Resurrecting Chicago

In 1963 I attended the first Mass celebrated in English in the U.S. The occasion was the Catholic Church’s National Liturgical Convention held at Kiel Auditorium in St. Louis. I heard expressed in my own language the words of the Mass that I had known so well in Latin. The celebrant was Monsignor Martin Hellriegel, a Bavarian immigrant, and pastor of a church in St. Louis. He had been a guiding light for the liturgical movement in the U.S.

When this church was built the Mass was celebrated in Latin.

As I remember, some fourteen thousand Catholic representatives of the dioceses throughout the U.S. were present.  I was a twenty-two-year-old seminarian and one of the members of the huge choir assembled for this event.

We sang English liturgical songs that had been specially composed for the event since there were no other musical compositions suited to a Mass in the vernacular.

That Mass opened the floodgates of liturgical experimentation in the United States. The Latin Mass began to recede in popularity. Plus, the celebrant’s face was no longer turned away from the congregation. The priest faced us and spoke in words we understood.  It was in our own language and the words began to resonate with meanings that had never reached my heart before. When I was growing up, I often sat in church and prayed that the priest would say something that I could understand.   In those days, the sermons were in English but they might as well have been in Latin, too.

Now, though, somehow the ritual words heard in my own language engaged my heart in a deeper experience of what I had known as a youth.

Here we are, over fifty years later, and the celebration of the Holy Eucharist in the vernacular is taken for granted. Latin somehow had made the ritual of the Mass mysterious. English somehow makes the Mass more welcoming while the sacred mystery remains.

I was fifteen years old and waiting after school at a corner for a bus. When it arrived, I got on it and sat down across from a man who sat with his eyes closed, smiling, with his hands resting on his cane. I could see by his white cane that he was blind. He was a big man, dressed neatly, maybe in his forties. Then I noticed a badge on his coat pocket. In large letters, it said: “I am blind and deaf.”

My fifteen-year-old mind grappled with the question of how could someone be blind and deaf. How could this man be taking a bus without a companion to guide him? Most of all I thought: How could this man be smiling? I only had a few blocks to go. When I got off, the blind and deaf man was still sitting there, smiling.

I’m a very old man now but I have never forgotten the blind-deaf man who so profoundly affected me as a young man.

In my twenties, I learned American Sign Language (ASL) and worked with the deaf and hard of hearing. I spent quite a bit of time teaching that language to a blind man who was going deaf. His wife had asked me to teach him. “He’s blind and now he is going deaf. How will we be able to communicate?” The manual alphabet and “signs” he could feel in his coupled hands, gave them a way to manage the rest of their lives together.

I retain an image of the blind and deaf man who I saw sitting across from me on the bus when I was fifteen. His silence spoke to me, and his blindness opened my eyes. His serene smile left me changed for the better. I have never been the same and I have never shared this story with anyone until now, Ash Wednesday 2023.

As I got out of my car in the church parking lot this morning, I was thinking how much lighter it is at 6:30 AM than it was at the same time a month ago.  A red bird was singing a bright melody close by.  As I entered the church to prepare to offer the Eucharist I thought about those signs that alert me to the meaning of this day.  A blind and deaf person has to feel for the signs that will reveal meaning.  My sense of touch will search for Lent, too, in the movement of the priest’s thumb as he marks me with black dust in the form of a cross.

The cold war has never ended, no matter how many military leaders still deny that that war exists.  China, The USA, Israel, and other nuclear nations continue to preserve and build up arsenals of annihilation.  Recently, the dictator of North Korea in  a formal declaration told his military leaders to prepare for war and his state department issued a chilling response to the increased military exercises in South Korea in which the U.S. participates: (This kind of activity) “will be met with the most overwhelming nuclear force.”

We should never give up the Christian crusade to bring peace to our world. That’s why we must continue to bring justice through peaceful means wherever there is an opportunity.

There’s one thing that everyone can do and that is to pray for peace in our world. Passionately, and urgently we should make our prayers to the Prince of Peace. We should never give up.  If all of us in our world were praying for peace, there would be no opportunity to plan for war.

Over fifty years ago, Pope Paul VI prayed at the United Nations for peace in our world. He ended his address with these words: “No more war, war never again!”

Amen.

Snow rescues dullness in my neighborhood.

It’s amazing how fresh snow highlights everything.  This morning the dawn revealed a wooly-looking blanket of white outlining everything: rooftops, naked trees, asphalt streets, and a tricycle in my neighbor’s front yard.

The tricycle irritates me because the only reason it still sits cluttering up the scene is that the adults in the house no longer notice it when they come in and out their front door. Other trash also in the front yard is highlighted by the two inches of white that reveal the junk. This, too, is cause for another “Bless the Lord.” Yes! Bless the Lord, O trash and junk!”

