In our series so far, we have seen how the Sacraments give shape to our Christian lives, both as individuals and as the Church, the Body of Christ, by bestowing upon us God's grace, which enables us to live that life.
Is it only in the Sacraments, though, that we ritually express that Christian life? If that were the case, where, for example, would the religious life fit in? There are many other sacred signs and actions which witness in various aspects of our lives and of our environment to a Christian dimension, from grace before meals to solemn religious vows, and all these the Church calls 'sacramentals'.
What is it that distinguishes these sacramentals from Sacraments, though? Most significantly, from a theological point of view, Sacraments confer the grace they signify in a way sacramentals do not. The celebration of the Sacraments, instituted by Christ, is itself the means by which God bestows his gift of grace upon those who receive them; the celebration of the sacramentals, instituted by the Church, is a sign not of God's gift directly, but of the Church's prayer for it.
Another obvious difference is that sacramentals are conferred on things and places as well as people: though the Sacraments make use of material signs, the bread and wine do not receive the Eucharistic Sacrament in the way that, say, a bell receives a blessing.
What is the purpose of sacramentals, then, if not to be effective signs of God's grace like the Sacraments? I suppose we could say the sacramentals 'flesh out' the symbolic expression of our Christian lives, built on the framework of the Sacraments. They dispose us to receive the sacraments and help us to co-operate with the grace we have received, by reminding us that our life is a sacrifice of praise: thus, we bless our meals by saying grace, and we may ask a priest to bless our house or our car. We sign ourselves with the sign of the Cross as a reminder of Christ's death, and with holy water as a reminder of our Baptism. We bless the vestments and vessels we use in church, dedicating them to God as a sign of the reverence we have the worship in which we use them. In some cases these sacramentals are conferred on people, and give them a particular role in the life of the Church, from abbots and abbesses to readers and catechists.
In all of these cases, though, the sacramentals serve as means offered to us by the Church to draw us closer to God in different ways, and thus to live more fully and more closely the life begun in Baptism.
One of the ways we can think about sacraments is as God reaching down through history to apply the power of the cross to the present moment. Since Christ handed on to us the gift of His Holy Spirit through the cross, the re-presentation of the sacrifice of the cross in our sacraments becomes the means by which Christ re-presents his offer of the Spirit. This is because, as has been discussed in previous posts, sacraments are signs that make real what they signify. Our sacramental signs, instituted by Christ himself, point to his Incarnation and thus perpetuate that Incarnation among and in the Christian community across all time and space. As the Spirit is received through Christ and therefore through the sacraments, we can also think of the sacraments as a kind of re-actualization of Pentecost. This points us to the complementary missions of the Son and the Spirit. The Holy Spirit, sent by Christ (who was himself conceived by the Holy Spirit), allows us to receive Christ in a new and deeper way.
The medieval scholastics tried to bring out this ‘Spiritual’ dimension of the sacraments by making a threefold distinction in their sacramental theology. Sacraments, as we have mentioned above, are signs that make real what they symbolize. They therefore distinguished that which is a sign only, for example bread and wine which symbolically remind us of Christ’s presence; from that which is a sign and a reality, for example the body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist in which Christ is really present, but still pointing us to a deeper union with him which is to come; and, finally, the reality only: the ultimate goal of the sacrament which does not point beyond itself, the mystery of grace, our union with God in Christ and in the Holy Spirit.
For each sacrament the Holy Spirit comes to us under a particular aspect; in other words the work of the Spirit has a slightly different emphasis in each sacrament. Yet broadly speaking the work of the Spirit in the sacraments can be summed up as both binding us to Christ through the forgiveness of sins, the healing of wounds, and drawing us into his life; as well as conforming us to Christ so that we can become instruments of grace, so that we can help others to come to Christ, so that we can become the presence of Christ for other people.
This conformation and union allows us, so to speak, to worship within the Holy Trinity itself as adopted sons and daughters. In the Spirit, the bond of love between Father and Son, we share in the eternal and infinite outpouring of love between the persons of the Holy Trinity. The basic movement of the sacraments, then, is from God to us. In the Spirit we are bound to Christ who draws us back towards God. Yet this union with and conformation to Christ which the Spirit brings suggests that the love of the Trinity that we now share in ought to spill out into our lives: to pray in the Spirit suggests that we will also live in the Spirit. In a very specific sense, then, every baptized, confirmed, ordained or married person is a sacrament. That person’s life is potentially a sign and a channel of grace for others, our lives can be a gift of God to others.
