Catholic

Jan022015

Challenge

young lady

It is good to be spiritually challenged.  To have everything about my approach to God put into question.  My humility smacked in the face, the core of my prayer life called arrogant.  Not a moment of rest for the weary for within that moment of rest, idleness creeps in whispering words of pride, seducing with thoughts of being a holy man.  My tongue is a wicked thing seeking to inflict venom upon those I care for.  It must be mastered.  Never for a moment relax the need to put myself into check.  Watch the pride, protect the soul from the self-consciousness, envy and ambition of the ego.  Today during mass, I found it beneficial to have a young lady denouncing me with her loud knowledgeable voice,  She sensed something about me that disturbed her, so she let me know through tone and inflection her seriousness of faith.  I appreciated her authenticity, humbled by her youthful effort to take her faith so intensely.  If only the Church possessed many more powerfully youthful souls.  In unification, we come together as one voice, individually opening our hearts, while harmonizing, blending, surrendering together, yet this young voice righteously rang out.  During the offering of peace, the extending of salutations, we met eyes, myself bowing before her intelligence.  She quieted her tone, touched by my submission, the sincere tilt of my head, the naturally blossoming smile.  Absorbing the Eucharist, I felt proper in the pleasure of an abrasive mind so close.  I felt proud God comprehended the need to place the young lady behind me.

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Jan012015

An earlier Christmas

I decided to post writing from years gone by, many years previous.  I always liked the short Christmas novella I extracted this piece from.  The contemplative rambling, never intruding upon the characters, giving them their space, while allowing insight into the human condition, the yearning for something greater within the midst of turmoil and love, within families and brokenness.  I hope this provides meaning, not uselessly self-indulgent.

As it was in the beginning, it is now and forever shall be, world without end. Amen.

Worshippers

Eulogizing during the Christmas midnight mass at the Holy Rosary Cathedral, a Catholic bishop spoke of the importance of spreading, embodying the love displayed by Our Heavenly Father through his divine Son, our Savior. The ecclesiastic used words to demonstrate the possibility of every man and woman being a gift to those they encounter. The act simply requiring love and unselfishness. It did not take heroic deeds, immense Biblical knowledge, or incredible mortification, to follow the lead of Christ. The Cathedral was filled for the Christmas mass, many attending were forced to stand. The Wheaton family were among the gathered.

Becky and Sam sat oblivious to the message of the priest, overwhelmed by the suicide of their son Gary. Becky sat next to Cassie whom she was now dependent upon, holding the sleeping infant Jerome. Sam sat next to his wife and stared forward, detached, unable to look within or without. Tim sat next to Roy and both were comforted by the presence of his brother. The current Christmas Eve possessed a dark tone for the Wheatons.

The previous night the Wheaton brothers went to Gary’s apartment. The brothers searched for a motive behind their youngest brother’s suicide but could not find one. A suicide note was not left. There was an empty bottle of Kentucky bourbon next to the bed. It appeared Gary was quite drunk at the time of the shooting. The fatal act seemed to be a spontaneous endeavor. Abysmally unclean, the grave bedroom stank of dirty socks and sweat. Unkempt for months, now blood soiled the wall, bed and carpet, unholiness culminating in critical grotesqueness. The accumulation of things: clothes, empty cans of beer, discarded liquor bottles, pizza boxes, pornographic magazines, videotapes, and random uncared for items were carelessly strewn about. Chaos ruled the bedroom.

Exhausted and emotionally spent, Roy and Tim spent the night on Gary’s living room floor talking of childhood and life. Rising early, determined, they cleansed their brother’s apartment. Together they emptied the bedroom, convinced it was the first thing that should be done. Roy and Tim removed all the junk, piling everything into garbage bags, inspecting nothing, loading the accumulation into Gary’s abandoned truck. The brothers moved the furniture into the living room, feeling gratified when the bedroom, the scene of the crime, was completely emptied.

Roy was surprised by the contrast of the neatness and orderliness of Gary’s living room, compared with the sloppiness of his bedroom. Tim informed him that Gary hired the next door neighbor, the one who called the police after hearing the shot, to clean his apartment. He established the arraignment with the woman, Sarah, after he hired her to install a two hundred gallon saltwater fish tank in his apartment. Sarah owned and operated a tropical fish store and was happy to serve. Once the tank was installed, she offered to take care of it since Gary spent so much time on the road.

