter with Jesus Christ, or at least an openness to letting him encounter them; I ask all of you to do this unfailingly each day. No one should think that this invitation is not meant for him or her….” (3). This personal encounter will be the seed of real conversion to Jesus, and the renewed Christian will then see how to live in greater harmony with the gospel way of life.

   Thanks to this encounter, “we are liberated from our narrowness and self-absorption” as we “let God bring us beyond ourselves in order to attain the fullest truth of our being” (8).  No person is a self-absorbed island; when we try to live as one, the loneliness hurts, no matter how much luxury and wealth we have on our island. “If we wish to lead a dignified and fulfilling life, we have to reach out to others and seek their good” (9).

   The pope affirms clearly that the Church must “go forth to everyone without exception.” He then adds: “But to whom should she go first? When we read the Gospel we find a clear indication: not so much our friends and wealthy neighbours, but above all the poor and the sick, those who are usually despised and overlooked, “those who cannot repay you” (Luke 14:14).

   “There can be no room for doubt or for explanations which weaken so clear a message.” Quoting his predecessor, Francis notes that today and always “the poor are the privileged recipients of the Gospel.” Francis explains: “the fact that it is freely preached to them is a sign of the kingdom that Jesus came to establish. We have to state, without mincing words, that there is an inseparable bond between our faith and the poor. May we never abandon them” (48).

   We begin to notice something different in Francis’ proclamation of the option for the poor. The current pope, probably because of his personal knowledge of poverty as a Latin American, speaks powerfully from the heart in solidarity with the poor; service to the needy and the struggle for justice are gut issues with him. Thus he gives them a major, privileged place in his teaching. “I want a Church which is poor and for the poor” (198).

   Putting action for justice at the center of evangelization should not be surprising, since we follow the Lord who said that he had come “to proclaim good news to the poor, freedom to captives” (Luke 4: 18) and that he would be found and loved in the hungry, thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, and the prisoner (Matthew 25: 35-36). Indeed, our eternal life with Christ depends on our “option” for these needy ones. Francis comments: “God’s word teaches that our brothers and sisters are the prolongation of the incarnation for each of us: ‘As you did it to one of these, the least of my brethren, you did it to me’” (Matthew 25:40) (179).

   Where does this leave most of us, who are comfortable if not filthy rich? Simply, we are called to join the Church’s commitment to share substantively with the victims of society and to collaborate fully with social and political struggles to change the unjust structures of society. “Each individual Christian and every community is called to be an instrument of God for the liberation and promotion of the poor, and for enabling them to be fully a part of society” (187).

   But how can we love the suffering members of Christ’s Body if we don’t even know them up close?  If we never look beyond the expressway canyons or the gates (virtual or real) of our suburbs, we will never see those 25% of U.S. children living in poverty, or the homeless, or the elderly abandoned.  To know them as real individuals is the first step to becoming friends with them. We owe it to ourselves as intelligent beings to take the blinders off and to really understand reality.

   The bishop of Rome cautions us against falling into the temptation “to be that kind of Christian who keeps the Lord’s wounds at arm’s length. Yet Jesus wants us to touch human misery, to touch the suffering flesh of others. He hopes that we will stop looking for those personal or communal niches which shelter us from the maelstrom of human misfortune and instead enter into the reality of other people’s lives and know the power of tenderness. Whenever we do so, our lives become wonderfully complicated and we experience intensely what it is to be a people, to be part of a people” (270).

   This transformation is truly for our own good: “We do not live better when we flee, hide, refuse to share, stop giving and lock ourselves up in own comforts” (272). Rather, “we achieve fulfilment when we break down walls and our heart is filled with faces and names!” (274)

   In a section entitled “Some Challenges of Today’s World,” the pope gives a penetrating analysis of the unjust economic system in which we live. While recognizing some modern advances, he reminds us “that the majority of our contemporaries are barely living from day to day, with dire consequences” (52). This is due to economic structures: “just as the commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’ sets a clear limit in order to safeguard the value of human life, today we also have to say ‘thou shalt not’ to an economy of exclusion and inequality. Such an economy kills” (53). Here we get a sense of the broad range of “right to life” issues which are the burning pastoral passion of this pope.

    “Human beings are themselves considered consumer goods to be used and then discarded.” The danger of being used and then thrown away is a life-and-death matter for millions of poor people; but it can also cause deep anxiety and self-doubt in professionals and business managers who are anything less than the owner of the company, especially as they advance through mid-life.