A properly celebrated sacrament facilitates this sacramental life: that is, if we are open to all three dimensions of the sacrament: as a sign of Christ, as the sign and reality of his presence and action, and as a gift of the Holy Spirit, then we will become increasingly Christlike, increasingly able to live and pray as Christ did. However, it is possible to resist the grace of the sacrament. It is possible to resist or reject Christ’s gift of the Spirit and to refuse to allow the Holy Spirit to take root in our hearts. If, however, we allow the Spirit to work in and through us, we shall be transfigured.
On Saturday evening the community celebrated Pentecost Vigil, and on Sunday the feast continued, with the conventual Mass being followed by a feast to which all the doorkeepers at Blackfriars were invited. Here are some pictures from the two evenings:
The Vigil, lining up in prosession:
The Entrance:
Receiving and preparing the gifts:
The Eucharist:
The communion:
Go forth, the Mass is ended...
After Sunday Mass, the refectory was prepared for the Doorkeeper's diner...
Dominicans from the French Studentate on a guided tour at Chevetogne
Some years ago, the Studentate of Lille in France went for a week’s retreat at Chevetogne Abbey, which is a Benedictine monastery dedicated to Christian unity. The monastery has both a Western (Latin) Rite and Eastern (Byzantine) rite. The monks share meals and community life, but those entering this monastery must chose which rite they want to belong to, and the liturgy is parallely celebrated under both rites. During a guided tour in the Byzantine Church, the monk showing us the sanctuary said: ‘there are three axes crossing this church room: There is one cosmic axis, there is one temporal axis, and one axis that we may call an axis of drama. And they all converge over the altar!’ This description of the liturgical celebration refers to the existential dimension of the liturgy, including space, time and the perpetual effect of the salvation. This might be good to bear in mind as we will now examine the relation between the sacraments and their celebration.
During the last month we have studied the different sacraments of the Church, naturally starting with baptism where the faithful are initiated into the body of Christ, the Church, and fittingly ending with marriage which, in addition to establishing the union of the groom and bride in Christ, is also a symbol of the love of Christ for the Church. All the sacraments have in common that they are celebrated by the whole of the Church, and without the celebration, we could not talk about an effect of any of the sacraments in the first place. This is worth mentioning as a correction against a tendency where the sacraments sometimes seem to be detached from the liturgical event, as if the liturgy was there only in order to ‘validate’ the sacrament. Far from this functionalistic and reductionist approach, we are called to actively take part in the liturgy and enter the depths of the sacramental celebration, as the Second Vatican constitution Sacrosanctum Concilium insist on: ‘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’ (SC 14). The liturgical celebration is a meeting point between God and his people; it is a celebration of the intimate relationship re-established between God and humanity through the salvation in Christ, where friendship and love is the ultimate motive and goal. It is on this ground that the Church is constituted, with its organisation and its structure. Throughout the centuries, the understanding and the celebration of the Church’s sacraments are consolidated, leading up to the practice that we have today. Each of the sacraments is celebrated in a specific way, each according to their nature and purpose.
We may ask who is celebrating the liturgy. The answer is manifold. The source and the goal of the liturgy is God the Father, as he grants the whole creation his blessing in every moment (Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) § 1079). The liturgical actions are realised through and in Christ, in his head and in his body, the Church (CCC § 1136). The catechism affirms that 'a sacramental celebration is a meeting of God's children with their Father, in Christ and the Holy Spirit; this meeting takes the form of a dialogue, through actions and words' (CCC § 1153). It is only through Christ that the Church exists, as she is Christ’s body. And when this body is gathered, the purpose is ‘to make present the One in whom all things are at their end, and all things are at their beginning’, as Alexander Schmemann puts it in his excellent work ‘For the life of the World’. The presence of the Son is realised through the work of the Holy Spirit, uniting the Church to the life and mission of Christ (CCC § 1092). St Paul summons up this dynamic between the Trinity and the Church as he gives praise saying: ‘Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places’ (Ephesians 1:3).