Eventually, Sarah began cleaning Gary’s living room and kitchen, cooking him food, leaving the food in his refrigerator. Sarah was severely obese and found comfort in Gary’s friendship for she had few friends. She loved keeping his living space clean and cooking for him. Gary’s bedroom was off limits. He firmly established the boundary, physically as well as ideologically. He secured the bedroom with a padlock whenever he went on the road. He tolerated Sarah since he enjoyed the fish tank and he did like her as a friend, however he sensed her marital intentions. The idea of settling down with such a fat woman disgusted him, even though he was on the heavyset side himself.

The morning after the suicide, Sarah heard people in Gary’s apartment and decided to investigate. Tim was familiar with Sarah and was happy to see her. Moments earlier he began to worry about Roy. Roy became hysterically obsessed cleaning a bloodstain from the bedroom carpet. He had also taken care of Gary’s bedding which contained the gory remains the rescue squad did not remove. Tim could not stomach to even watch Roy handle the bloody blankets. While attempting to remove the bloodstain from the carpet, Roy lost it. Scrubbing as a madman, sweat dripping from his brow, he rigorously tried to erase the blood stain for a lengthy period of time.

Tim halted Roy’s maniacal efforts in order to introduce Sarah, not surprised to see tears in his brother’s eyes as he looked up. Seeing the look upon Roy’s face, Sarah began to cry. She told the brothers how awful she felt, explaining that as soon as she heard the gunshot she knew Gary shot himself. She felt it in the blast. She blamed herself for not doing more. Roy placed his arm around Sarah, guiding her into Gary’s living room. The three adults seated themselves on Gary’s couch, witnessing the colorful tropical fish tank. Roy determined he wanted the fish tank to be a part of his home in Illinois. It was beautiful.

Losing the flow of the bishop’s words during the Christmas mass, Roy observed the bookmarker positioned within the prayer book his mother gave him to hold in order for her to take the sleeping Jerome from Cassie. Roy held the bookmarker before him, observing the image of Jesus Christ as a grown man, standing resurrected in a white gown with his left foot slightly forward, appearing as if he were about to move toward the observer.

Gracefully, Jesus held his left hand to his chest, his long index and middle fingers tenderly touching his heart. Extending from Jesus’ heart were two rays of colored light, one red and the other blue. Roy felt comfort from the rays, wondering about their significance, recalling the blood and water rushing from Jesus’ side during his crucifix piercing. He observed the right hand of Jesus which extended outward, palm slightly forward, fingers pointed above in a majestic gesture of blessing. A halo of light encircled Jesus’ smiling face. Roy read below the image the message in all capital letters, ‘JESUS I TRUST IN YOU’, followed by, ‘O Blood and Water, which gushed forth from the Heart of Jesus as a fount of Mercy for us, I trust in You.’ Roy studied the book marker, noticing a reference to Sister M. Faustina Kowalska.

Called to stand by the proceedings of the mass, Roy thought about the agreement he reached with Sarah regarding the transportation of Gary’s aquarium to his home in Illinois. The idea pleased him. Sarah was more than willing to help, going to great lengths to convince Roy that he did not have to pay her, let alone rent a car for her to drive back to Toledo with.  She would pay to ride a Greyhound bus. Sarah felt duty bound to assist. Roy insisted on Sarah accepting payment, pleased with the idea of Sarah spending the weekend with his family. He saw that Sarah was sincerely kind, responsible, detail oriented, and a deep thinker. She presented a sane link to his departed brother, a good woman who truly cared for his brother who would discern to shoot himself. She also needed healing from his brother’s suicide.

Roy also convinced Tim to come stay with him. He felt confident he could help his brother start a new life. He believed his brother could pick up a quick two year associate degree in industrial electricity and start a new life in Chicago working as an industrial technician. Roy possessed a plethora of connections in the electrical industrial world. Tim enjoyed building homes. He was quite a handy tradesmen. He could easily expand his skills. Roy would stress to his brother to concentrate upon industrial electricity, specifically programmable controllers, while also touching upon welding. Tim found the idea of being an industrial maintenance worker in Chicago an attractive escape from the tragedy of his life in Toledo. Within the most dreadful circumstances, within an all-time low, a beginning emerged.

In unison with the others attending the midnight Christmas mass, Roy began singing ‘Glory to the newborn King’. Tim joined his brother and felt confident in his singing, interiorly reflecting upon his departed brother. The death was wrong. Life deserved to be respected. It did not have to be suffering. A new year approached. The rest of the Simon family, the parents, stayed quiet, surrendering to sorrow.

