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Posted on by Richard Chonak

“The people that longs to see your face”: a sermon for All Saints’ Day

[A few years ago, Dom Mark Kirby of Silverstream Priory preached a retreat to the nuns of the Monastère Saint-Benoît in Nans-sous-Sainte-Anne, France; here is his sermon on the occasion of All Saints’ Day. The translation is mine, and the original text in French appears on Dom Mark’s blog, Vultus Christi. — RC]

“Lord, this is the people that longs to see your face.”
Yes, Lord Jesus, they all came to seek your face.
They all took to heart this word which your Holy Spirit made King David the prophet sing: “My heart has said: I seek the Lord; it is your face, O Lord, that I shall seek. Turn not your face from me.” (Ps 27: 8-9)
They all became living mirrors of your Holy Face, as your Apostle says: “And we all who, with faces unveiled, reflect the glory of the Lord as in a mirror, are transformed into his very image, ever more glorious, as befits the work of the Lord who is the Spirit.” (2 Cor 3: 18).
Lord Jesus, the beauty of the glory of your saints ravishes us because it is the reflection on their faces of the beauty of the glory of your Face!
Today you reveal to us, today you tell us again the secret of all sanctity: to seek your face.
To anyone who seeks your face, Lord Jesus, you reveal it, and he to whom you reveal your face can only adore it.
This adoration of your Holy Face is transforming; it is again the prophet-king who gives us the words to sing each night: “Let the light of your face shine on us, O Lord.” (Ps 4, 7).
Among all these faces illumined by the beauty of your Face, there is one countenance radiant with a splendor that makes the sun pale.
It is the face of your Mother, the all-beautiful, the all-pure.
You are all beautiful, O Mary, for in your face we see the radiant reflection of Him who is “the brightness of the Father’s glory and the image of his being” (Heb 1:3).
You, the queen of all the saints, you are the great sign that appeared in the heavens: the Woman clothed with the sun, having the moon beneath her feet, and bearing a crown with twelve stars.
I must say to you, dear sisters, that since we sang the antiphon of the Magnificat at first Vespers, I have understood that the faith of Abraham remained, in a sense, unfulfilled, inasmuch as it had not yet found its fullness in Mary.
The sons and daughters of Abraham, more countless than the stars of heaven, are all without any exception, sons and daughters of Mary, of her who believed “that the word of the Lord to her would be fulfilled.” (Luke 1:45).
It is Mary who leads all the saints in the song that once poured out of her immaculate Heart: “The Almighty has done great things for me” (Lk 1:49).
This is the song of all the saints.
Each one receives it from the lips of Mary, to take it up in his own turn, each with his own voice, each with his own accent, each with the melody which the Holy Spirit inspires in him.
That is the great sound that fills Heaven: it is the song of Mary, taken up by the choir of the saints.
And who are these saints, all children of Mary?
They are the ones blessed by the gospel which you just heard.
This word of Jesus Crucified fits with each of the beatitudes: “Behold your Mother” (Jn 19:27), the testament of love entrusted to his beloved disciple.
So I should say: You poor of heart, behold your Mother, the Virgin of the poor as she appeared at Banneux, the Queen of the anawim, of those who depend on God for everything.
You meek, behold your Mother, Mary, the good shepherdess, whose care surpasses that of David, whose gentleness brings peace to our conflicts and calms all our tempests.
You who weep, behold your Mother, whom the Church, rich in the experience of two millennia, called Consolatrix Afflictorum, the Consoler of the Afflicted.
You who hunger and thirst for justice, behold your Mother, the Mother of the Eucharist, who gave of her own body and blood so that, from her virginal womb, made fruitful by the power of the Holy Spirit, the Body and the Blood of Christ would be offered to the whole world to satisfy you.
You merciful, behold your Mother, whom the Church, in that sublime song that rises from monasteries through the entire world each evening, calls Mater misericordiae.
Mary is not frightened at all at the sight of your sufferings.
She takes them all into her Heart to wash them in the oil and wine of the Holy Spirit.
You pure of heart, behold your Mother, Immaculate, all-beautiful, who works marvels in the hearts of sinners, marvels of purity and openness.
You peacemakers, behold your Mother, Regina pacis, who has never forgotten the angels’ song that traversed the stars on the night when she brought into the world the Prince of Peace: “Glory to God in the highest heavens, and peace on earth to the people he loves.” (Lk 2:14)
You persecuted for righteousness, behold your Mother, the Regina Martyrum, whose soul was transpierced by a blade of sorrow.
She remained standing by the cross of her Son.
She experienced all its bitterness and, with her crucified Son, drank the chalice which the Father had presented to her.
You who are insulted and slandered, behold your Mother who, radiant with love and truth, will enlighten all your ways.
It is she who sustains the martyrs.
Nothing of what you suffer is foreign to her.
You who rejoice and are glad, behold your Mother, the Causa nostrae laetitiae.
Your joy is hers, and into the hearts of all the saints she pours her own joy, unto ages of ages.
Holy Mary, Mother and Queen of all the saints, we desire, like the apostle John, to bring you into our homes from this day forward, so that you may teach us the beatitudes of which you are the perfect icon. Make us taste the happiness of all the saints.
And now, accompany us to the altar of the Holy Sacrifice.
One day, we firmly hope, you will be there to receive us at the banquet which is already prepared for us in Heaven, the wedding banquet of the Lamb.
Amen.