We may note that the word ‘liturgy’, coming ultimately from two Greek words 'laos' (people) and 'ergon' (work), can be translated ‘the work of the people’. Being gathered in Christ is both a gift and a commitment for all Christians, and the ‘work’ of God’s people is to praise and give thanks to God for His gifts bestowed upon us. Here we see how the liturgy has a double movement: there is one descending movement through which the sacraments are given us. ‘By the action of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit they make present efficaciously the grace that they (the sacraments) signify’ (CCC § 1084). The ascending movement is our grateful response that becomes the Eucharist – the thanksgiving – and thereby we become living signs of God’s presence in our lives and in the world. This is the very meaning of the human existence, and living our lives in the truth entrusted us is the mission that all Christians are called to live.
We have said that the liturgy is a dialogue between God and his Church, through words and actions. In this language given through the liturgical form, we also find an educative aspect. Most of us have sometimes felt impatience or emptiness during the liturgical celebration. Since the liturgy is a given formulary, we are ‘forced’ to follow the liturgical rite, even though we may feel a certain resistance towards it in the moment. We may recognise a similar feeling if we think of our own childhood. As children, we may remember how we were asked to obey our parents, being told what to do and how to behave. At the time, we did not necessarily consent to all the demands, but as we grew older, we often come to appreciate this fundamental education. It is easy to see the parallel to the ‘formation’ given through the liturgy. Even though we are not receptive to the liturgical event in the moment, we are gradually being formed and given the possibility of growing into an ever deeper understanding of the sacramental celebration.
As we have recently celebrated Pentecost, it is appropriate to reflect of the Spirit’s presence in the life of the Church. We should let the Spirit move us in all areas of our existence; in our moral life, in the spiritual life and in our intellectual approach. In fact, we have a responsibility of growing in understanding of our faith. The liturgy, being such a substantial part of our faith, needs to be grasped also at an intellectual level. The liturgy is after all the concrete way by which we enter into relation with our God.
For further self study, I will recommend two key sources:
Last year, the very late Easter meant that Pentecost fell on my birthday. So, by a happy coincidence, once in a blue moon, I could share my birthday with the Church. Pentecost is often called the ‘birthday’ of the Church because it is the day the apostles received the Holy Spirit and publicly went out to preach about the Risen Lord Jesus. We can argue, of course, that the Church existed long before that, perhaps even before the foundation of the world. But as a visible and organised group of disciples preaching the Gospel of Christ, the Church underwent a special birth on that first Pentecost. The tongues of fire on the apostles’ heads might even – at least for those who are still young of heart – remind us of candles on a birthday cake!
Christians have excellent reason, then, to make this a feast day of the highest importance. But if we are not careful, we might find ourselves misunderstanding this momentous day. One possible misunderstanding is to think of this as the day when the Holy Spirit replaced Jesus Christ, as an invisible yet manifest presence of God among us. On this view, we might think that Christianity is all about life “in the Spirit”, free from doctrinal, organisational or other restrictive rules and principles. On the other hand, the opposite error would be to think of Pentecost only as the day when the hierarchical Church was established once and for all, the moment when the Apostles were empowered to become Bishops and, on Christ’s authority, visibly took up the reins of spiritual power on earth.
I want to suggest that neither of these pictures is complete, though each contains an essential grain of truth. The true meaning of Pentecost is the harmony between these two principles: between what we might call the ‘spiritual’ and the ‘institutional’, between the ‘prophetic’ and the ‘political’, or the ‘invisible’ and the ‘visible’.
Firstly, the spiritual, prophetic and invisible element is obviously at the heart of today’s feast, as the readings make clear. The disciples were gathered together not long after the Ascension of Jesus, and suddenly there came the noise, like the wind, and the tongues, like fire, to rest upon them. They knew, since Jesus had promised it, that the Spirit would come, but they did not know where, when or how. The wind blows where it wills, and that is what it means to be born of the Spirit (John 3:8). The life of God is beyond our comprehension. We know that God is love, and we come to know him personally in Jesus Christ, but beyond that we must throw ourselves upon him – like a desperate lover – in faith, in hope, and in love.
