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During these summer months many people are fortunate to have some vacation time. Some of us will enjoy a couple of weeks at home, catching up on much needed domestic tasks. Others will spend time at a cabin by a lake or in the woods reveling in the pleasures of country living. Still others will travel around Minnesota or maybe venture into other states. And for some, this is the year to fly east or west, north or south in search of some relaxation and some rejuvenation in other countries.
I have very fond memories of our family vacations in Belgium. Most of the time we simply went to the cabin where we spent entire summers. Sometimes we ventured into neighboring countries such as The Netherlands, Germany, Luxembourg or France. These daytrips were never a simple matter. First, there were seven of us and there was an age difference among the children of 8 years. Second, we all had different interests ranging from shopping, to hiking, to art. Third, I was a persistent kid who insisted on entering every church we passed and including at least one museum per visit. And I (almost) always got my way to the dismay of my siblings.
One year we went on a week-long excursion to Burgundy in France. One of my father’s uncles, a Franciscan had been a pastor in a small Burgundian town and we wanted to see where he had lived and where he was buried. Thankfully his little church was still in good shape and his tomb was very well cared for. We even found a painting signed J. van Parys on the High Altar in the church.
Although this was all quite wonderful, for me, the high point of the trip was our visit to the abbey of Fontenay which happened despite some great protestations by my siblings. Founded in 1180 as a daughter house of the Cistercian abbey of Clervaux Fontenay is set in the rolling hills of the Burgundian landscape. In its 800+ years of history the abbey and its monastic community knew waves of success and downfall. At the end of the 18th century as a consequence of the French Revolution the monks were dispersed and the abbey was turned into a paper mill. In 1906 new owners began the restoration of the abbey and opened it to the public.
As soon as I walked through the doors of the majestic abbey church, stripped of all its liturgical and devotional accoutrements, I could almost hear the monks chant the office and I could very nearly smell burning candles and wafting incense. My siblings thought me in a trance. How could I not be? This building which had harbored monastic prayer for nearly a thousand years still bore witness to the sounds, the sights and smells of the prayers offered beneath its sheltering roof and under its reaching arches.
I walked away from that place with a sense of awe for the persistent presence of prayer. Even though this building had not been used as an active abbey for a couple of centuries, it still was able to tell the story of our faith and inspire the thousands of tourists wandering through it. The only thing I could say was “Thanks be to God.”
May your holidays afford you similar experiences that will allow you to say: “Thanks be to God” be it in the woods, by the lake or hopefully in a church.
A number of years ago I found myself in one of our major cities on Corpus Christi Sunday. I decided to participate in the celebrations at the local Cathedral. On my way there, I walked by an Episcopal church. The service was in full swing and revealed great dedication to the liturgy. At the Catholic Cathedral, the celebration was even more magnificent. It was truly a beautiful event, a liturgist’s delight.
As I made my way back to the hotel I stumbled over a man who was sleeping in the street. Only then did I notice that several large cardboard boxes lined the avenue. A man crawled out of one of them and asked me for money saying he was hungry. The pathway connecting both churches was dotted with these makeshift shelters housing many hungry people. Blinded by the splendor of both liturgies, I had not noticed them.
That afternoon some friends invited me to accompany them to their non-denominational church. The service was mediocre at best. One thing I will never forget though: at the end of communion the minister placed all the remaining pieces of bread in the hands of the man who had asked me for money. He sat down and ate all of it. When finished he looked to see if there was more, but there was none.
That image is for ever burned in my memory. It reminded me that as Saint John Paul II wrote in Mane Nobiscum: the Eucharist calls us to share “not only in spiritual goods but in material goods as well”. Indeed, it is our mutual love, and in particular our “concern for those in need which is the criterion by which the authenticity of our Eucharistic celebration is judged.”
The celebration of the Eucharist invites us to become the One we honor with our song; the One we raise up in a blessing; the One we carry in procession. That very One lived a humble life of love for the poor and of service unto the cross. He is the One we are to follow, to imitate and to become. He is the one we carry in our Eucharistic processions. These processions are not only to be processions WITH the Body of Christ they also are a procession OF the Body of Christ.
In a way, by walking with the Body of Christ we rehearse in our own bodies the path Jesus took and takes today. This path is not one of pomp and circumstance, but rather a path of humility and service. This path is one that leads to the cross and from there to life everlasting. Those of us who take part in the celebration of the Eucharist as well as in Eucharistic processions should ready ourselves to pick up that cross and follow him wherever he may lead us.
