“The
vocation of the laity is to extend the action of the liturgy into the world.”
This quote from a Russian theologian was cited at our recent directors’
meetings. I was happy to hear it, as in fact I have an entire parish mission I
offer that is based on that idea.
The liturgy
is not only a source of grace, a place of encounter with Christ in which we
receive the food of our souls; the liturgy is also the very pattern of
Christian life and discipleship in the world. Everything we need to know about
how to live the Gospel can be found through a careful study of the rites of the
Mass and their application to daily life.
And so I am
inaugurating on the blog a new series, a commentary on the Mass, appearing on
Thursdays (appropriately!), with a special care to show how each little bit of
the Mass is to lived out in our lives. I will use the full Sunday Mass, which
is the most complete expression of the liturgical movement. And so, without
further ado:
The Entrance Procession. Before a
word is spoken, there is movement. Prior to language and articulation, there is
action. This is significant. I am a man of words (you may have noticed this),
and so I myself need to be reminded of this continually—actions are prior, what
we do has a priority over what we say.
The entrance
procession is not simply a utilitarian thing – the priest and the servers are
in the sacristy or at the back of the church, and need to get to the front of
the church, and so they gotta walk there. If it were just that, they could
position themselves in the sanctuary before the liturgy starts or simply move
up in no particular order and without any ceremony.
No, it is a
solemn procession, a motion from the body of the church to the sanctuary of the
church. In its fullest expression there is a cross bearer, candle bearers,
maybe even an incense bearer going at the front. The celebrant priest comes at
the end. All of this is symbolic.
The basic
symbolism here is that the body of the church, the nave, is earth; the
sanctuary is heaven. Liturgy is entirely a matter of our earthly selves taken
up into heaven; the heavenly realm come down to earth. All movements from nave
to sanctuary and back again are signifying this heaven-earth, earth-heaven
dance.
And so
incense goes first—the prayers of God’s holy people crying out for heaven to be
opened to us. The cross follows—it is Jesus’ self-offering there that opens
heaven. Candle light follows that—it is the glorious light of the Risen Christ
that is our guiding light to heaven in this world. The priest comes at the end,
symbolizing Christ the head of the body entering heaven to draw in all his
mystical body (the assembled people) into the heavenly mystery.
All of this
is accompanied by music, hopefully joyous and beautiful, hopefully solemn and
dignified in its joy, to signify that this is true Christian happiness—that our
lives are perpetually borne upwards, to the realm of light and love where God dwells with the angels and
saints.
Upon
entering heaven, I mean the sanctuary, with solemn bows and genuflections, the
priest venerates the altar and goes to his chair. The veneration of the altar
signifies an act of reverent love for the mystery to be celebrated at this
sacred table. The man who is the priest venerates the Christ who is symbolized
by the altar, the Christ who is the place of the sacrifice that is pleasing to
God. Christ in the priest embraces the Father’s will which is to lay down his
life for His people.
How do we
extend this into our lives? By cultivating in ourselves an awareness that our
whole life is but a journey from earth to heaven. In the past fifty years in
our church culture, there has been a deliberate effort to weaken this
awareness. I find it incomprehensible and just plain wrong that this is so.
No matter
how you look at it, with the best medical care and the best of luck and healthy
living, you and I are going to live to be at best 100 years old, give or take a
few years. Most of us, considerably less. I am more than half way through the
journey, personally. Life is short, very short. Eternity is very, very long.
Forever long. The whole of our life and everything in it is nothing more and
nothing less than the entrance procession of the Mass, if we are doing it right
(life, that is).
The constant
cry of our heart to God to lead us to a successful ending—incense going up. The
Cross of the Lord going at the head—laying down the path of sacrificial love
and obedience to God in this world. The light of the Resurrection coming behind
it, our sure hope and encouragement that this is the way to walk—don’t lose
heart. And Christ Himself in the procession with us, the God who does not just
stay up in heaven waiting for us, but who comes Himself to walk before us and
bring us there.
And the
veneration of the altar—to not just ‘do’ God’s will grudgingly with a poor
spirit, but to love God’s will, to embrace it, to know that our joining Him on
that altar, our entry into His Mystery, is not just a life of suffering and
sorrow, but a life of love and communion. Our whole life is encapsulated in
this movement, and we can see how even this simplest and wordless rite of the
Mass holds the entire pattern of Christian life. All of which will become even
more clear as we proceed with the Mass… next Thursday.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.