Author: Deacon Bob

Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger,
you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted;
but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands,
and someone else will dress you
and lead you where you do not want to go.”
He said this signifying by what kind of death he would glorify God.
And when he had said this, he said to him, “Follow me.” (John 21:18-19)

These words of Jesus to Peter in the Gospel this weekend spoke volumes to me as I reflected on my 42 years of church ministry. In many ways, doing church ministry often required me to go where I never intended on going, and doing ministry I never thought I would ever do. I expressed this in the following bulletin article announcing my retirement from active ministry on June 30^th this year.

“On August 31, 1977, I began ministry in the Archdiocese of St Paul and Minneapolis at St Wenceslaus. Mondays through Fridays I taught K-8 music, and Saturdays and Sundays I led the music for all the liturgies. God moves in mysterious ways, and he took me with him on the journey. As I reflected over these 42 years, much has happened in my life. I graduated with a Masters Degree in Pastoral Studies (St Paul Seminary, 1989). I was ordained a permanent deacon (September, 1994). I studied and became a certified spiritual director (2005), did Spanish immersion (summer, 2006). I have served in small town/rural churches, large suburban parishes, and urban parishes. I was assigned the parish life administrator in an inner city pastor-less parish in South Minneapolis. I have baptized many babies, witnessed many marriages, and have done many funerals and burials in both English and Spanish. I have ministered to many in prison, ate with and provided assistance and spiritual support to the homeless, to families of the gay community, to many Mexican and Ecuadorian families, to former felons, to families who have experienced divorce and suicide, and to women and children who have been physically, sexually and emotionally abused, and, they, in turn, have ministered to me. I have been the liturgist and liturgical musician for major bishops’ meetings and regional and national conferences, and formed a wonderful friendship with a future saint, Sr Theo Bowman (presently in the process of canonization). I have served on Archdiocesan commissions and led the Archdiocesan Deacon Council. God has a way of leading us to places we would otherwise not go and doing things we would otherwise not do. Little did I know in 1977, the adventures, the joys, the wonders, the sorrows, the frustrations, the disappointments, and the tragedies I would experience in ministry. Now, after much soul searching and consultation with my family, my spiritual director, and our pastor, Fr Kevin, I made the hard decision to retire this past Holy Thursday. At the 7pm celebration of the Lord’s Passion at St Wenceslaus, all the experiences, feelings, and burdens of church ministry of the past 42 years I laid at the foot of the cross of Jesus as I venerated the cross. On his 60th birthday, Fr Henri Nouwen observed that the number of years he had left to live were far fewer than the years he had lived. A new chapter in my life will begin on July 1, 2019 in which I will come to know what other surprises God has planned for me.”

A life of following Jesus is one of surrendering yourself to God. I remember my dad asking me after the first 4 years of church ministry, “When are you going to get yourself a real job?” It was not a criticism on the part of my dad. He was worried that Ruth, our two kids and I were living below the poverty line, requiring us to sell our jewelry and get food stamps to get by week to week. Churches are notorious for not paying a living wage. When our fourth child was born, Ruth had to go back to work as nurse in order for us to make ends meet. Even when things were economically bleak, we trusted in God to help us get by, to find me scholarships to pay for graduate school, to provide me a car when the old beaters I drove died on bitterly cold Minnesotan nights in winter.

At one time or another in our lives, we will be required to be like Peter and the other disciples and let God lead us where we are needed the most. And, so,  as I enter into retirement I think of Jesus’ last words in the Passion of Luke, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” This is more than just a sentiment for those of us who are Christian, it is a way of life.

The overriding focus of this 2^nd Sunday of Easter is peace. The depth and completeness of the peace that are described in the scriptures for this weekend is far more than the laudable but superficial notion of peace we often hear in song and read in literature, e.g. John Lennon’s “All I am saying is give peace a chance,” or “Merry XMas (The War is Over).”

In the acts of the Apostles, many people experiencing conflict within their lives seek out the Apostles not only to be cured of what is afflicting them, but, moreover, to experience “complete” wholeness and peace that only Jesus can bestow.