Come Holy Spirit, Open our Hearts and Enlighten our Minds!
Many years ago I proclaimed the first reading on the solemnity of Pentecost. I had just been confirmed and was extremely excited to be asked. Little did I know that this is one of the most difficult readings to proclaim. My dear great-aunt who was a nun told me to make sure I prepared the reading well as it had many difficult words in it. Looking over the reading I soon discovered terminology I had never encountered before: who were the Parthians, the Medes or the Elamites? And what did all of them do in Jerusalem? Though I stumbled over Phrygia and Pamphilia I was intrigued by what appeared to be the description of a most colorful and somewhat exotic gathering. I imagined life in Jerusalem some 2000 years ago to be complex and extremely diverse, not unlike the farmers market in Minneapolis today. There one can get a taste of the rich tapestry of humankind reflected in colorful native wear, intriguing languages, and tempting ethnic foods. Jerusalem must have felt somewhat like that: festive, exuberant, colorful, rich.
By contrast the disciples were in hiding. They were laden with fear and burdened by uncertainty. Christ had recently ascended into Heaven and they were at a loss. Suddenly everything changed. Filled by the Spirit they cast off all fear, threw open the windows and burst into the street. Having caught the marketers by surprise they spoke to them about the marvelous deeds of God. And miraculously, everyone could understand what the disciples had to say. The Holy Spirit broke every ethnic barrier and linguistic difference and all embraced the Good News.
Our world today is even more diverse than Jerusalem 2000 years ago. And the friendly hustle and bustle which is characteristic for above described markets is all too often replaced with fear and anger. And even though we may speak the same language we seem unable to hear one another. The political world is particularly affected by this. The kind of linguistic cacophony typical for political discourse is often maddening. And rather than inviting dialogue everyone just speaks louder so as to be heard above the rest and to win whichever issue is at stake.
Our church is not immune to this either. Though we speak the same language we don’t seem to understand one another. And rather than listening to one another we just speak louder and louder in a desperate attempt to be heard and to win whichever battle we are waging. Sadly, we lack the inner peace and the mutual respect needed to listen intently to one another and learn from one another and together become more like Christ.
On this Solemnity of Pentecost, let us pray that the Holy Spirit may cleanse our souls and open our hearts. Let us pray that the Holy Spirit will inspire us to share the Good News with the world in deed and in word. Let us pray that the Holy Spirit will bring us all closer together so we may become one in Christ.
Today we hear that “Parthians, Medes, and Elamites, inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, as well as travelers from Rome, both Jews and converts to Judaism, Cretans and Arabs” heard them speaking about the marvels God had accomplished.
Maybe one day we will hear it said: “We are republicans, democrats and independents; rich and poor; liberals, conservatives and moderates; straight and gay; women; men and children; married and single; Africans, Americans Asians and Europeans; yet we all speak of the mighty acts of God.”
May that day come soon!
Come Holy Spirit, Open our Hearts and Enlighten our Minds!
I wonder if you know where this work of art resides?
This is just one of many depictions of the Ascension of Jesus into heaven that exist throughout the world. They come in miniature format as well as in large frescoes. Jesus is usually represented in the center as he ascends into heaven. Below him are his mother, Mary and the gathered apostles piously gazing at his ascending body, saying goodbye while at the same time anticipating his return.
Some representations, especially those dating from the Middle Ages share a remarkable detail. In the place where Jesus’ feet last touched the earth, the artists have depicted Jesus’ right footprint or both footprints. Where does this custom come from and what does it mean?
According to the Scriptures and tradition, Jesus ascended into heaven from what is now known as the Mount of the Ascension in Jerusalem. Successive grand buildings have marked this site ever since Christianity was legalized by Emperor Constantine in 313 AD. Today, only a small chapel has survived the difficult and tumultuous history of this city. Nevertheless, one very important relic is still housed in the chapel: a large stone which is said to have the right footprint of Jesus on it.
Medieval pilgrims and crusaders brought the story of the miraculous footprint back to Europe and thus gave rise to the depiction of Jesus’ footprint(s) in paintings of the Ascension.
A priest friend recently made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Upon his return he spoke about the profoundly spiritual experience he had visiting all the Holy Sites. He found it very meaningful to connect with the physical reality of Jesus’ life on earth. One of the places he found most moving was the chapel of the Ascension. He described how he engaged in the ancient devotional practice and placed his right foot on the imprint of Jesus right foot. With his foot touching Jesus’ footprint my friend experienced a deep connection with Jesus and his mission. He described the footprint as a place where heaven and earth touch. Standing in Jesus footprint he very intentionally recommitted himself to continue walking in Jesus’ footsteps.