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Dec302014

Necessity of a Sound Prayer Life

Prayer

The. glorious Apostle and Evangelist. St. John, in the fifth and eighth chapters of the Apocalypse, expresses admirably well the excellency and merit of prayer. ‘There came an angel and stood before the altar, having in his hand a thurible of gold, to whom was given much incense, to the end he should offer up. of the prayers of the saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne of God. And the. smoke of the incense of these prayers went up from the hand of the angel to the presence of God’ (Apoc. viii. 3, 4). St. Chrysostom says that one proof of the merit of prayer is· that in the Holy Scripture, it alone is compared to thymiama, which was a composition of incense and of many other admirable perfumes; for as the smell of well composed thymiama is very delicious, so prayer also, when well made, is very acceptable to God,. and gives great joy to the angels and all the citizens of heaven. Thus St. John, speaking in such human language as we can speak, says that those heavenly beings hold in their hands pouncet-boxes full of admirable perfumes, which are the prayers of the Saints, and these they apply again and again to their most pure nostrils to enjoy that sweet odor (Apoc. v. 8).

St. Augustine speaking of prayer says, ” What more excellent than prayer? What more useful and profitable? What sweeter and more delicious? What higher and more. exalted in the whole scheme of our Christian religion?

–St Alphonsus Rodriguez ‘On Christian Perfection’

Without a prayer life we are left abandoned to our own devices, imperfect creatures able to access only self-will, functioning and interacting with the world based upon our terms.  Without prayer, genuine humility is impossible, spiritual progress only induces pride, leading us to believe we are spiritual superiors, tyrants onto the world.  No matter the amount or extensiveness of our efforts to know God, without a prayer life, the true means of communication is blocked. Our spiritual life is stifled and we become a danger to those advancing toward God. Centered upon self-will, plagued by self-consciousness, competition, the need to impress, selfish intent; whether positive or negative, we are constantly an affront, never able to offer others Our Lord, the ultimate master of prayer, His invitation to ‘take upon My yoke, and learn, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest in your soul’. Without prayer, we weary ourselves, forced to rationalize, forced to justify, forced to reason, forced to manipulate, forced to be a burden onto ourselves and all those willing to love us. With the purest of intent, functioning through self-will we fall short. We bring immense and intense tears onto ourselves, and others. In the ancient world, they used the term crocodile tears, huge tears shed through profound sorrow. I attribute the term to Homer. It always moved me. Another Homer term I borrow is ‘winged words’, words possessing immense inspiration, hope, and insight–I adapt the term to embrace words inspired by the Holy Spirit.

To reiterate, a lacking prayer life renders one unable to surrender to faith, hope, and charity, unable to prosper within infused virtues.

The Blindness post touched on remaining hidden as a contemplative, as well as, identifying those of suspect religious intent as possessing a hidden agenda. They are two distinct matters. As a contemplative, my interior life is protected, hidden, ‘cast not thy pearls before swine’. My natural self an employee, friend, man in recovery, father, brother, son, remains open, comfortable and easy for others to understand.  My hidden contemplative efforts do not make me a mystery to others.  I make myself vulnerable to others, placing myself at their disposal, while protecting my interior life. I am not overly clever, nor diabolical. I go to the extreme not to inflict self-will upon others. In regards to bringing others into intimate spiritual communication I exercise extreme caution. The telltale sign of affirmation is the witnessing of a fortitude in prayer. A strong prayer life, a presence developed, indicates a healthy spiritual person of advanced effort. Without words, manipulation, or awesomeness, such individuals present themselves in humility and peace. I am especially leery of church devotees overly ambitious to throw themselves at me, coming on hard to impress, making great claims of being a daily communal recipient for a vast number of years, knowing the Bishop or esteemed individuals of respected religious reputation, telling tales of great pilgrimages, or dominating congregational responses and song with brilliance and expertise. Once serious progress is made in prayer such individuals will force themselves upon contemplatives. In politeness, and if necessary sternness, I must safeguard my interior life. I am reminded of a lesson from my therapist, a Catholic psychologist, Dr. Lawrence Nitcha. I utilize all forms of healing in order to cleanse the vessel for proper filling.

Dr Nitcha on co-dependent behavior: …difficulty establishing and maintaining appropriate boundaries, difficulty saying “No”, acting ‘nice’ when a tougher love is called for, and feeling overly responsible for the feelings or behavior of others.