The author of Revelations is exiled to the Isle of Patmos amidst the violence and persecution of the Christian community. Not only have Jewish Christians been expelled from the synagogues, but the Roman Empire is seeking out the Christians and murdering them in vast numbers. With violence and conflict all about him, the author seeks and finds peace.

In John’s gospel, the disciples of Jesus are horrified about what has happened to Jesus and fear that they will be next to die. They lock themselves behind locked doors and refuse to venture beyond those doors. What are the very first words with which Jesus greets them? It is “Peace be with you.” His very words erases the fear that paralyzes them and replaces it with a deepfelt peace.

Thomas, perhaps the only one of them who has any courage left, is not with the disciples when Jesus appears to them. Not knowing the peace the others have felt, he is left conflicted. One week later, Jesus reappears in their midst and once more greets them with “Peace Be With You.” Thomas then experience the peace of the glorified Jesus and believes. Jesus gently admonishes him and then tells him that more blessed than Thomas are those who have not seen yet still believe.

This is more than just a reference to physically seeing the risen Jesus. It is more a reference in believing the peace that the risen Jesus can give to us. It is the peace, that the people of Jerusalem find in believing in the message the apostles are teaching in the streets of Jerusalem. It is the peace that the author of Revelations finds amidst the violence and persecution of the Christian community by the Romans and others. It is the peace given to the disciples who cower in fear in the upper room.

We all know people who have found the peace that Jesus bestows. I have encountered quite a few in my 42 years of ministry. They have this air of peace and calm, even when all hell is breaking lose around them. They can be given news that would cause others to despair, yet, even the worse news does not shake the peace and calm that inhabits them. It is not that they are oblivious or ignore what has been told them, but, somehow, it is absorbed into the peace that fills their lives.

After 42 years of ministry and theology, it is easy for others to assume that I possess this unfailing belief in Jesus’ peace. Alas, I am still working on it. As I much as I would like to say I have got it, I, like Thomas still need the reassurance of placing my fingers into the holes in Jesus’ hands, and my hand into Jesus’ side. Perhaps, one day, I, too, will no longer need to see and finally believe.

My grandchildren’s birthdays are scattered over this time of the year, with three of them being born in February (apparently June is a popular time to conceive children), one born in March, and the other born in May.In November of 2017, I decided to compose some music for them as a Christmas present. Unlike what I have done prior to this, I dedicate all the songs to all my grandchildren but one, the sixth song. The sixth song is dedicated to the grandchild I never knew, who died as a result of a miscarriage.

Psalm Offering 1:  Simple Dance

My grandson, Owen, approached me in 2016 about giving him piano lessons. I was both surprised and honored at his request. Shortly after Owen started lessons, I asked his brother, Aidan, whether he wanted piano lessons and he answered yes. As their skills at the piano increased, I began to think of composing some easy melodies for them to play. This is the first and the most rudimentary of the 6 piano compositions. For those of us who remember beginning band, this would be the “Hot Cross Buns” piece of the 6. This both Owen and Aidan can play with ease. It is in simple 3 part A-B-A form.

Offering 2: Rondeau

This is a little more complicated, but still fairly simple to play. The boys by this time have gotten comfortable playing major scales, so the melody includes up and down scale passages. The song uses the Alberti Bass in the left hand accompaniment. The Alberti Bass is a left hand accompaniment pattern used frequently by the Classical period composers, e.g. Mozart and Haydn, is very repetitive and played with ease. The normal three notes of a chord (technically a “triad”) are not played as a blocked chord, but as a broken chord. There is a see saw motion in the wrist where the bottom note of the chord is played alternately with the upper two notes of the chord. The song is written in Rondo form: melody 1, melody 2, melody 1, melody 3, melody 1.