Posted on by Mr. C

Backstory from one colloquium, an encounter with Christ

Between the myriad scandals in Ecclesia, the Regnum and in Terra, I need to purge myself of attraction to the electro-magnetism of hype, and focus upon something good and holy.

So,  in concordance with recognizing Saints thus canonized as perfected, I’d like to identify someone whom, to me, has presented as sainted to me. Simple story.

It’s no secret that I have an atypical association with CMAA. I am completely  enchanted and subscribed to my fellows’ mission and ambition. But I also have some divergent views and opinions as to the efficacy of any exclusionary prejudices that I often see as polemic, dismissive or conveniently ignorant of merit as to composers, repertoire and practice. Let’s not focus on that.

I would like to simply tell you why CMAA is valuable to me in (Name that tune) two notes. Those two notes are “Francisco Nahoe.”

Friar Francisco Nahoe first caught my awareness attention at the Indy Colloquium (2014? I’m old and infirm.) Initially that awareness was simply based upon a nebulous, ineffable (I love doing that!) presence that he manifested in our schola and choral rehearsals. Here was this rock-solid and edifying personage quietly participating in ensemble in the tenor section, apparently so self-effacing that I had not even noticed him in Salt Lake City 2012. What I did notice was his carry bag. It was obviously hand-made, had an indigenous look to it, it was somewhere between cobalt and royal blue, and it was so …. humble. I didn’t pay much further heed to it, or to the man.

The day of the Mass we were to serve at, we assembled for the last (dress) rehearsal under Horst, and we had all managed the multi-spiraled staircase to the organ gallery and squeezed into the choir stalls. The gentleman friar and I were next to each other at the Gospel end of the pews. Sometime amid the pre-Mass rehearsal I felt compelled to compliment him for the carry bag. I was in my usual state plus one: Horst had given me an intonation for one of the Ordinary or Propers, and I wasn’t tip top and a bit worried. I think the friar had a good bead on me. So when I commented casually to him about the bag, he immediately replied “It’s yours” as he emptied his stuff from it. It just so happened this was on my birthday. I cannot describe the feeling, and I love describing things, loquacious as I be.

I never caught his name. Mass was beautiful, I did well, the bag was awesome, it was a great birthday celebrated later that night at the great Italian restaurant with my Midwest friends. But I remember more than all of that the absolute embodiment of Christ this friar projected the whole week.