Sadly, many Christians fall into the trap of justifying such behaviors as being examples of the call to ‘love one’s neighbor’. A variety of Gospel passages, each emphasizing the Christian call to service, is used to legitimize such behaviors. However, their use more often represents a distortion of the Gospel message.

One of the Gospel parables to which I frequently refer in helping individuals realize their rights is Matthew 25:1-13, the parable of the 10 Virgins. In that parable the behavior of the five Wise Virgins is highlighted as exemplary. And what is the behavior they displayed? It is the antithesis of codependent behavior. When asked to share some of their lamp oil with the Foolish Virgins, the Wise Virgins in effect responded: “No. We are keeping what we have for ourselves. We are not sharing what we have with you.”

On the surface their response can seem downright cold to some. Uncaring. Certainly seems ‘un-Christian’. But it is not! The Wise Virgins were simply remaining committed to their fundamental call to be ready for the bridegroom. Despite the pain, suffering, and panic experienced by the Foolish Virgins, the Wise Virgins remained resolute. They had been prepared with enough oil for their own lamps and to have shared their oil would have put the Wise Virgins at risk of failing to live up to the primary call they had received. They were not being selfish; they were exemplifying enlightened self-interest.

Undoubtedly the Wise Virgins experienced some anguish over the Foolish Virgins’ situation. Yet, they were not disinterested and cold in their refusal to share. No hostility here! Quite the contrary, they came up with an idea: “Quick, go to the market and buy some oil.” In other words, take responsibility for your selves; follow the call you were given. Well, too little, too late for the Foolish Virgins. The parable does not discuss how the Wise Virgins felt seeing the Foolish Virgins miss the wedding procession, but I imagine that they felt sad. Not guilty (that would be codependent) – they did nothing wrong. But sad! A sadness with the accompanying experience of powerlessness in the realization that they had been helpless to prevent the results of the Foolish Virgins’ poor planning.

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Dec292014

Blindness

Blindmen
A previous quote posted touched upon the difficulty, in reality near impossibility, of embracing authentic humility. The complexity of the interior life provides irrational thoughts, leading to behavior, deluding one into assuming he is humble, when in truth, he is pulling the wool over his very eyes, blinding himself. I recognize situations in my own life. It is truly too easy to assume I am self-effacing when in actuality I am doing everything to impose my will, just being clever enough about matters to allow myself the luxury of positioning and perceiving myself as a man of God.

The area I concentrate upon humility intensely is my prayer life. I go to great extreme to ensure authenticity during times of prayer. Utilizing all my faculties, I doggedly cut away errors in humility, aware acutely of the existence of false humility. I am determined not to allow cleverness to impede upon my prayer life. Under such an extreme effort, I plead with God to provide true humility, comprehending through Him all things good are manifested, all things created by God are good. Left to my own devices arrogance, rationalization, and delusion will always be a part of my life.

I want to observe a friend, a dear friend I respect to the highest spiritual degree—a true man of accomplished prayer. Avoiding judgment, understanding lessons can be garnered from others, he serves as a good example. My good friend has lived a lengthy life dedicated to religious study, daily mass, a moral life, works of corporal mercy, and a proficient/blessed prayer life. Yet continual intimate interaction with him has placed me in difficult situations. One involved a visiting priest from Poland, a devout, intelligent young man, personable and an extreme pleasure to encounter. I learned a lot through the interaction. It was difficult, yet now I see contemplatively essential for growth.

The uncomfortable must always be a part of my spiritual life. If I seek affirmations, I blind myself. I recall a statement I heard once about the Church. The Church is at its best when it disagrees with me. When the Church agrees with me, I am prone to pride and the pursuit of selfish endeavors. I am too quick to assume a self-proclaimed authoritative role. My pride will try to pass myself off as a Bible scholar, or some other type of religious expert. I am at my best when I am content within my simple and imperfect role of hidden contemplative, a man of prayer, active within the world. When the Church disagrees with me, it is confronting spiritual incongruities. I must challenge myself not to become defensive and self-justifying, rather figuring out how to change in order to grow closer in intimacy with God. The Polish priest staunchly confronted my spiritual life.

I really did not want to become intimate with the priest, respecting St Liguori’s insistence that priest are to be held reverent in societal interactions. We must not approach a priest as a buddy, as just another member of the Knights of Columbus, another member of the lodge, someone to speak with daily regarding casual affairs. A priest is not my spiritual equal. He ranks in closeness to God. I am an inferior to a priest. It is no insult.