Psalm Offering 3: Celtic Dance

This is where the Psalm Offerings begin to be more challenging to play. The first challenge is the changing meter from 6/8 meter to 3/4 meter, back to 6/8 meter. The second challenge is the subdivision of beats in the 6/8 meter. The song begins in a fast 6/8 time with measures alternating between a measure of 6/8 with the 1^st and 4^th beats accented, followed by a measure with the 1^st, 3^rd, and 5^th beats accented, e.g. 123456/123456 This segues into a middle section of slower 3/4 time. Grace notes are introduced in the melody of this middle section. A grace note is a very quick note that adds decoration or an embellishment to the melody. It almost sounds like “pah-DUM” with the grace note on the “pah”. The middle section sounds a wee bit Scottish, the left hand playing a kind of drone that one might hear in bagpipe music. Melody 1 returns in the faster 6/8 time.

Psalm Offering 4:  Nocturne

This song is in 5/4 time. Of all the 6 songs, this is the most challenging in terms of piano technique and rhythm. It is definitely way beyond the playing skills of my grandsons (At a certain point, grandpa found it difficult to keep his music at the playing levels of his grandsons.) It is meant to be a Nocturne. Simply, a nocturne is “night” music,  meant to evoke peace and tranquility in the listener.

There is a harmonic ostinato pattern (a repeated pattern of rhythm and harmony) in the left hand. The right hand plays variations of the melody above that ostinato pattern. It is written in Rondo form, melody 1, melody 2, melody 1, melody 3, melody 1, Coda (ending).

Psalm Offering 5: Mazurka in 5/4 time.

This is a Mazurka (a Polish dance). Frederick Chopin was the master composer of Mazurkas. Unlike most Mazurkas written in 3/4 meter, three beats to a measure with the quarter note getting one beat. This is composed in 5/4 meter, five beats to a measure with the quarter note getting one beat. The uneven meter of 5/4 time is a hard meter in which to dance. It would be akin to dancing with an extra leg. All that being said, this piano piece retains the vigorous exuberance of more classical Mazurkas.

Psalm Offering 6:  Lullaby for a Still Born Baby

Unlike the previous 5 Psalm Offerings of this Opus, this is specifically dedicated to “Baby Wagner”. Between the births of Aidan and Ollie, my daughter-in-law, Oliva, was pregnant with another child. Sadly, that pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. This Psalm Offering is dedicated to that beautiful baby I never got the opportunity to know. I found myself overwhelmed emotionally as I composed this Psalm Offering. I believe I finally allowed myself to grieve the death of this lovely unborn child I never got to know. I like to think of this song as a lullaby to my unborn grandchild. When Ruthie first heard it, she found it emotionally moving. She said it was so beautiful, yet, it was also sad. I must confess that when I finished the composition of this piece, I wept. The music is composed in 3/4 meter. Similar to the 4^th Psalm Offering there is a recurring  harmonic and rhythmic ostinato pattern in the left hand throughout the entire piece. It is composed in Rondo form: melody 1, melody2, melody 1, melody3, melody1, Coda.

Of course, there are not enough pages to display ALL the pictures of our grandchildren. While pictures have a way of freezing an images in time, alas, grandchildren continue to grow and mature. Alyssa and Owen are now 16 years old and will be juniors in high school. Aidan is 13 years old and will begin his freshman year in high school. Sydney is 13 years old and will be in 8^th grade. And, Ollie, is 8 years old and will begin 3^rd grade this year.

Throughout the Paschal Season of Lent and Easter, we are reminded that our lives are joined to the Paschal Mystery of Jesus. Our baptism intimately links his passion, death, and resurrection to our lives. The entirety of our lives are a series of Paschal Mysteries.  Our struggles, our sufferings, our hardships take on a whole new meaning as they are linked to Jesus’ Paschal Mystery.  The story of Jesus in Holy Week reminds us that the only way to the Resurrection is through suffering and death.

On Easter Sunday, when the resurrected Jesus emerged from the tomb, he emerged  transformed into something new. His glorified body was no longer subject to hunger, pain and climate. He is able to transcend the chronology of human time (e.g. hours, days, months, years) into the metaphysical time of eternity. Just as the resurrected Jesus emerged from the tomb utterly changed, so, too, Easter teaches us that having passed through our own series of passions and deaths, and resurrections, we, too will be utterly transformed.