Not many of us are able to go to Jerusalem to literally connect with Jesus’ footprint. However, we have been given spiritual exercises and artistic renditions to help us do just the same. May the celebration of the feast of the Ascension renew in us a deep awareness of our own calling and strengthen our commitment to Jesus’ mission as we await His return.
One does not have to travel to the churches mentioned in the Da Vinci Code in search of intriguing stories. Every cathedral, church and chapel has its own secret codes hidden in the building, even The Basilica.
As you walk around you will notice that every chapel has a small wall carving announcing which saint is honored there. A burning heart surrounded by a crown of thorns leads to the Sacred Heart chapel. A star, symbol of Mary leads to the chapel of St. Anne and Mary. A lily, symbol of St. Joseph leads to the shrine of St. Joseph. Strangely, near the chapel of St. Anthony, patron saint of Italy you will find a clover and snake, the symbol of St. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland. Might this chapel have been intended for St. Anthony and was the wrong symbol carved in the wall? Or was the carving correct and did the parish have a change of heart in terms of selection of saints?
In his 1932 book entitled, The Basilica of St. Mary of Minneapolis, longtime pastor, Mgr. Reardon mentions the St. Anthony of Padua Chapel. Research in the archives, however reveals that the relic buried in the altar is not of St. Anthony but rather of St. Patrick.
This seems to indicate that the chapel was intended for St. Patrick while today, St. Anthony is honored there. Might this chapel reveal a bit of competition between the Irish and Italian founding families? Today, St. Patrick’s symbol and St. Anthony’s statue coexist peacefully.
Whether there was friendly feuding between our founding families or not, we are deeply grateful to them. Since they celebrated the first Eucharist on May 31, 2014 (Pentecost) over 100,000 Masses have been celebrated at The Basilica while 11,908 couples were married and 26,456 babies have been baptized in our church.
Our community has grown in so many ways since those early days. From a couple hundred families we have grown to over 6000 households. From an Irish and Italian church we have grown to reflect the world church as people from all parts of the globe have joined our church. And from a church marked by an active clergy and passive laity we have grown to be a church where both clergy and laity fully, actively and consciously participate in the life of our church.
On June 8, 2014 (Pentecost) we will mark the centennial anniversary of the first Eucharist celebrated in The Basilica. It will be a celebration of the accomplishments of our founding families. It will be a celebration of all the people who have made us who we are over the course of these 100 years. It will be a celebration of who we are today: great in number, rich in diversity and strong in our faith. And most importantly, it will be a time to call down the Holy Spirit once again to give us the peace, the wisdom and the strength to continue on this rich path for many more years to come.
So, do join us for the celebration of Pentecost on June 7/8. We will have extra music at all Masses followed by festive hospitality. And please wear your favorite red outfit or best ethnic garb.
Come Holy Spirit, Enlighten our hearts and our minds.
When I celebrated my first communion I was given many gifts. I can remember the joy I experienced at receiving statues of the Infant of Prague, of Our Lady of Fatima and of Saint Joseph. My absolute favorite was a statue of Mary wearing a beautiful dress in pastel colors. She had pretty blond hair and there was a built-in mechanism that played Immaculate Mary. I was quite surprised that my friends in school did not share my enthusiasm when I brought this statue for show and tell. Regardless, I was happy to have received the greatest number of saintly statuary and I was quite pleased with the singing statue of Mary.
At the beginning of the month of May, which is dedicated to Mary I fondly remember my singing Mary statue. She is now safely packed away in my brother’s attic with other religious relics I left behind when I came to the United States. When I first got her, she received a place of honor in my bedroom. She stayed there until I learned that Mary in real life would neither have had blond hair nor worn pastel colored flowing robes and she did not reveal herself as the Immaculate Conception until fairly recently.
Mary was Jewish, the mother of Jesus and the wife of Joseph, who is said to have been a carpenter. She was born to a poor family and led a hard life managing her household. She must have worried about her son whose cross she flanked and whose lifeless body she cradled. She was also the one who recognized Jesus as the Messiah before most everyone else. And she testified to this not only during her lifetime, but also after she was assumed into heaven during her many apparitions.