There is no life without the Spirit. And it is the Spirit himself who enables us to see the surprising beauty and extraordinary majesty of God’s creation – which includes ourselves. “Tell the mighty works of God!” (cf. Acts 2:11) The Psalmist tells us to look at this world, full of wonderful creatures, and share our appreciation with others. He ponders nature and praises the Lord for his ingenuity and power. But he also confesses that nature is nothing compared to God himself. Our very breath comes from God Himself, the God who breathes His own divine life into us:
“If you take away their breath, they perish
and return to their dust.
When you send forth your spirit, they are created,
and you renew the face of the earth.” (Psalm 104:29-30)
The prophet Ezekiel famously saw a valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37:1-14). Those bones represent life without God, life without the Holy Spirit. Whenever we lapse into a rigid institutionalism, like the Pharisees demanding law over mercy, we are like those dry bones. The Church, like much of our society, is never entirely free from this kind of thinking. If we place all our hope in structures, hierarchies, 5-year-plans and SWOT analyses, we shut ourselves off from God’s creative and re-creative breath. But when we respond joyfully to God’s call in faith and love, our Lord faithfully and lovingly breathes His Spirit upon us.
But secondly, Pentecost is the birthday of the visible Church. There is no Spirit without community. It is when the disciples are gathered, “when the time for Pentecost was fulfilled”, we’re told, that the Spirit comes. The Spirit becomes audibly present (with the noise of the rushing wind), visibly present (with the tongues of fire), and actively present when the apostles go out and preach to the crowd in Jerusalem. That great crowd is multi-lingual, multi-national, multi-faith and yet they are all united by the fact that they can understand the apostolic preaching in their native tongues. The Spirit speaks the same good news to all, regardless of race, nationality, or creed. All are called to receive the Spirit and join in the fellowship of Christ on earth, which is his Church. In that Church, Christ generously breathes his Spirit on us, through our faith and through our participation in the sacraments. Christ founded a visible church, with a visible communion between Peter and the other apostles, and through visible means his Spirit is limitlessly poured out on all who seek it.
The Church born on Pentecost is universal: the Body of Christ is numerous, diverse, and spread all over world. So it doesn’t matter that we don’t all speak in tongues (in fact I don’t know what that phenomenon would even sound like). The gifts of the Spirit are many, says St Paul, but there is one Spirit. There are different parts, but one body. That is why a 6th century African homily tells us we can all speak in every tongue, because we all belong to the Body of Christ, and that Body is universal, multi-lingual, united in its diversity – in a word, Catholic.
So, the spiritual and the institutional, the prophetic and political, the visible and the invisible must always be seen in harmony. Where our human frailty causes us to exaggerate one or the other aspect, we risk losing the unity and strength of our communion. But, in the end, thank God, the Holy Spirit is always there to bring us back to the right path, and He will lead us into all truth.
Last Sunday 20th May, when the Solemnity of the Ascension was observed in England and Wales this year, the annual Dominican pilgrimage to Walsingham took place. Groups came from Cambridge, Leicester, and London as well as Oxford, and after a long bus journey, the pilgrimage began with the solemn Mass in the shrine church, at which the Prior of Cambridge, Fr Martin Ganeri OP, preached the homily.
After a picnic lunch in the grounds of the shrine, the pilgrims set off on a Rosary Procession, Our Lady's statue being followed by the banners of various groups from some of our Dominican parishes.
On arriving in the village of Little Walsingham, there was time for a little relaxation after the walk, as well as a chance for those who wished to explore the village and its sights.
Though the uncertain weather had deterred some from walking in the procession, the parish church of the Annunciation was packed for Vespers and Benediction, which rounded off our pilgrimage.
For those of you who might be interested in joining us next year, the date of the pilgrimage in 2013 will be Sunday 12th May.
Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest is my beloved among the young men. I delight to sit in his shade, and his fruit is sweet to my taste (Song of Songs 2:3).
One of the most beautiful things that can happen to a human being is to love someone and being loved in return. It becomes even much more agreeable when both people choose to spend their lives together forever and to start a family. That is why, since the dawn of time, societies saw marriage as an important institution, not only for their survival, but also for their happiness.
Canon 1056 tells us that “[t]he essential properties of marriage are unity and indissolubility, which in Christian marriage obtain a special firmness by reason of the sacrament.” The firmness consists in the fact that God is the one to unite the spouses and no one should separate them (Mark 10:9). Thus, one could say that when God created a man and a woman it implied complementarity (Gen 2:18) which is more clearly expressed in the sacrament of matrimony. Thus, marriage, that union between a man and a woman, is part of God’s plan. The Catechism of the Catholic Church thus tells us that “[m]arriage is not a purely human institution despite the many variations it may have undergone through the centuries in different cultures, social structures, and spiritual attitudes. These differences should not cause us to forget its common and permanent characteristics” (CCC 1603).