The hardships of our lives transform us as we learn something new from them, and find ourselves  changed and even more resilient because of them. Even as we find ourselves increasingly impaired in doing tasks that once had been so easy to do, we, nonetheless,  continue to grow in remarkable ways.  In his second letter to the Corinthians, St Paul writes “So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure,  because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.” (2 Cor 4:16-18, NRSV) St Paul reminds us that as our physical activity becomes extremely limited, we continue to be transformed. It is at the moment of our death in which we will find our greatest transformation taking place.

Two  questions to ask ourselves during this Octave of Easter are, “In what way(s) has the Paschal Mystery(ies) of my own life transformed me this Easter?” “How has my life been utterly changed?”

This song is Psalm Offering 9 Opus 7, from the collection of songs I call the Lamentation Psalm Offerings. This song concludes the collection. It is for the conversion of human hearts to God’s love and justice. Fitting for the feast of the Resurrection. Here are the scripture passages that were the inspiration for the music.

But you, O Lord, reign forever; your throne endures to all generations. Why have you forgotten us completely? Why have you forsaken us these many days? Restore us to yourself, O Lord, that we may be restored; renew our days as of old. (Lamentations: 5: 19-21)

I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleannesses, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I will put my spirit within you, and make you follow my statutes and be careful to observe my ordinances. (Ezechial 36: 25-27)

“Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”

And this is his commandment, that we should believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he has commanded us. All who obey his commandments abide in him, and he abides in them. (1 John 3: 23-24)

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15: 12)

I wrote this commentary at the time I composed the song.

Conversion is central to human life, human hearts and human society if we are to reshape ourselves to live the justice of God. The duality of light and darkness in John’s Gospel is revealed all around us. So many people dwell and operate out of the darkness of our world, in which the highest principle is best summed in the question, “What’s in it for me?” We see it in our government, in our political parties, in business, and in all strata of human life. One could be overwhelmed by the hopelessness of such a suppression of light. Yet, like fireflies on a darkened night, there are many whose light illuminates the deep darkness of the world. Their light is fueled by the Great Commandment of Jesus to love as he loved. The light of God shines in these people, and as we encounter them in their daily lives, the light of God becomes contagious as all begin to desire the peace, the serenity, and joy that fills the lives of these people. And, so this musical prayer is exuberant, joy-filled, and filled with light. May we all join in on this dance of life, this dance of light, this dance of God’s justice!

Madeline L’Engle is a woman whose poetry is so striking. I present a few of her poems upon which to reflect this Easter. (All poems from The Ordering of Love: The New And Collected Poems of Madeline L’Engle, L’Engle, Madeleine. (Kindle Locations 1957-1964). The Doubleday Religious Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

ANDREW: HAVING RUN AWAY FROM JESUS IN THE GARDEN

Who is this stranger whom I hardly know,
(despite his presence within me) who cannot
be kept decently silent and unseen
(Lord, I still feel my muscles, tight from running),
with whom I must be reconciled
before I can sleep? This unwelcome
intruder who is my self must be forgiven and accepted
and somehow loved. You have forgiven me,
with your unexpected presence among us.
But even in my joy I know I betrayed you
and must forever know that this coward, too,
is as much me as the loyal disciple I thought to be.
This stranger who is most of me is still
my Lord’s failed friend, but friend nevertheless,
and in this friend I now must find, before I sleep, His image, and His love.

MARY OF MAGDALA
How do I find You, who have been blinded by the brilliance of your Father?
The darkness is heavy in tangible weight.
Am I afraid of light? Would I rather
remain in the shadows, afraid of the brightness of your face?
Why must I stay here where the black clouds gather,
trying to slow the hours in this dim place,
to halt times vast, inexorable race.
How do I find You? Through what graces?
Why am I frightened by the height of this wild, windy day
I who have always passionately loved light?
Why do I see you in the darkest places,
touch your garment only when I turn away?
Or see your radiance when ugliness and grief
seem to leave no room for you to stay?
I see you in distorted, hungry faces.
In crusts and filthy gutters is belief
in your love breaking all hate.
You have left your traces
on this demoniacs freed face and joy-streaked cheek.
I find you, Lord, when I no longer clutch.
I find you when I learn to let you go,
and then you reach out with your healing touch.
Seven demons left my tortured mind!
My Lord, so stern, so infinitely kind,
I know myself at last because you know.

