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Exploring the Mass... This is a time of transition. Several things happen at once. Servers prepare the altar for the Liturgy of the Eucharist. Ushers take up the collection. The choir sings. These various activities have a single purpose: to prepare the sacred space and the assembly for the holy sacrifice which is about to take place. Before Mass began, the sacristan covered the altar with a simple white cloth and lit the candles. Now, the preparations continue. The servers unfold a second white cloth called a corporal (from the Latin word for body, because upon it will rest the body of Christ). Upon the corporal they place the chalice with a purificator—a white napkin embroidered with a red cross, used to wipe the rim of the cup—and nearby they open the Sacramentary, the book that contains the prayers of the Mass (we’ve already seen this book in use, as it contains the Opening Prayer). All of these preparations should be quite familiar to us, for they are similar to the preparations we make at home for any solemn feast: unfolding the best tablecloth, setting the table for the meal, lighting the candles. But this is more than a festive meal; it is also a sacrifice, for “the Mass makes present the sacrifice of the Cross” (Ecclesia de Eucharistia), and “the Christian altar is by its very nature a table of sacrifice and at the same time a table of the paschal banquet” (Rite of Dedication of a Church and Altar). The dual nature of the Lord’s Supper—sacrifice and holy meal—are clearly visible in our altar at St. James Cathedral. It is massive, built of white marble, and contains the relics of saints; but at the same time, its openness suggests a table. Both of these images, heavenly banquet and holy sacrifice, are used side by side throughout the Liturgy of the Eucharist. As the servers prepare the altar, the ushers take up the collection. “No one will appear before me empty-handed,” God told the Israelites; “you shall bring to the house of the Lord your God the best of the firstfruits of your land” (Exodus 23: 15,19). From the very beginning, Christians have expressed their devotion by the offering of gifts. Most of us have heard of the colorful “in kind” collections which were common in the early Church, as people brought forward not only money, but the produce of the land, flasks of wine, baskets of freshly baked bread, oil, vegetables, fish, poultry, and the like, in a great procession that paralleled the communion procession a bit later on. (This procession survives at St. James twice a year—on Thanksgiving Day and on Holy Thursday, when the entire assembly processes to the altar with their offerings for the poor.) In the early Church, the offering was a privilege of the baptized: only those who were to approach the table for communion were allowed to present gifts; and catechumens did not make an offering until the day of their baptism. Participation in the offering was, and is, a way of sharing in the fruits of the Mass itself, and “an expression of the priesthood of the faithful” (Cabié). Some people have trouble with the collection basket. Didn’t Jesus drive the moneychangers out the temple, they ask? Couldn’t this money business be handled at some other time, outside of Mass? But it is precisely during the Mass, and at this critical point in the Mass, that the collection needs to happen. Money is one of our most powerful means of self-expression. What we spend our money on reveals not only our tastes, habits, and hobbies, but our priorities. “We should not think of the collection of money … as some sort of banal, dirty but necessary affair,” writes Father Jeremy Driscoll. “Money is our work. Money is hours of our lives. And now we give it away, we sacrifice it, for the work of the Church.” We give money because money matters to us. Our gifts are a genuine way we can participate in the work of the Church; the money we contribute is “the material sign of the offering which we make of ourselves, of our strength and our energies” (Lustiger). After the collection has been taken up, members of the assembly—representing all of those present—bring forward the gifts, not only the collection just taken, but, more importantly, the bread and wine to be consecrated during the Eucharistic Prayer. We do not bring forward raw materials—grapes or grape juice, wheat or flour. We bring forward things that require human work: bread, “which earth has given and human hands have made,” and wine, “fruit of the vine, and work of human hands.” “These fundamental symbols of the Eucharistic liturgy are not purely natural symbols, as is, say, water in Baptism. They are in fact the product of the cooperation between the Creator and human beings” (Driscoll). In the bread and wine, we offer to God the work of our hands, and we ask him to transform them into the very body and blood of his Son. We ask for a “marvelous exchange,” and by faith we know that God will take the little we can offer and transform it into something altogether new and wonderful. In a symbolic way, we offer our lives along with these gifts, asking God to transform them as well. Preparation of the Gifts: Little Mysteries Once the gifts of bread and wine have been placed on the altar, there follows a series of prayers and ritual actions which Father Driscoll calls “little mysteries,” for while they take only a few moments, they are full of meaning. Some of these prayers are said silently by the priest; others are said aloud when there is no music accompanying the rites—for example, on weekdays. First the priest holds up the bread that has just been presented. Silently he prays in words that derive from the Jewish tradition, and the Kiddush prayers for the Sabbath and feast days which Jesus himself prayed at the Last Supper: “Blessed are you, Lord, God of all creation. Through your goodness we have this bread to offer, which earth has given and human hands have made. It will become for us the bread of life.” When these prayers are said aloud, the people respond “Blessed be God forever,” thanking God ahead of time for the great transformation of these gifts which his power will effect. Next the presider adds a small amount of water to the wine that has been brought forward. This rite had a practical function, especially in ancient times, when in some places the wine was so thick that it needed to be diluted before it could be drunk, with two parts water to one part wine! But it is probably safe to say that no part of the Mass is purely functional: everything has meaning, and the mingling of the water and wine “can symbolize many truths of the faith,” as Msgr. Champlin observes. In the west, “the mingling came to represent the union of Christ with the faithful: just as wine receives water, so Christ takes us and our sins to himself.” The Eastern Church drew a different meaning from the same rite: “The eastern interpretation was that the wine and water represent the divine and human natures in Christ.” (Johnson) A beautiful prayer, which is prayed silently by the priest, accompanies this ritual: “By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled himself to share in our humanity.” If every Sunday is a “little Easter,” then surely every Sunday is also a “little Christmas”: for the Mass is rich in allusions to Jesus as Emmanuel, the incarnate Word. Next the priest pours some of the wine to which water has been added in the chalice, and raises it slightly, again praying in words that derive from the Jewish tradition, offering to God the fruit of the vine as he has offered the gifts of the earth. Having presented both the bread and wine, the priest bows over the gifts, and prays silently: “Lord God, we ask you to receive us and be pleased with the sacrifice we offer you with humble and contrite hearts.” These words are from the prayer of Azariah in the fiery furnace (Daniel 3: 39-40), when, far from home in an enemy land, unable to offer sacrifice, the young men offered themselves instead: “as though it were holocausts of rams and bullocks, or thousands of fat lambs,” the prayer goes on, “so let our sacrifice be in your presence today, as we follow you unreservedly.” The prayer reminds us of the poverty of what we are able to offer to God—“I will come before you with empty hands,” said St. Thérèse of Lisieux—and the power of God to transform it. Finally, the priest washes his hands, praying silently, “Lord, wash away my iniquity; cleanse me from my sin.” This is one of the few times in the Mass when the priest prays in the first person, for himself. It is thought that the washing of hands came about at this point in the liturgy for practical reasons—receiving the gifts in the early Church was sometimes a messy business!—but it has a symbolic significance as well. In the ordination rite, the hands of the priest are anointed with Chrism, while the bishop prays, “May Jesus preserve you to sanctify the Christian people and to offer sacrifice to God.” His hands are anointed, set apart, for the sacrifice of the Mass. And the ordination rite includes a variation on the presentation of the gifts at Mass, as the new priest receives the gifts and bread and wine from the faithful for the first time, with the injunction to “Understand what you do, imitate what you celebrate, and conform your life to the mystery of the Lord’s cross.” As the priest washes his hands, we are reminded that we all need God’s forgiveness; we all need to purify our hearts and our lives as we approach the Lord’s table. This “little mystery” is part of the insistent rhythm of the Mass, a rhythm of wonder, praise and reconciliation. Continue on to: The Prayer over the Gifts, the Preface, and the Sanctus. Return to the Believe, Celebrate, Live main page
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