I thank God today as the psalms encourage me to do. “Bless the Lord, O you works of the Lord, bless the Lord.”  Sun and moon, dew and frost, ice and snow –yes, bless the Lord! The naked trees now wear a frosty dressing and for that, bless the Lord! The cars, too, show snow on their hoods and windows as they meander with more care than usual down the street in front of my house. The same people drive the same cars on the same days to work each morning at the same times. But, today there’s surprise snow.

My heart lifts all of this to the Lord and with the Church in every place and time, I, too, bless the Lord. But, today is a different kind of morning because dawn is not soaked up in shadows.  The snow diffuses the light and lifts everything out of the shadows and the whole world is lighter and brighter because of God’s glorious invention of snow. “Bless the Lord, O you works of the Lord!”

It’s the season of awakening light.  Every Advent the prophet Isaiah instructs, cajoles, and inspires us as the gathering light of Advent stirs the faith that gives us the energy to live.  His words sanctify the season.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.” (Is 9:2) I’m aware that when I get up early it is still dark outside. I’m sitting on my enclosed porch, all windows now revealing shades of darkness out there. I look forward to the next hour when I can see the first light of day and then the sun reveals itself to me and the world around me. I’m waiting for that great light.  Meanwhile, reading Isaiah comforts me.This time of year I yearn for more light and I appreciate its absence.

The house sparrows are mute as they awake at first light searching for something to eat.  The robins, too, are scurrying around.  This morning it’s a crisp 19 degrees outside and the robins won’t find squiggling  worms or luscious insects as they hop here and there in search for food. They have to scrimp and try to crush seeds with their narrow pointed beaks. The sparrows, though,  have beaks that crack and extract the protein within seeds so the sparrows get along better in the unending search for the scraps of the past summer. Every winged thing has to tough out the winter here in Northern Illinois. I, too, have to tough things out and I am hungry, not for food but for light.

The Church uses Advent to tell me that the world waited in darkness and gloom until the Savior, He who is the Light of the World. came among us.  The winter solstice will occur in late December, coinciding with the traditional day of the Savior’s birth. Then, the days will extend slowly into full-blown Spring.  Meanwhile, there is a long winter ahead of us –and it will be dark. But, then, Isaiah startles me again: ” Arise, shine, for your light has come and the glory of the Lord rises upon you…..” (Is 60: 1-2)

Living through Advent with Isaiah makes me yearn for the moment when I will see a brilliance that will never go out.

The cross of Jesus Christ is a powerful symbol and its monument is sacred to His followers. (author’s collection)

I just watched a video of Bishop Robert Barron,  chief pastor of the diocese of Rochester-Winona in Minnesota as he re-consecrated a desecrated Catholic Catholic cemetery in Rochester. Over last Halloween evening, vandals entered Calvary cemetery and spray painted obscenities and hateful graffiti on the headstones and other structures there.

“This is holy ground,” the Bishop says. He is vested in white cope and miter with acolytes and seminarians assisting him and a large number of lay people present. His informal words of gathering are spoken in sadness at the desecration of the holy ground containing so many family members — men, women, and children who have gone before us in the Faith.

Cemetery workers stripped and scrubbed away the graffiti so that most of the monuments are now cleansed and restored. Bishop Barron thanks the workers and then offers official prayers that the Catholic Church recommends for re-consecrating a cemetery. He is somewhat hunched over as he walks down the main road among the tombstones casting showers of holy water toward the monuments and the ground.  It is a baptism, a re-birth of this hallowed ground where loved ones lie awaiting the Resurrection.

We have just passed through an ugly, political campaign. It was often vicious and profoundly disrespectful.  However, demeaning and hateful attacks do work, says Chris Christie, a seasoned politician and recent guest on WGN’s The John Williams Show. Even lies and false statements about the character of opponents are now standard by those who want to lead us in government. After months of this type of hateful speech, do we expect that anyone would care about graffiti defacing and dirtying our holy images and sacred spaces?

Was the desecration of a cemetery just a juvenile prank for Halloween? The act of spray painting sacred images and monuments with vicious slogans and the name of the evil one seem more intentionally hurtful to me, not the work of children or even young people.

We Catholics are going to have to react to hateful actions against our buildings and against ourselves. We have a right to practice our faith and a right to expect respect from those who disagree with us. However, it looks as if not only our statues and monuments are going to be attacked. We Catholics are going to have to stand up for our Faith or be pulled down off our pedestals at the hands of iconoclasts who hold nothing sacred but their own opinions.

