Pilgrimage revisited - Mass in St. Peter's, just bring your own priest.

If you've had Mass in St. Peter's with me you've heard this phrase, but it's true. There are Masses in languages from across the globe - all are welcome. A great memory from a couple years back.

I glanced around me.  Here again, yet every time there was something different, something new.  It was always a novel experience, not with the novelty of the latest gadget or newest philosophy – rather the deeper eternal freshness of a truth, a reality never fully comprehended.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

We began - most prayers began like this - but here it was different.  There was something about the place that made it all come alive.  Maybe it was the huge mosaic of the God, the Father, in the cupola, the almost fifteen foot Christ on the façade, or Bernini’s six foot dove in the stained-glass window – powerful signs of an even bigger reality

I confess to almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters that I have sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and in my words…

How many had repeated these words in countless languages through the centuries - each one in his own struggle asking for pardon, looking for strength, standing shoulder to shoulder with hundreds, thousands, millions of others.

…we ask this through Christ our Lord.

I sat down against the cold stone pillar on the left side of the small chapel.  My mind wandered back to the men who had cut and placed this block of stone over 1500 years ago.  What had they thought?  Did they know that 2000 years later this stone would still support the greatest Basilica in the world that stretched above us over 400 hundred feet?  Did they know that their life would continue to be a living stone supporting the great edifice of the Church still under construction with the guidance of the Holy Spirit?

A reading from the prophet Jeremiah.

The priests and prophets said to the princes and to all the people…

The clear Irish accent tugged my thoughts back to the so-called Emerald Isle. In my years there, I had seen the roots of the church strong like those of an oak stretching from shore to shore and anchoring this small piece of earth in the faith.  But how much longer could they hold out with few supple, living branches to bring them nourishment.

How many other places were suffering the same fate – a seeming drought of faith, a shortage of vocations – souls dying of starvation for Christ!

“Lord, send priests to your Church. Send shepherds to your flock. Send apostles to the world. Revitalize these lands that once poured forth missionaries to do your work!”

We celebrate the Mass as a family…

The words of the preacher plowed through my thoughts throwing aside my previous reflections. I was part of this family. Irish or American - nationality, age, background didn’t matter. Though two days before, I did not even know who they were – we were family.  Family in the faith, and that was what gives hope.  I was not alone.  These young people, men, and women and thousands more were working, fighting, to bring that same life in Christ to the world.

We believe in one God…

How many times had these words been repeated?  Certainly millions, billions, most likely trillions of times. Here in this great Basilica. In the tiny chapel of a remote village.  On mountaintops, in fields, aboard ships…

In the center of the arena before the gaping jaws of lions.  On the scaffolding before the noose pulled tight.  Mouth pressed against the block before the blade dropped.  How many had uttered these words not only with their mouths, but with their lives and had paid the price… in blood.

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.

Now, I had the chance to offer my own poor effort with Christ to the Father.  I, we, laid our own poor words, deeds, hearts, and lives next to that of countless saints and Christ on the cross, offering it up on the paten to be transformed.

Miraculously and mysteriously they would into be transformed into life-giving bread for the world by the cross of our Lord. We gave him ourselves, and he gave himself. What an exchange!

Take this all of you and eat.  This is my body which will be given up for you.

The high point of the Mass. What was really happening? That small wafer was him – the Creator of the world, the baby in Bethlehem, the man on the cross, the friend that countless people had found and dedicated their lives to, the Savior of the world. 

Did I recognize him? I stood before my creator, God, and best friend.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

The very same prayer that had been repeated since the first time Jesus Christ taught it to his disciples. We prayed to the Father as his Son taught us. 

That his will be done – that we have the strength to seek out and fulfill it. That he give us our daily bread – that we turn to him for the grace and sustenance in our daily struggle.  That me not be lead into temptation – that he protect us from the wiles and traps of the devil and the world.

Over 2000 years the voices were different, but the plea was the same.  The circumstances were distinct, but the mission remained identical. The challenges had changed, but the answer had not – Christ and his grace sought out in prayer were the solution to man’s, to our deepest longings.

The Mass is ended.  Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

It’s over. We had received Christ into our hearts. This all too brief foretaste of heaven has come to an end, but how did we go forth from this Mass?

Sixteen-year-old Patrick would go back the intense last two years of study before University, full of the pressures of study and the worries of every adolescent.  Ray, a 21-year-old is a university student would return to the same quest for God’s Will amidst the worries of studies and work and the constant attacks from others, the media, and modern culture.

Mary, already with a deep faith would return to her husband and supporting their seven grown children and their families. Caroline would start back up with her job at the bank and the daily occupations of a working professional. Desmond would go back to his wife and four kids, trying to bring them up strong in their faith and support a family in an increasingly hostile world.

And for me… I would go back to my daily studies and work in preparation for the priesthood with the same daily activities. But had something changed – would I, would we grow in our faith, persevere faithful to Christ and his will for us?

The words of John Paul II in his last encyclical came to mind, repeating the same words of the Book of Kings we heard this morning in Sunday Mass.

The path itself is long and strewn with obstacles greater than our human resources alone can overcome, yet we have the Eucharist, and in its presence we can hear in the depths of our hearts, as if they were addressed to us, the same words heard by the Prophet Elijah: “Arise and eat, else the journey will be too great for you” (1 Kg 19:7).

In the humble signs of bread and wine, changed into his body and blood, Christ walks beside us as our strength and our food for the journey, and he enables us to become, for everyone, witnesses of hope.

(Ecclesia de Eucharistia, 61-62)

Something had changed!

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