   After denying “trickle-down theories which assume that economic growth, encouraged by a free market, will inevitably succeed in bringing about greater justice and inclusiveness in the world (54),” Francis then focuses on the spiritual sickness of those who are caught up in this system: “To sustain a lifestyle which excludes others, or to sustain enthusiasm for that selfish ideal, a globalization of indifference has developed.     Almost without being aware of it, we end up being incapable of feeling compassion at the outcry of the poor, weeping for other people’s pain, and feeling a need to help them, as though all this were someone else’s responsibility and not our own. The culture of prosperity deadens us; we are thrilled if the market offers us something new to purchase.”

   Think of the frenzied excitement which accompanies each unveiling of a new phone, pad, or tablet. “In the meantime all those lives stunted for lack of opportunity seem a mere spectacle; they fail to move us.” Isn’t this incapacity for empathy, this childish self-absorption, this impotence to love, a real deprivation of the human spirit?

   Money has “dominion over ourselves and our societies,” while “the primacy of the human person” is denied. Our economy lacks “a truly human purpose” (55). The rich who are dominated by the idolatry of money are in just as much need of liberation as those who are materially deprived and exploited by that idol.

Those who feel they are prospering within this system are closing their eyes to the destructive forces driven by the lust for profit – harmful forces which threaten the rich and their heirs as well as everyone else. “The thirst for power and possessions knows no limits. In this system, which tends to devour everything which stands in the way of increased profits, whatever is fragile, like the environment, is defenseless before the interests of a deified market, which become the only rule” (56).

   So, does this pope love the rich? “The Pope loves everyone, rich and poor alike, but he is obliged in the name of Christ to remind all that the rich must help, respect and promote the poor. I exhort you to generous solidarity and to the return of economics and finance to an ethical approach which favours human beings” (58).

   Francis offers the rich true happiness, which comes as a side effect when we break out of the shell of self-absorption, get into close contact with the vast majority of humankind, let our hearts be broken by their pain, fall in love with them, commit ourselves to reach out to them as members of our community, and struggle to change the unjust structures which cause their suffering. This is the Cross of true love, and self-transcending love is the Christian secret to a meaningful and joyful life.

   Neither the pope nor (I think) Jesus expects us to undergo a total transformation overnight. But as we come to know Jesus in the gospels and hear his call, we are converted progressively. Francis asks us to take that important first step which shows our sincerity in wanting to follow Jesus: “Let us try a little harder to take the first step and to become involved” (24).

   Francis urges us to read the bible, “in the presence of God,” asking: “Lord, what does this text say to me? What is it about my life that you want to change by this text?”  This good shepherd shows his pastoral love for all, rich and poor, by acknowledging the chains which bind all of us and by calmly counseling us to open ourselves gradually to the prompting of the Spirit: God “always invites us to take a step forward, but does not demand a full response if we are not yet ready. He simply asks that we sincerely look at our life and present ourselves honestly before him, and that we be willing to continue to grow, asking from him what we ourselves cannot as yet achieve” (153).

   A Christian’s family responsibilities may not permit him/her to take literally Jesus’ counsel to “sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor” (Luke 18:22); but perhaps the family could reduce its unnecessary consumption in order to be able to share more money or food with those in need (tithing?), or it could open a spare room to a person who has fallen into homelessness, or members could devote time to helping at a Catholic Worker or other soup kitchen.

   At the same time, they might consider joining or starting a Peace and Justice Committee in their parish, or working for the most socially-conscious candidate in the next election, or visiting prisoners and demanding respect for their human rights.

   Once we come to know real people in any of these situations, we will see that they are human beings “just like us” and we will be moved to work in solidarity with them either through service projects or efforts for social change. We will not only be “willing to continue to grow,” as the pope said, but we will be powerfully moved to do so.

   Francis later returned to his explanation of how he loves the well-off: “If anyone feels offended by my words, I would respond that I speak them with affection and with the best of intentions, quite apart from any personal interest or political ideology. My words are not those of a foe or an opponent. I am interested only in helping those who are in thrall to an individualistic, indifferent and self-centred mentality to be freed from those unworthy chains and to attain a way of living and thinking which is more humane, noble and fruitful, and which will bring dignity to their presence on this earth” (208).

                                                                        END

The author, a Jesuit from Detroit, works with Christian Base Communities and with people with disabilities in Nicaragua.

PS   In 2004 I jotted down some musings about the new pope who might succeed the ailing John Paul II. These flights of fancy were included in a 2008 article on a Village Voice blog:

Dreaming About the Pope: Reflections on Benedict XVI's Visit to New York

By Michael Clancy Wed., Apr. 30 2008 

http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/2008/04/dreaming_of_the.php