Marriage leads to family. Blessed Pope John Paul II wrote in his letter to families, Gratissimam Sane, that “Christ … entrusted man to [the Church] as the 'way'of her mission and her ministry… Among these many paths, the family is the first and the most important. It is a path common to all, yet one which is particular, unique and un-repeatable, just as every individual is unrepeatable; it is a path from which man cannot withdraw” (1994: §1 – §2).
It is obvious that today the institution of the family suffers a lot. Many people no longer are born in torn families, in many countries children are born in deplorable situations that leave them orphaned, and hundreds of thousands of children grow in separated families or in child-headed households. It becomes even sadder when Christian families choose to end their relationship and opt for a separation. However, Christian families are not immune to the problems that tear down our society.
Where families are torn from the separation of the spouses, the Catechism of the Catholic Church gives us the reason saying that “[e]very man experiences evil around him and within himself. This experience makes itself felt in the relationships between man and woman. Their union has always been threatened by discord, a spirit of domination, infidelity, jealousy, and conflicts that can escalate into hatred and separation. This disorder can manifest itself more or less acutely, and can be more or less overcome according to the circumstances of cultures, eras, and individuals, but it does seem to have a universal character” (CCC 1606). A more compassionate approach towards current problems in families might assist in helping to solve them. It would be an enormous mistake and utterly wrong to start looking at marriage as a less important vocation. It is different from the calling to religious life but it has its own irreplaceable role to play in the building of the kingdom of God. But still, we need to find a solution to this persisting – maybe worsening – crisis in the institution of marriage.
We need to be continuously reminded that, as Herbert Vorgrimler puts it in his book Sacramental Theology, marriage being the symbol of the love of Christ for the Church, “is an ‘enduring sacrament [which] implies this continuing symbolic value and the ongoing state of being Church and building Church.’ From this fact alone results the indissolubility of the marriage of believing Christians and the unity (monogamy) of this marriage, things that cannot be made conclusive with purely rational arguments based on nature. The result of this theological reflection is that marriage – at least a marriage that is deliberately sacramental – cannot be built on a love that is primarily thought of as feeling, emotion, sympathy, or attraction […] love expresses itself not only in the decision made at the beginning, but above all in fidelity” (1992:309 - 310).
As a community of believers whose lives are centred around the Eucharist, we form the Mystical Body of Christ, Christ's visible presence in the world. As with any visible body, there is a visible structure and hierarchy in Christ's Mystical Body. We all have a part to play, but not everyone plays the same part. Through our baptism, we are all called to share in Christ's threefold office of priest, prophet and king, but those called to holy orders as deacons, priests and bishops exercise Christ's ministry in a very special way.
In considering how those in holy orders share in Christ's kingship we should recall what Jesus said to his disciples about leadership:
You know that those who are supposed to rule over the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great men exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you; but whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of man also came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:42-45).
Anyone who believes the sacrament of holy orders is all about power, and is upset that the priesthood is primarily restricted to celibate men, is rather missing the point. The sacrament of holy orders is not an individual right that enables the recipient to wield certain kinds of power, but rather it is a gift of Christ to the whole Church. Being called to exercise Christ's kingship in holy orders is fundamentally about service. The bishop serves his diocese by being a focus of unity in the local Church, the priest serves his flock by administering the sacraments, and the deacon serves the community in the liturgy of the word and by assisting during the celebration of the Eucharist. This is over and above the service all Christians are called to in serving their neighbour in building up the kingdom of God. Being a citizen in God's Kingdom means you have certain rights and it is the duty of those in holy orders to ensure that those rights are satisfied. Sacred ministers may not deny the sacraments to those who opportunely ask for them, are properly disposed and are not prohibited by canon law from receiving them.