MARY: AFTERWARDS

John. John, can you not take me to him,
you who were more than friend,
who are now my son?
After all we have known and borne together
can you deny to me now that you’ve surely seen him?
Can you conceal his whereabouts from his mother?
I ran to the place where the other Marys knew him;
I saw the empty tomb, the enormous stone
rolled from its mouth, the grave clothes lying.
I called, I cried, with no one there to hear me.
Joy and grief raged in my longing heart.
He was not there, nor even the flaming angel.
I was the last to be told.
Why were you all afraid to say what I most wanted to hear?
I know: the Magdalen said that she couldn’t touch him,
that she knew him only because he called her: Mary!
On the Emmaus road they didn’t know they’d been walking
beside him until he was known in the breaking of bread.
John, do you fear that perhaps I wouldn’t know him?
Perhaps it would give me pain to find my son
so changed from the son I knew, the son I circled
first with my body, last with my anguished arms.
John: I can bear to know that I may not hold him.
The angel who came to me once will help me now.
I don’t need to touch him. Just let me see him…
Don’t be impatient: “Mother, you don’t understand!”
I’ve never pretended, my dear, to understand him.
Only to love him, to be there if ever he needed
to know I was by him, waiting and loving
— Oh, John. Yes. I see. That’s how it will be, then?
You don’t know where he is?
You’re alone, and then he’s with you, but it’s different now.
He comes, and he’s gone, and you know him
only by what he says or what he does,
by his hands and feet, or in the breaking of bread.
The angel told me before his birth, and Simeon
after, and I haven’t ever asked more—or less.
If my joy in him must rest only in your witness
that he is risen, that he is risen indeed,
then he has given you to me to help me bear it.
We have shared the cup, and the dark of night is done.
I will know my son through you he has given me for my son.

Psalm Offering 1 Opus 7 was composed in the summer of 2017. Opus 7 is subtitled “The Lamentation Psalm Offerings.” The text of the Book of Lamentations is the underlying inspiration for the music. Psalm Offering 1 is dedicated to the human victims of violence.

See, O Lord, how distressed I am; my stomach churns, my heart is wrung within me, because I have been very rebellious. In the street the sword bereaves; in the house it is like death. Those who were my enemies without cause have hunted me like a bird; they flung me alive into a pit and hurled stones on me; water closed over my head; I said, “I am lost.” (Lamentations 1:20, 4:52-54)

This song is my anguished prayer to God for all mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children and friends whose hearts have been crushed by the cruel acts of violence against their loved ones. In Isaiah, chapter two, we hear the prophet speak of turning spears into pruning hooks, and swords into plowshares. The time has come for all weapons to be destroyed. May all the materials that create a weapon be melted into a molten mass never to be used for any other purpose than to be buried into the earth.

Whom better the victim of merciless death at the hands of humans than Jesus? Jesus, the Word of God, was tortured and executed without any remorse by those whom He had created.

However, St Paul in his 1st letter to the Corinthians points to the folly of the human wisdom that thought that killing the Author of Life would be a victory.

¹⁸ For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. ¹⁹ For it is written, “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.” ²⁰ Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? ²¹ For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. ²² For Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, ²³ but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, ²⁴ but to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. ²⁵ For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.

A second image upon which to dwell is the dead, torn, brutalized body of Jesus held in the arms of his mother. The image of a mother mourning over the lifeless body of her son was captured tragically and poetically by Michelangelo.

“A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” (Matthew 3:18)

Two images lay behind the composing of the music of the song, 1) the brutal death of Christ, symbolic of all the violence humanity has inflicted upon humanity; and, 2) a mother’s heart and soul crushed at the death of her child by that violence, symbolized by the image of Mary holding the lifeless body of her son.

The music inserted below does not bear any beautiful sounds. The first theme is brutal, harsh, dissonant cluster chords pounded on the keyboard. The second theme, is a lacrymosa, the lament of a mother over her dead child. The stark brutality of the first theme juxtaposed with the lament of the second theme.