My friend, Paul, older, took it upon himself to welcome the young priest to our Polish parish. Paul spent all of his time attending to the priest. He took command of the priest’s off day, scheduling day trips, events and people to meet throughout the city. He insisted I accompany him. On my own, I would have never pursued such matters. I hardly spoke, never feeling comfortable during this casual time spent with the priest. My intuition screamed something was amiss.

There were other errors in my life. My residence living amongst a community of artists committed to secular and worldly ideals a serious encroachment upon my weaknesses. I fell victim to my strongest demon. A drinking binge of horrendous nature enveloped my life. I managed to pull myself together, seeking the priest out not as a friend, not as a spiritual equal, rather as a priest. I needed him to witness my tears, to absolve me of my sin, to assist me in assembling a life of order and the means to pursue the God I knew in my heart I loved. My life is extreme in the regard that if I do not open myself and love God completely I collapse in such a self-destructing lifestyle it is pitiful to witness. The pain I will wreak upon myself, left to my own devices, is an absolute abhorrence.

I was actually told I should be grateful for my condition for its graveness forced me to seek drastic solutions. The cross I must bear does not allow me to function if its not handled austerely. I relate it to a story I read many years ago, a sensational novel about the infiltration of the Church by dubious forces. Details and title of the book elude me. An idea within the story struck me as profound, sticking with me. Two investigating priest were discussing various priest and church officials during a massive gathering, attempting to determine who was aligned with demonic forces. The one investigating priest pointed out several priest he found fault with. The wise leading investigator pointed out the error of his speculation. The priest singled out had faults: a severe temper, an egotist, a tendency to drink too much, a glutton, human weaknesses too easily to perceive. The insightful priest stressed those men were apparent. Their faults identifiable. It was not such type of men they sought. The men with obvious faults were all too human. These priest knew their faults, working diligently to overcome them. Failing at times, the priest of obvious weaknesses endured the battle against their personal demons. Amongst the gathered, the penetrating investigating priest pointed out the priest who caused him consternation. The priest were intelligent, lacking no discerning faults, yet their personality remained vague. They were men convinced they were not lacking. These self-deflecting priest could not be pinned down. One was never truly sure who they were. Their strongest beliefs and motivations remained a mystery. One was not sure where their hearts truly rested. The enigmatic priest worked hard to make good impressions, people pleasers, always saying the right things, while never committing themselves to definitude. Those were the men the insightful investigating priest was confident they must be on guard against. The men of hidden agendas were truly the men to be leery of.

My faults come cross harshly and abrasively. I feel I am a good man, yet certain ugly truths about myself must be accepted. Spiritual growth for myself comes from conquering myself. The road narrows as I progress, yet that challenge I am primed for. It is my gross demon: alcoholism, I fear. It is the one thing that can topple all things.

When I fell, the Polish priest took me strongly under his wing, supporting me, assisting me in arraigning a lengthy rehab stay. He told me of firsthand experience with alcoholism in Poland, within his own family. Explaining the ravishing nature of alcoholism during communist years, telling how officials, harsh on other infractions, looked the other way regarding severe drinking. The people miserable and drinking themselves into a stupor served communism well. Regarding myself, while we set rehab conditions into place, I can remember distinctly, a film festival occurred amongst the artist community I abode within. I was off to the races, playing the Jack Kerouac, Nick Cave, existential fool I can be. My efforts hurt the priest. He removed all pleasantries between us, refusing to show kindness toward me. His justified wrath forcefully sank into consciousness, wounding me severely.

My friend also encountered difficulties during the time. A white haired soft-spoken Lebanese man of obvious spiritual advancement, he insists upon commanding spiritual respect. His spiritual reputation means everything to him. Daily, he makes the rounds of hospitals, visiting the sick, providing favors. Every Friday he visits nursing homes, praying a Rosary and Divine Mercy at three O’clock with residents. His retired life is concentrated upon religious service and prayer. However a glaring complexity emerged during the time of the visiting Polish priest. His wife, waiting upon a lung transfer, became conspicuous in her absence. His wife was being tending to by his son. In and out of nursing homes, due to physical limitations and frailties, her condition became critical. Dedicating all of his time to the Church, Paul ignored his wife. He disappointingly expressed to me the sad reality that his wife brought it upon herself due to her choice to smoke cigarettes during her youth. The coldness and annoyance he displayed when his successful adult son called him regarding attention for his wife’s condition disturbed me. I feel the picture is defined clearly enough.