I was thinking this morning that the Creator must have warmed to the joy of fashioning nature. Look around and see His art and listen to His tunes. All of nature is so varied and interesting. And, it’s beautiful.

This morning I’m outside in my backyard on my birthday watching and listening. Suddenly I’m thinking: “What bird is that?” The song was new and complex, coming from two backyards away. It continued for some minutes. At first, I thought it was cardinal because the sound was flute-like and regularly melodic. But then it changed the melody and didn’t sound at all like a cardinal song.

I was surprised when the bird landed in a bush fifteen feet from me and began his song again.  What’s he doing (assuming it is a he) singing in late summer? Bird song belongs to setting up territory and nest building, doesn’t it?

This bird is sparrow-sized and similarly colored –kind of tawny– but with a prominent and long tail and with an elongated dark beak, curved slightly downward. Is it a Brown Thrasher? Too small. Nuthatch? The beak is not that prominent. Uncommon sparrow? Not with that beak!

I concluded it was a house wren. I am not certain because I didn’t notice the prominent upward position of the tail with its distinctive bands. Maybe this bird didn’t read its description in the latest guide to America’s birds. He was hidden most of the time by the leaves so he wasn’t easy to see but he hopped around in the bush, just like a wren.

So, I heard a new song as I began a new year.

If I continue to listen to the life around me, nature will likely continue to teach me new things. Maybe it will even teach me a new song of my own to sing.

I could use some new melodies and some fresh lyrics as I begin another year.

I can’t be sure how old was I when I began to understand that the resurrection of Jesus is about me, too.   When did I begin to believe that if it were not for the quick embrace of evil in my life Jesus would not have had to suffer? I know: this is a strange way to put it. Maybe that notion was more subtle than that but the deceiver was at work in me. Somehow, though, the Resurrection has become a great hope in my life.

Those who will hear the Gospel of the Resurrection will hear it I suppose in their own way.  How will it become real to ordinary people? It makes me think about the middle-aged, good-hearted man who wonders if he has broken any religious rules lately.  He’s “got to work on” his foul language,” as if it’s a matter of willing properly and controlling one’s self. He is not hearing the news that our efforts are not what counts but grace does. When we fall we get up because Christ Jesus did.

Then, there is the fifteen-year-old girl who informs me that she is reading the bible from front to back.  She does not tell me why.   Is she looking for the secret of life? Is she simply interested in the history of religion and likes the strange and fascinating stories of the Old Testament? What young person picks up a bible and wants to read the whole thing? She must have gotten this idea in defense of her name: “Catholic.” Because Christians of other traditions, especially those who believe that the bible holds all truth want to know why we baptize infants. And, why they can’t receive the Eucharist in our Church? She and others are looking for answers and missing the Gospel. Salvation is about you.

There are those others, too, who are wading through life. Somehow the death and resurrection of the Redeemer hasn’t hit home.  They are walking in fear that the waters that pull at their feet when they move forward might cause them to sink into the deeper murky, watery quicksand. They know, too, that lurking silently among the stumps and old trees there could be a moving log with eyes in sockets skimming the water and an overbite guarding a gaping maw filled with razor-sharp teeth. Deadly spiders hang from silent webs and if disturbed could inject poison, too. And, it’s a shadowy swamp and the waters are rank with sweet decaying life. It’s an exhausting desperate struggle to maintain life.  And where is the glorious Resurrected Christ in all of this?  Speak to me of God’s love in Christ.

Everyone now knows which country Charles III represents. He is king of the U.K. and regent of all the countries in the British Commonwealth.  Millions identify with him as their image of what their nationhood means. The king represents stability and endurance. For over seventy years Queen Elizabeth II maintained that role for her people.

When she died two statements reassured the commonwealth: ” The Queen is dead. Long live the king! No uncertainty here. The people endure while queens and kings come and go but the nationhood maintains stability.

Contrast Charles III with Pope Francis. Francis is the regent of Vatican City, the smallest of all nations but he also represents over 1.3 billion Roman Catholics as their leader. When he dies, cardinal electors will gather in Rome and elect a new pope. While the cardinals deliberate there is an interregnum, the Chair of Peter is unoccupied. “Sede Vacante.”

The difference between the two rites of passage is that those who are represented by the regent have no say in selecting who their next leader will be.  For good or evil and for everything in between, it is the next in line for the throne who is proclaimed regent.

In Vatican City, at the death of a pope, it is not at all clear who the new pope will be. Locked into the Sistine Chapel a hundred or so bishops will choose the man who will lead the Church. The electors pray for direction and wisdom.  They entreat the Holy Spirit to lead them to the one who will step into the “shoes of the fisherman” and represent the face of the Church to the whole world.