I came to know his identity because of his voice. Listening to Immaculate Heart Radio quite fully and daily, that voice print became apparent as the friar. This friar was one of the two priests who recorded the daily Gospel readings for IHR. I caught the phonetics of his voice after recognizing that, and googled the phonetics. And I was then graced to actually see his bio and his “images” come up on-screen.

I had occasion this week to think of him as someone eminently qualified (through following up on his google hits) as a parish missionary presenter for the upcoming Year of Mercy. And we made contact this week, though we couldn’t do “business” for this year.

There are likely for everyone people whom you’d ascribe to be personal saints. For me, there aren’t many of those folk in my acquaintance  who are also ordained. But first among those very few, is Friar Francsico Nahoe, OFM.
Posted on by Kathleen Pluth

A Proposal for the Year of Mercy

For the past decade or two, a highly successful initiative of the New Evangelization has arisen in many dioceses.

Confession.

Specifically, during Advent and Lent, a number of urban dioceses have instituted diocesan-wide schedules when parishes are required to offer confessions for about two hours on a specific weeknight (often Wednesday).

This is so important, because the currently widespread model is simply not working.

In many, many parishes, only a miniscule portion of the People of God avail themselves of the Sacrament of Mercy. The Sacrament is rarely a subject of most parishes’ preaching. It is not promoted in any way. It is only offered within one of the most family-intensive hours of the week, between 4 and 5 pm on Saturday. It is almost never offered at the time when most Catholics are likely to be in church, on Sunday mornings and afternoons.

The dioceses that sponsor Advent and Lent confessions outside of this time are providing a wonderful opportunity for people to repent, to increase in the life of grace and charity, and to reconcile with God.

Other parishes go the extra mile, and have daily confessions. This does not need to cost an enormous amount of time. A great method is this: schedule the starting time only. If people would like to go to confession, they should come at that time or a little before. The priest will leave when the line is gone.

A couple of years ago, I was in the confession line during Holy Week. Although I don’t think the confession line is a good place for chatting, the man next to me had some questions and I spoke with him. Turns out he had not been to confession in thirty years and wasn’t sure what to do.

If the parish had not been generous with confession times, how many more years would it have been?

Some parishes excuse themselves from making adequate times for confessions by saying that anyone can “make an appointment” for confession times outside of the small weekly window of opportunity. But anyone who has spent time in or around a rectory can easily see the problem with this.

  • Parish Secretary: St. Stanislaus parish, may I help you?
  • Penitent: Yes, I would like to make an appointment with one of the priests.
  • Secretary: May I ask what this is regarding?
At this point of the phone tree, only the boldest will persevere. Let’s not put the People of God through this or any other rigamarole.
For the Year of Mercy, parishes should make confession a natural and easy and convenient part of the sacramental life.
Posted on by Mary Jane Ballou

Keeping on keeping on!

In puzzling times such as these, I often wonder “why bother?”  Composing, arranging, and teaching sacred music is a load of work and there seem to be so many issues that are so much greater. Ecclesial unity, moral dilemmas, and the daily struggles that seem almost overwhelming in the lives of so many.

Then I remember.

I remember how I felt the first time I heard truly beautiful music in a liturgical environment and it changed my life’s focus.

I remember the happiness of my singers when something we’ve worked on long and hard finally comes together.

I remember the couples at whose weddings we’ve sung and how they continue to thank me every time I see them.

And most of all, I remember that it’s not all about me.

This past Saturday I sang for 8 hours in a small Primitive Baptist Church outside of Hoboken, Georgia. It was the annual Tri-State Sacred Harp (Cooper Book) Singing from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. and a singing from Lloyd’s Hymnbook from 7 to 9 p.m.  What do I have in common with strict Calvinists and the random collection of music lovers that appear for this event? Love and hope- love of God, love of Jesus as Savior, and hope in the gift of eternal life. It sure helps to remember, doesn’t it?