In exercising Christ's prophetic office, those in holy orders need to be teachers. All Christians are called to preach the Gospel by showing how their service of others is rooted in their relationship with Christ, but those in holy orders do this in a very explicit way. Ministers who preach at Mass need to be able to interpret the signs of the times in the light of Christ's death and resurrection. To do this convincingly, a lot of training is required - to become a priest, canon law requires that you complete six full years of study. A priest needs to be able to articulate how what goes on in the Mass and what we read in the scriptures relates to the Christian life of faith, hope and charity.
In exercising Christ's priestly office, the priest acting in the person of Christ makes present the Eucharistic sacrifice, and offers it to God in the name of all the people. This is at the heart of the Christian life. We are in communion with each other by being in communion with the Trinity, and the role of the priest in the Mass is both symbolic and real. Because the sacraments are symbolic, there is a relationship between what we see and what we believe, and this relationship is the deepest reality there is. The intimate relationships of the Trinity, Father, Son and Spirit, are truly manifested in the sacraments. The priest really embodies Christ. It really is Christ who breaks the bread and says 'this is my body.' It really is Christ who takes the chalice and says 'this is the chalice of my blood.' Because the unbloody sacrifice of the Mass is truly related to Christ's bloody sacrifice on the cross, the priest really does allow us to offer a sacrifice of thanks and praise through the Holy Spirit.
The healing of the sick has been an important component of Christian life and ministry since the earliest writings of the New Testament. The Gospels present us with many instances of Christ and his disciples going among the people in order to heal them in mind, body and spirit. In fact we should be aware that healing, as it is often portrayed in scripture, is closely intertwined with forgiveness; disease and illness with the destructive effects of sin and evil. “They had come to hear him and be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And all the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them” (Luke 6:18-19). These healings, of course, announced a more radical healing; the ultimate victory over sin and death of Christ’s death and resurrection.
The Church commonly points to two scriptural references as forming the basis on which the sacrament of anointing rests; firstly Mark 6:12-13; “They went out and preached that people should repent. They drove out many demons and anointed many sick people with oil and healed them.”Secondly James 5:14-15; “Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven.” In the apostolic writings of the early Church we see that this important ministry was indeed continued, in various forms, and as such this sacrament has remained to the present day, a vital part of the life and ministry of the Church.
As with other sacraments, the discipline of the Church has changed over time in response to numerous factors, and we have seen important shifts in the theology underpinning the Church’s view of its reception. In the first centuries of the Church we find no canonical or liturgical regulations for the anointing of the sick; but that the ministry continued is clear, and we find reference to it in a number of writings, such as those of Hippolytus and Tertullian, who make reference to prayer and anointing. By the eighth century, and especially from the ninth, the sacrament became increasingly connected, theologically and practically, with that of confession and the Eucharist. The reasons for this were understandable; the sacrament came with onerous life-long obligations comparable to penitential obligations and as such was increasingly given only when the recipient was nearing death. Secondly, it became bound heavily with the sacrament of penance itself. Anointing was becoming the sacrament of the dying. The order in which these sacraments were given until the thirteenth century was confession, followed by anointing, and then the receiving of the Eucharist. From then on the sacramental order changed, until recently, with anointing being given last.
The Second Vatican Council, in its general revision of liturgical practice, called for a renewal in the understanding of anointing. Indeed, the term ‘anointing of the sick’ was chosen as being more fitting and the prayers to be recited included reference to physical healing. The Council encouraged anointing at the onset of illness, rather than waiting for the sick to reach the point of death. Perhaps less understandable was the decision to simplify the process of anointing itself; it can be argued that, through the reduction in the number of places anointed, we have lost some of the physical significance of the sacrament which the previous rite made clear. Of particular significance, however, was the decision to re-instate the older sacramental order of the ‘last rites’; accordingly Viaticum was again placed last with anointing taking place after confession and absolution. In cases of severe sickness and of those nearing death, this ordering represented a much needed shift, not only of the place of anointing, but of the Eucharist in the process.
The sacrament today continues to emphasise the human person as body and soul, in need of healing both spiritual and physical; though theology and practice have shifted through time, this has never been wholly lost, but was in serious need of being re-examined and affirmed in recent centuries. If we are to see healing aright then we need to see this integral healing as rooted firmly in the suffering, death and resurrection of Christ. By grounding this sacrament in the Paschal Mystery we are able to see the relationship of the Sacrament of Anointing, and all the sacraments, to the redemptive work of Christ through His Church.