The Polish priest also took strong opposition to Paul, expressing severe disapproval of both of our applications of faith. He gave a powerful Friday mass, an evening mass for a solemnity I cannot even recall. The Gospel reading contained the words: Can a blind man lead a blind man? Will they not both fall into a pit? Sitting in the back hiding, the words penetrated to my heart. He spoke directly to myself and Paul, emphasizing the lack of need to be a world problem solver when charity must first be firmly established in the home. The absolute necessity to put our own house in order if we are to grow in Christ. He spoke out about being a religious know it all, a political expert on all matters worldly, a busybody within the church, stressing that God was not going to give us a final exam upon judgment day. God will want to know how we lived. Did we love and care for others? Where, truly, was our heart?  Were we enigmatic and difficult for others to comprehend? Were we precise in our efforts to conquer ourselves? In humility, did we serve God or was it all about self-glorification, was everything an imposition of self-will? The Polish priest brought tears to my eyes, giving a homily of immense power, the congregation realizing they witnessed something special. I could only sit stunned after mass. The young priest walked over to me, extending his hand. I complemented his homily. He invited me to see him off. The courtesy and sincere humility he demonstrated to a man, who let him down twice, was much more than a casual imprint. I remember walking with Paul to his home in complete silence after the accusatory homily. We knew we had been properly scolded from the pulpit.

During the sending off of the Polish priest, a time after daily mass, we gathered outside the church. There was a fairly large crowd of well-wishers. The majority of the gathering supplied by a single family. The family, home-schoolers, numbered twelve children, plus parents. I greatly admired the family. The mother is an astonishingly intelligent woman, so brilliant when speaking words burst forth in rapid succession.  She can barely contain her thoughts they are so vibrant and accessible. Her boys serve expertly during the Latin mass. The Holy Spirit is strongly apparent within the family.  The family displays a passionate pursuit of life and Christ. The Polish priest thoroughly enjoyed his time amidst the family. I held silence throughout the parting, keeping my words minimal and friendly. It was enough to simply be present. I saw how much the priest enjoyed the children, giving proper attention to all the attending.

I started writing this with the intent of touching upon the difficulty of applying humility to life. Advancing the focus to obedience to Divine Will, surrendering self-will. It is such a difficult process. Brilliant words from Church doctors, advice from others, nothing eases the burden of sacrificing the things I want the most for myself, especially not the things that I am convinced will allow me to serve God better. I will naturally impose my self-will upon the worship of God.  I must surrender to faith, hope, and charity.

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Ecce Panis Angelorum

1. Ecce Panis Angelorum,            1. Behold the Bread of Angels
Factus cibus viatorum                     made the Food of wayfarers,
Vere panis filiorum,                         Truly the bread of children,
Non mittendus canibus.                   not to be given to the dogs.

2. In figuris praesignatur,             2. Presignified by figure,
Cum Isaac immolatur,                    When Isaac was immolated,
Agnus Paschae deputatur,              the Paschal Lamb was commanded,
Datur manna patribus.                    Manna was given to the fathers.

3. Bone pastor, panis vere,         3. Good shepherd, true Bread,
Jesu, nostri miserere:                     Jesus, have mercy on us:
Tu nos pasce, nos tuere,                Feed us, protect us,
Tu nos bona fac videre                   Make us to see good things
In terra viventium.                          in the land of the living.

4. Tu qui cuncta scis et vales,    4. Thou who knowest and willest all things,
Qui nos pascis hic mortales:          Who feeds us mortals by This:
Tuos ibi commensales,                  Make thine own to be partakers of,
Coheredes et sodales                    coheirs and citizens in
Fac sanctorum civium.                  that holy City of Saints.
Amen.                                         Amen.

“Behold the Bread of Angels” – this is often used as a Benediction hymn, for obvious reasons. It recalls how the mystery of the Eucharist was signified by many events in the Old Testament – the immolation of Isaac, the Paschal Lamb, the manna given to the fathers in the desert. It then proceeds to ask Jesus for the grace to save our souls, so that we can join the citizens of Heaven, seeing Him forever in “the land of the living”.

This is only the last 4 stanzas of the famous hymn, “Lauda Sion”, written by St. Thomas Aquinas before the year 1274. It is the sequence for Corpus Christi, the great feast of the Body of Christ when the Church turns our attention to the great Gift of the Eucharist. Jesus gave us this precious Gift of Himself so that He might always be with us.

–Special attention Ann Marie

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