A Collect Prayer and a loving message for the day….

 “O God, who through the folly of the Cross wondrously taught Saint Justin the Martyr the surpassing knowledge of Jesus Christ…”

Attending Mass, whether daily or for fulfilling the Sunday obligation, unwittingly becomes routine.  The common prayers – I Confess, Gloria, Creed, Holy Holy, Our Father – are so familiar that we can just rattle them off when they turn up at their appointed place in the Liturgy.  Even the readings, after time, become good friends and, on hearing the first few words, we know what comes next. 

On the other hand, how often do we actually ‘hear’ the other prayers recited during the Liturgy? They are unfamiliar (unless you have your own personal copy of the Mass missal), privy only to the priest at the altar and, if you are not particularly attentive, you could miss the words altogether.  Today, our celebrant intoned the Collect Prayer with unusual clarity and my ears picked up the words, ‘….folly of the Cross…’ and I was intrigued. Yes, I checked the Book after Mass and I had heard correctly. 

This set me thinking about how much we are loved.  If you have ever cared for another so intensely that you forget self for the other, when no sacrifice is too hard and no expense too great, you throw logic to the winds, there is irrationality in the face of danger and there is even less thought to the consequences. How foolish we are when we love deeply! 

Imagine, then, how deep and how immense was Christ’s love for us; all we need to do is to look to the ‘foolishness of the Cross’ to know this reality.

Hold fast to this thought – it will get you through the day.  It will also get you through life.

That ‘WOW’ Feeling

A priest, who recently conducted a session on preparing for the Liturgy, told us that every celebration of the Eucharist should be a ‘Wow’ moment – we should come away feeling that the experience had been awesome, out of this world, each and every time. 

And I found myself thinking: Like yeah – prayers routinely muttered in monotone with spattered responses, everyone doing their own thing, boring sermon and really bad singing.  So, where’s the ‘Wow’?

Then I was hauled up to play keyboard at a funeral.  What hymns? The usual.  Who’ll be singing? Not known: whoever turns up. Oh dear!

I dutifully trotted to the church, set up the keyboard, arranged the music and waited.  One ‘singer’ turned up and with her help I set the pitch.  She was soon followed by a few others – all altos – who insisted that I keep the pitch low.  My heart sank proportionately. Gradually, the group grew – a motley crowd indeed.  They arranged themselves around the microphones and waited for Mass to commence.

The celebrant was young and as we launched into the entrance hymn, he joined in from the altar - fresh voiced and exultant - adding to the unexpected four voice harmony that emerged from the ‘cobbled together choir’.  It sounded amazingly beautiful, as did all the hymns and Mass parts that followed.  Our celebrant led us encouragingly through the various parts, enjoining us to ‘please stand, be seated, kneel’ for the purpose intended.  This unified the congregation in gesture and response. He preached a homily that spoke to the heart, referring to the deceased as if he spoke of his own mother – gently, affectionately and appreciatively.  Each part of the Eucharistic celebration segued with the next: each crested wave, higher than the last. Uplifting, illuminating, fulfilling, invigorating. Every response carried an inbuilt ‘hosanna’. This, indeed, was a funeral Mass with a difference. This called for complete and unconditional presence.

The deceased may have been quieted in death, but she was a vibrant personality in life.  Perhaps her spirit infused the celebration of this, her final Eucharist?

I’m still feeling that ‘WOW’.