Homily held for the 9.30 community at Blackfriars, Oxford.
The readings of today talk about ‘Love’. It’s one of those words that are most used, and maybe also misused in our daily life, still it is not easy to approach it. In order to try to reach its core, I would like to begin in the other end so to speak. I have in mind the Norwegian terrorist Anders Behring Breivik and the ongoing trial against him. He killed 77 people last summer, most of them adolescents. For hours, days and weeks case after case is being described in detail. Relatives, friends and all of us really, are weeping silently over the loss of innocent lives.
The national and international press tends to present the accused as a being without emotions or conscience. We do not want to identify us with this man, and we push him out of the zone of recognition. He is not like us. But by treating him in this way, the press risks expressing exactly the same attitude as the defendant does. Because Breivik himself does not talk about people, boys and girls, moms and dads. He talks about goals, strategies, sacrifices, achievements and politics. We cannot respond to him in the same way. To try to dehumanise Anders Breivik is deeply wrong and unjust. Breivik is just as much a human being as any of us here today. Why then, this alienation of this person?
I believe it is because Breivik also shows an aspect of something that is true of both humanity and our society, an aspect that neither the press nor we who follow the trial want to see. As we observe this person, we are also confronted with a society that is developing a mode of life where its individuals can be totally lost. And in their isolation they may lose contact with reality. We see, and are also part of, a society where responsibility is being moved around, we see signs of an ever less-personal system that in the end leads to a terrible, and dangerous, isolation. We are members of a society that are more and more divided into layers.
A few days ago, one of the brethren spoke with great enthusiasm of a novel called ‘The city and the city’. It is to be found in the shelves of ‘Fantasy’ and ‘Science Fiction’. It describes two cities that in a kind of double layered world actually occupy much of the same geographical space. However, the habitants of the two cities do not interact with each other, and if so should happen, even accidentally, it is considered to be a crime worse than murder.
Now I can see by the expression on some of the faces here that you are asking ‘How could such a double world possibly exist? Wouldn’t they bump into each other? And what about Tesco? On a Friday afternoon, it’s already pretty crowdy!’ Well. To get those answers, I guess you’ll have to read the book yourselves, or track down the brother who mentioned this in the first place. However, we don’t need to read Science-Fiction in order to observe such blindness in a society. Just think of how easily we pass the homeless in the streets. Or drug addicted. Or teenagers hanging out at MacDonald’s. Or elderly people in institutions or sitting alone in their homes or on benches around in town. We live in a society whose members are segregated, a society that teaches us to say: ‘This is not my responsibility’. Where we learn to cry out: ‘Someone’s got to take care of this!’
We may not even need to go leave this house of prayer to see these tendencies. There might be peoples within our own community that we do not really know. Or we might know something about them, enough to keep a certain distance. Even in our own family, and maybe especially there, we live sometimes at an infinite distance from each other, in spite of our proximity in daily life. In the end, the layers of our society, and the filter through which we observe the world and make our choices, are rooted in our own hearts. The Second Vatican Constitution ‘Gaudium et Spes’, points at this reality as it concludes: ‘Man is split within himself. As a result, all of human life, whether individual or collective, shows itself to be a dramatic struggle between good and evil, between light and darkness’ (GS 13).
Dear brothers and sisters, we are not gathered here because it is convenient, because we may benefit from it, as if we were on a market place. We are here because we find ourselves in profound need of healing. Our healing consists in restoring our ability to love. And this is, in fact, also the precious gift we have been given by God himself: ‘It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain’. This fruit is the gift of loving one another. We are called to break the conventions rooted in fear and conformity, conventions that hold us back from fulfilling our mission of love. We are called, not to dehumanise the world, but to re-humanise it.
This means that in spite of the terrible actions of the Norwegian terrorist, we have to defend him; not his actions which are beyond comprehension, but his humanity. In our daily life, we have to ask ourselves if we have become too comfortable with the divisions in our society. Do we care for those around us, even if they don’t belong to our immediate sphere of interaction? And in family life, we are called to slow down, and look into ourselves with honesty and humility. How do we relate to each other? Do we really talk together? Do we give of ourselves?
But what if we find that we do not fulfil the commandments we are given today? Let us then remember that we the body of Christ, and in Christ we receive life, strength and humility to grow in love both to God and to each other.