I have always been fascinated by these apparitions. It seems like Mary has always known that by appearing in the image of the people she could win them for her son. For instance, when she appeared in Mexico as “Our Lady of Guadalupe” she appeared as an Aztec princess. Thus the Aztec people could recognize themselves in Mary and Christianity became more accessible. In Vietnam she appeared as a Vietnamese woman. In Africa she appeared as African. In Belgium, she appeared as a Belgian with blond hair and wearing a pastel dress. Indeed, Mary has taken on the shape, color and form of most every woman in our world.
Today, my entire house is filled with religious art. There are images of Mary from all around the world and none of them sing. Like the many representations of Mary in The Basilica, they are reminders of the many faces of Mary, mother of the church and of the many faces of all mothers of our world. They are a constant invitation for us to commit ourselves to a greater love for one another, a totally gratuitous love exemplified by the mother of Jesus as well as by our own mothers.
Several people have told me how much they appreciate the opening rites for the Easter Vigil when we gather to bless the new fire and light the Paschal Candle from this fire. It is indeed a memorable and somewhat unique rite, even for us Catholics who love ritual. And as we celebrate this rite in our customary grand way, you may have noted that we again caused passing traffic to slow down. Thankfully, I know of no accidents due to curious gawking. And the fire department did not make an unexpected appearance. Yet, what a statement we make. Personally, I think it much better than the electronic signs wishing everyone a happy Easter and announcing the arrival of the Easter Bunny which have become all too popular.
The Easter Fire is actually pagan in origin. It originates in the Saxon custom of lighting fires to mark the passing of the seasons. This was done in celebration of the returning of the light at the spring equinox and the fullness of light during the summer solstice. Though not as popular it was also done occasionally in mourning for the diminishing of the light at the fall equinox and to break the depth of darkness at the time of the winter solstice.
The fire lit to mark the spring equinox was the most popular. Not only did it allow for a celebration of the end of winter and the return of the light it also had very practical implications. All the unwanted vegetation was burned in the bonfires. The resulting ashes were used as a fertilizer for the fields. Thus these spring fires symbolize light, they help with cleansing and result in increased fertility.
Christians easily “baptized” this ritual as the season of Lent and Easter clearly is about cleansing, light and fertility. The Lenten exercises are intended as a spiritual cleansing. During the Easter Vigil we celebrate Christ, the Light of the World who conquered darkness. And from the baptismal waters new Christians are born. All this is celebrated and anticipated with the Easter Fire. That is what the fire is all about.
Christ is Risen! He is Risen indeed!
Last Sunday we gathered for the commemoration of Jesus’ solemn entry into Jerusalem. We all stood on the plaza in front of The Basilica and sang “Hosanna, Son of David. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.” Then we processed into the church while waving our palms. Once we were in our seats the mood shifted dramatically as we listened to the Passion Narrative and sang: “O Sacred Head Surrounded.”
After several quiet days we began the Sacred Triduum, the holiest three days of the year. The two central elements of the celebration on Holy Thursday are the Washing of the Feet and the Celebration of the Eucharist. We do both because Jesus commanded us to do so. In the Synoptic Gospels we are called to celebrate the Eucharist in memory of Him while the Gospel of John commands us to wash feet. The washing of the feet embodies our calling to serve one another as Christ did. The Celebration of the Eucharistic Sacrifice calls us to love one another, even unto death as Christ did.
On Good Friday our attention shifted to the cross: we adore the cross, we venerate the cross, we kiss the cross, we honor the cross because the cross is the instrument of our salvation. Because of his willingness to die for us, Jesus rose from the dead and thus forged our salvation. On Good Friday we ponder this mystery and recommit ourselves to following his example and take up our cross and even one another’s cross. The entire day was shrouded in solemn silence which was only broken during Tenebrae. After the one remaining candle which symbolizes Christ was carried out of church the church erupted in sustained noise. The organ roared while the people banged on their pews begging the light to return. And so it did..
Holy Saturday was also marked by silence, but the silence on this day is one filled with great anticipation. It is almost as if creation is holding its breath waiting for Christ to break the doors of hell and usher in the era of Salvation.
The Easter Fire and the Paschal Candle which were lit during the Easter Vigil that day symbolize that Christ is the Light of the World. All of us present, having lit our individual candles from the Christ Candle filled the darkened church with light, symbolizing that we are to share the light of Christ with the world! The bells which had been silent since Holy Thursday were rung announcing the Resurrection to the world. The cleansing water and fragrant oil used to make new Christians revived our baptismal enthusiasm. The desire and delight we saw in the eyes of those receiving communion for the first time reminded us of how privileged we are to share in the Body and Blood of Christ.