After the first theme has been fully stated, it is followed by the second theme. Then a battle between the two themes begin. The first theme of brutal violence seemingly trying to dominate the lament of the second theme, with the lament finally winning over the violence.

(A song for my sister Mary Ruth)

I originally set this song to the words of Psalm 31, and dedicated the song to my sister, Mary Ruth. My sister died at the age of 42 years on August 10, 1997. For 25 years she suffered from Crohn’s disease. She had multiple surgeries, multiple hospital stays, and, in spite of her chronic illness worked all but the last ten years of her life as a cardiac Occupational Therapist. She got her Master of Arts in Education, and was working on a Doctorate at the time of her death. She traveled all of Europe and a great deal of the South Pacific, camped in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota, with the aid of her best friends and travel companions who were doctors. In her 42 years of life she accomplished more than I will ever accomplish during my lifetime.

I composed the setting of this psalm when I was the Liturgy and Music director of St Hubert Catholic Community, and used it at the Good Friday liturgy, at which Psalm 31 is the responsorial psalm. When my sister died in 1997, I put the music for this psalm away, thinking that it would never ever be used again in liturgy.

Last year, about this time, I was going through a lot of the music I composed for choir, and came across this song for my sister. I decided to recompose it, reimagine it as a piano composition. While the body of the sung response and verse is intact within the song, I added an introduction to the songs, which I have used as a bridge between the verses, and as a coda (ending) for the song.

I have placed the psalm text below. Note, that while the psalmist acknowledges that his enemies are plotting his death, his ultimate trust remains in God who will save him. I think I have captured this in the music.

Psalm 31

¹ In you, O Lord, I seek refuge;
do not let me ever be put to shame;
in your righteousness deliver me. ²
Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily.
Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me.
³ You are indeed my rock and my fortress;
for your name’s sake lead me and guide me,
⁴ take me out of the net that is hidden for me,
for you are my refuge.
⁵ Into your hand I commit my spirit;
you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.
⁶ You hate those who pay regard to worthless idols,
but I trust in the Lord.
⁷ I will exult and rejoice in your steadfast love,
because you have seen my affliction;
you have taken heed of my adversities,
⁸ and have not delivered me into the hand of the enemy;
you have set my feet in a broad place.
⁹ Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress;
my eye wastes away from grief, my soul and body also.
¹⁰ For my life is spent with sorrow,
and my years with sighing;
my strength fails because of my misery,
and my bones waste away.
¹¹ I am the scorn of all my adversaries,
a horror to my neighbors,
an object of dread to my acquaintances;
those who see me in the street flee from me.
¹² I have passed out of mind like one who is dead;
I have become like a broken vessel.
¹³ For I hear the whispering of many— terror all around!—
as they scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life.
¹⁴ But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, “You are my God.”
¹⁵ My times are in your hand;
deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors.
¹⁶ Let your face shine upon your servant;
ave me in your steadfast love.
¹⁷ Do not let me be put to shame, O Lord,
for I call on you; let the wicked be put to shame;
let them go dumbfounded to Sheol.
¹⁸ Let the lying lips be stilled that speak insolently
against the righteous with pride and contempt.
¹⁹ O how abundant is your goodness
that you have laid up for those who fear you,
and accomplished for those who take refuge in you,
in the sight of everyone!
²⁰ In the shelter of your presence
you hide them from human plots;
you hold them safe under your shelter from contentious tongues.
²¹ Blessed be the Lord,
for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me
when I was beset as a city under siege.
²² I had said in my alarm, “I am driven far from your sight.”
But you heard my supplications when I cried out to you for help.
²³ Love the Lord, all you his saints.
The Lord preserves the faithful,
but abundantly repays the one who acts haughtily.
²⁴ Be strong, and let your heart take courage,
all you who wait for the Lord.