Posted on by Mr. C

Another fable for these days, somewhat hackneyed

Sunday morning on vacation, a whirlwind road trip through the Deep South visiting relatives was their primary agenda. But it was Sunday, and Gary and DC gathered up little Oscar to make the earliest Mass time in a parish just outside of Irondale. They hadn’t been down south in a long while, and Gary noticed there were many more Catholic parishes than last he’d remembered. They were joking in the car, wondering if they could join any ersatz choir they’d encounter, and if a slow foot Mabel would be at the console. But Mabel was nowhere in the choir gallery, rather there was, of all things, a modest little schola of men, mostly GenXer’s like themselves, plus a few seniors and a bespectacled teen boy. The leader was more than happy to invite the guys to join, after they’d introduced themselves. Besides it was sort of providential in that both Gary and DC knew the Graduale and Missal very well. Mass began. The Introit Bell rang from the sacristy door and the chant was taken up. The celebrant seemed even younger than them, his cassock (under the vesture) and zuchetta fully visible to all. Occasionally during the ritual, Gary and DC stole a couple of quick glances and smiles at their good fortune, to find in of all places, Alabama, a reverent, humble and serene Mass, even if in the Novus Ordo.

At Communion, after the Communio began, Gary, DC and Oscar carefully stepped down the circular staircase and enjoined the procession. They had been noticed, during the homily (which was more a sermon) by the celebrant. He didn’t know those three new faces, but that recognition didn’t stay in his mind until he saw the trio presenting to receive the Blessed Sacrament. And amidst the rite and routine something washed over the young priest’s mind. “Who are these guys? Who’s the kid with them?”  The question disturbed the priest’s conscience, though that turmoil wasn’t evident to the communicants. Gary presented first, and the priest seemed to freeze, the momentum of the procession had a burp.   Eyes closed after bowing before the Host, Gary didn’t immediately realize that it had not been placed upon his tongue. He opened his eyes and they met those of the priest, which were fixed on Gary’s eyes as well. It seemed the celebrant was trying to communicate something to Gary, but he didn’t declare the words “The Body of Christ” nor anything else. DC and Oscar likewise bowed, not aware of the standstill. The four were somewhat bunched up (there was no Communion rail.) People started to be aware of the congestion. The three visitors stepped away from the priest, heads down and lips fixed they briskly walked down the right side aisle and straight out the narthex doors. The parish pastor happened to be enjoying a cup of coffee on the rectory balcony and noticed them getting in their car, which then lurched backward with a spray of gravel, and then sped out of the lot. The pastor thought, “Darn tourists, always leaving early when there’s a second collection.”

When the young associate returned to the kitchen after Mass the pastor noticed he seemed agitated. “Hey Damien,” he said, “something wrong?” Damien looked up, lips pursed and cheeks drawn in, and replied “No, not necessarily….there were these guys I didn’t know at Mass and….” “Oh yeah, I saw ‘em leaving Mass in a hurry.” “Well, Roger, those guys were singing with our choir, and I knew they weren’t from here, and they had this kid with them, and I dunno, I got all rankled up and thought I’d better not offer them Communion. Geez, what was I supposed to do? I don’t know who they are, but the three of them, it didn’t seem right, I dunno.” Roger sighed, saying “Don’t sweat it, you followed your conscience, Damien.”

When Gary and DC got back to the Howard Johnson’s, they got out of the car without a word, Gary and Oscar opened their room where Gary’s wife, Oscar’s mom Cecilia was still in deep slumber on the double bed. DC walked into his room as his wife was just sitting up and stretching out the kinks in bed. Only when the five of them sat down to breakfast in the spacious and empty restaurant did the two brothers in law share with their wives what the hell happened at Mass. Gary, the 8th grade teacher of St. Brigid’s School back home, and DC the choirmaster at that parish were still stunned in shocked silence. Nothing of the sort had ever happened to them at Mass like this before.