When it was all over many of us, spiritually sated with the richness of all these symbols lingered on the plaza in front of The Basilica, rejoicing in the sound of all our bells and proclaiming to one another: He is Risen. He is risen indeed!
That has been my song all night long and it is my song today. That is our song today. Let us proclaim it to one another and to the whole world. He is Risen. He is risen, indeed! He is Risen. He is risen, indeed! He is Risen. He is risen, indeed!
As Holy Week begins, I am reminded of an unforgettable experience which happened some 20 years ago. That year I had decided to celebrate the Sacred Triduum at the motherhouse of a religious community. Having arrived early I spent some quiet time in the monastery chapel in preparation for the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday. From my chair in the back row, I watched the sisters arrive for the service. Most of them were elderly. They used wheelchairs, walkers or another sister’s arm to make their way into the chapel.
The service was simple, yet very beautiful. At the time of the washing of the feet, the priest explained that we were going to wash one another’s feet. As a liturgical purist, I was simply mortified at the thought. What could this mean? Why were we straying from the custom of the priest washing the feet of twelve men symbolizing Christ washing the feet of the apostles?
I swallowed my liturgical pride and tried to enter into the experience. As I was pondering all this, I noticed a sister being helped to the front of the chapel. When she arrived at the row of wheelchairs, she was helped to her knees in front of one of her sisters. Gently and with great difficulty, she took the slippers off her sister’s gnarled feet. A bowl with water was brought to them. She placed her sister’s feet in the water and tenderly washed them. Then she dried them and kissed them. I felt tears running down my cheeks. These feet, which had walked in the service of the church for more than seventy years, were tenderly washed by these hands, which had served the church for more than sixty years. I quickly slipped off my shoes and waited in line to have my feet washed so I could wash someone else’s feet.
Witnessing this I finally grasped why Jesus told us to wash one another’s feet. The washing of the feet is not a superfluous ritual gesture or a simple reenactment of what Jesus did 2000 years ago. Rather it is an efficacious ritual rehearsal of what all of us are called to do every day of our life: to serve one another as he served us.
The Stations of the Cross have always been very meaningful to me. My earliest memory of the Stations goes back to my childhood. On Good Friday the whole town came together for a communal celebration. Different neighborhoods were responsible for the creation of each one of the fourteen stations. Following incense, cross and candles, clergy and religious, we processed from Station to Station singing songs and praying the Sorrowful Mysteries. Some people carried a candle, others flowers to leave at one of the stations, while a few carried a cross. This experience touched me deeply and it is forever engrained in my memory.
I have always been particularly drawn to Station V: Jesus was Helped by Simon of Cyrene. Simon intrigued me. Who was he? Why was he forced to help Jesus? Did he do it willingly or begrudgingly? What happened to him after they reached Golgotha?
The Scriptures are very brief in their description of this occurrence. They just reference in one verse (Matthew 27: 32, Mark 15: 21, Luke 23: 26) that Simon of Cyrene was compelled to carry the cross behind Jesus. Mark expands just a bit by adding that Simon was the father of Alexander and Rufus.
Some scholars suggest that the Rufus mentioned in Romans 16:13 was the son of Simon. Others hold that Mark’s mention of Alexander and Rufus implies that they were well-known in the early Christian community.
Simon who was from Cyrene was a visitor to Jerusalem whose curiosity was probably peeked by all the goings-on? He may have watched Jesus fall before he was pressed into helping him, buttressing the weight of the cross.
As a child I did not identify with Peter or even John, my patron saint. I wanted to be like Simon. He was my hero. He was the perfect helper when Jesus was in the greatest of needs.
Little did I know that in my youthful enthusiasm I had touched on the essence of Christianity. In the same way as Simon helped Jesus bear his cross, we are called to alleviate the pain and struggles of our sisters and brothers. We are called to help those who suffer, in their need.
Simon is still my hero, though I may have outgrown my youthful enthusiasm. Eagerness to follow Jesus and to imitate Simon comes and goes. Sometimes I do it willingly and out of conviction, other times begrudgingly and out of a sense of obligation. Like most of us, saints included we experience times of deep faith as well as moment of profound doubts. Yet, like Simon was pressed into helping Jesus, by virtue of our baptism we are pressed into helping others. This is our calling. It is our mission.
Next time you celebrate Stations of the Cross, I invite you to imagine yourself in the different people who accompany Jesus on the way to the cross. Who do you identify with the most? Maybe you identify most with Peter, or Veronica, or John, or Mary? This exercise may give you some new insight into your own spiritual identity.