We hear at every Mass, Jesus saying, “Do this in remembrance of me.” What are we remembering? Tonight is more than memorializing or remembering a ritual that occurred over 2000 years ago. As a kid, the nuns taught me that the Latin Mass I grew up with, in which I only saw the backside of the priest throughout most of Mass and what prayers I heard him say were all in Latin, was the way that Mass was celebrated by Jesus at the Last Supper. Of course, that information was wrong. The Latin Mass I knew had only been celebrated that way for 400 years, from the time of the Council of Trent in 1563. The way Mass has been celebrated has changed quite a few times between the Last Supper that Jesus celebrated in the Upper Room to way we celebrate the Mass in our present time.

What really happened on that night 2000 years ago? Not even the Gospels can agree about that. The Gospels were written 30, 40, and 50 years after that night. The Gospels of Mark, Matthew and Luke insist that the Lord’s Supper was the Passover meal. John’s Gospel insists it was not the Passover meal, for the Passover wouldn’t be happening for another two days. John’s Gospel suggests it was a meal of thanksgiving, a Jewish Berakah. So, just what is that we are being commanded by Jesus to remember tonight, and every time we celebrate Mass?

The answer to that question is found in chapter 11 of Paul’s 1^st letter to the Corinthians. We heard a small portion of that reading tonight. To fully understand what we heard in the second reading, we need to hear that reading in context. This letter of Paul, written around 50 A.D., approximately 20 years after the first Last Supper, describes how the early Christian community celebrated Mass. The Corinthian Christian community was filled with horrible division. Paul introduces what we heard tonight with these words to the Corinthians, “When you meet in one place, then, it is not to eat the Lord’s supper, for in eating, each one goes ahead with his own supper, and one goes hungry while another gets drunk. Do you not have houses in which you can eat and drink? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and make those who have nothing feel ashamed? What can I say to you? Shall I praise you? In this matter I do not praise you.” Then Paul describes that which he received from the Lord Jesus which we heard proclaimed in the second reading.

What are the principle actions of the early Christian Mass which Paul describes in the entirety of chapter 11 in his letter? It is taking bread, giving thanks, breaking it and sharing it with all in the community. Then it is taking the one cup of wine, giving thanks, and sharing that one cup with all in the community. However, prior to eating the bread that is shared and prior to drinking from the one cup, Paul warns them that they must discern the body.  What is the body to which Paul refers? Paul is not just referring to the Body of Christ in Holy Communion, Paul is referring to the Body of Christ present in the community of the baptized. If they remain a divided community, if they continue to disregard the needs of the poor in their midst, they are tearing apart the body of Christ and are receiving Holy Communion unworthily. Paul warns them that if they continue to do this, they will have to answer for the body and blood of the Lord. In other words, if they continue to foster division and ignore the needs of the community, they are guilty of murdering the Body of Christ and will eat and drink their own condemnation. What is Paul saying to us today? When we come to receive Holy Communion and the communion distributor says, “The Body of Christ”, we must have the awareness that we are not only saying Amen to the real presence of Jesus in the host we receive, Wwe say Amen to the real presence of Jesus in all the people around us, the Body of Christ. Before we receive Holy Ccommunion we must be at peace with the Body of Christ of our community.

Paul tells us that to celebrate Mass worthily we must: 1) take bread, give thanks to God, break the bread and share with all in the community, 2) to take the one cup of wine, give thanks and share it with all in the community, and 3) to discern the Body of Christ and to be at peace with the Body of Christ present in the faith community prior to receiving the Body and Blood of Christ present in the consecrated bread and wine. John’s Gospel expands on what Paul is teaching by giving us one more action. Jesus shows us that in order to have peace within the Body of Christ in the community, we must humbly get down on our knees and wash the feet of others.

In John’s account of the Last Supper, Jesus, the One through whom all was created, humbly gets down on his knees and washes the feet of those he had created. He washes the feet of his disciples, fulling knowing that one will betray him for money, one will deny ever knowing him, and all the rest are cowards who will abandon him to merciless people who will lead him to a merciless death. Nonetheless, out of love for all these broken, sinful people, he lovingly washes their feet, then commands them to wash the feet of others just like themselves.

