For those who don't know, incorporated into the liturgy of the Mass is the washing of the feet of twelve by the priest. After the Mass, the altar is completely cleaned of everything (candlesticks and all). The Holy Eucharist is then taken in solemn procession throughout the church around the entire congregation. Afterward, the Eucharist is placed in a special place for adoration until midnight, that we may wait with Him in prayer.
There were three priests, three deacons, three seminarians, and three altar servers and all due ceremony was given, including the liberal use of incense. The only flaw in the ointment for me was the also liberal use of Haugen-Haas music. The richness of the liturgy stood as a contrast to show how very shallow and lacking that music is. The choir made it sound as good as it possibly could and their clear talent was allowed to shine through when we sang St. Thomas Aquinas' Tantum ergo sacramentum in Latin (the first 4 verses repeated during the procession and the last two after the Eucharist was installed in the adoration space, not merely what is shown in the link). The final song, although with the clear potential for banality when merely reading the words, was arranged and sung with such beauty and sensitivity that the choir overcame the material. A special bonus was getting to hear Laura sing. What a talent she has! To think that all this time I had no idea what a "voice" I knew. (It was like a St. Thomas blogging convention at that Mass ... Stevie helped clear off the altar and I bet that Veronica was around somewhere though there was such a crush of people I didn't see her ... and, truth to tell, everyone's attention was elsewhere than checking out the crowd.)
As for the prayer answered, it was if the Holy Spirit was flowing over us like a river. At least that is how it was for Rose and me. Fr. L. is a homilist of inspired talents. When listening to him, I often think that I have a taste of what it must have been like to be privileged to hear St. John Chrysostom (whose name means golden tongued) or St. Anthony (who when the people would not listen preached to the ocean and had the fish come to listen) or St. Ambrose who was so eloquent that he converted my favorite St. Augustine (who, himself was no slouch with words).
At any rate, he kept making the point that tied all the scripture together in a timeless tale of God's goodness and love for us. "This is what God has done for us," he said repeatedly. "Not for people from a long time ago, not for the ancient Israelites ... but for us." Of course, there was more because it is not as if that is a point I have never heard. However, hearing those words, "this is what God has done for us," was like an electric shock to my system. Somehow, for a few seconds, there was a slight lifting of the veil between the seen and unseen. I flashed on John C. Wright's mystical glimpse and it all tied together a bit to make me somehow grasp, oh so briefly and oh so slightly, God's timelessness and love in instituting the Eucharist for us (believe me, this was not nearly at the level that Wright saw, but through a thick dark veil...).
During this experience... I saw and experienced part of the workings of a mind infinitely superior to mine, a mind able to count every atom in the universe, filled with paternal love and jovial good humor. The cosmos created by the thought of this mind was as intricate as a symphony, with themes and reflections repeating themselves forward and backward through time: prophecy is the awareness that a current theme is the foreshadowing of the same theme destined to emerge with greater clarity later. A prophet is one who is in tune, so to speak, with the music of the cosmos.Throughout Lent, and especially lately, I have been praying to know, love and serve Jesus better. It is funny that Rose and I were discussing before Mass began that we did not have what one would call a "devotion" to Jesus. I always am more comfortable with God the Father or the Holy Spirit and often must struggle to find my way to that one of the three-in-one who actually has shared our humanity. (Yes, I'm weird ... but at least I know it.) I also have accepted the fact that I can love Jesus and not feel it. After all, love is not all about feelings and I know that too.
However, last night I was suddenly flooded with an intense love for Jesus and such a sorrow for the times I have turned my back on Him ... it was literally overwhelming. I also felt such a sadness at all the grief and suffering and sin of the world. This was a gentler feeling mixed with love and compassion as I watched everyone come for Communion and thought how alike we all are ... in our love for God, in our failings, and in our need.
Meanwhile, beside me, Rose was intermittently struggling with being overcome with emotion and that is not at all typical. A fine pair we made, sniffling, red eyed ... and not a tissue between us. Sheez! I will certainly bring some tonight to Mass and, therefore, doubtless will remain dry-eyed the entire time.
Afterwards we stayed in Adoration for a bit and then drove home, confiding our experiences to each other. We entered the house to find that Hannah was home for the Easter weekend ... and all was joy again. A homey, down-to-earth family joy, but joy nonetheless.
God is good.
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