To “Do This In Remembrance of Me” requires more from us than just statically being present at Mass to honor an obligation placed upon us by the Church. It is more than just remembering something ritually that happened a  long time ago in a place far, far away. The command of Jesus to “Do this in Remembrance of me” is not just directed at the priest celebrating Mass. Jesus is addressing those words to us who are his physical Body in the world.

At our baptism we were baptized into the passion, the death, and the resurrection of Jesus. At our baptism we were anointed with the chrism of salvation. We were anointed priest, prophet and king. As the Body of Christ, what we receive at Mass must compel us to act as Christ in our world and continue Christ’s saving peace not to just our community but to a world horribly broken by sin.

At Mass, as the Body of Christ, we are called to become the bread that is broken and given to all in love. We are called to become the Blood of Christ shed and shared for all in love. We are called to humbly get down on our knees and wash the feet of others, including those who will betray us, those who will deny us, and those who will abandon us. The great Pauline biblical scholar, Fr Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, in his commentary on 1^st Corinthians wrote that what Paul was telling the Corinthians, was that it was only love that gave substance to the words of consecration at the Last Supper, and it is only love that will continue to give substance to the words of consecration at Mass.

How long must we fulfill the commandment of Jesus to “Do this in Remembrance of Me?” Paul answers that question. “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes.” In other words, we must continue to “do this in remembrance of me” until that time when Jesus comes a second time in glory.

In conclusion, I believe the most powerful hymn that reflects what Jesus is commanding us to do tonight is the hymn by David Haas, “Now We Remain.” In the last verse we sing, “We are the presence of God, this is our call. Now to become bread and wine, food for the hungry, life for the weary. For to live with the Lord, we must die with the Lord. We hold the death of the Lord, deep in our hearts. Living, now we remain with Jesus the Christ.”

Of all the poems about Good Friday, one of the most powerful of poems is entitled, “On A Theme From Julian’s Chapter XX”. It is found in the collection of poems by Denise Levertov, BREATHING THE WATER, published by New Direction Books, (c) 1984, 1985, 1986, and 1987 by Denise Levertov.

The Julian in the title of the poem is Julian of Norwich, an anchoress, who in 1200 a.d. reportedly had a vision of the crucified Jesus. She nearly died from the experience, however, lived nonetheless, and wrote down what she experienced. Here is the poem.

Six hours outstretched in the sun, yes,
hot wood, the nails, blood trickling
into the eyes, yes –
but the thieves on their neighbor crosses
survived till after the soldiers
had come to fracture their legs, or longer.
Why single out this agony? What’s
a mere six hours?
Torture then, torture now,
the same, the pain’s the same,
immemorial branding iron,
electric prod.
Hasn’t a child
dazed in the hospital ward they reserve
for the most abused, known worse?
This air we’re breathing,
these very clouds, ephemeral billows
languid upon the sky’s
moody ocean, we share
with women and men who’ve held out
days and weeks on the rack –
and in the ancient dust of the world
what particles
of the long tormented,
what ashes.[1]
But Julian’s lucid spirit leapt
to the difference:
perceived why no awe could measure
that brief day’s endless length,
why among all the tortured
One only is ‘King of Grief’.
The onening, she saw, the onening
with the Godhead opened Him utterly
to the pain of all minds, all bodies
– sands of the sea, of the desert –
from first beginning
to last day. The great wonder is
that the human cells of His flesh and bone
didn’t explode
when utmost Imagination rose
in that flood of knowledge. Unique
in agony, infinite strength, Incarnate,
empowered Him to endure
inside of history,
through those hours when He took Himself
the sum total of anguish and drank
even the lees of that cup:

woven within the mesh of that cup, Himself
woven within it, yet seeing it,
seeing it whole, Every sorrow and desolation
He saw, and sorrowed in kinship.

[1] ‘On a Theme from Julian’s Chapter XX.’ This is from the longer text of Julian of Norwich’s Showings ( or Revelations ). The quoted lines follow the Grace Warrack transcription ( 1901). Warrack uses the work ‘kinship’ in her title-heading for the chapter, though in the text itself she says ‘kindness,’ thus – as in her Glossary – reminding one of the roots common to both words.