Ubi Petrus

This fine book, published by Ignatius Press, is a collection of a series of addresses and writings by both then-Cardinal Ratzinger and Hans Urs von Balthasar on the subject of Mary, particularly in reference to her as an image and icon of the Church. As we are reminded by Cdl. Ratzinger, proper mariology is also ecclesiology and both mariology and ecclesiology are inseparable from christology. It is in an attempt to extrapolate the close interconnection between these studies that this book is given us.

Overall I was very impressed by this book – the level of its authors should make that no surprise. There were a few times where the selected work strayed for some time from the central topic but they all eventually returned there and it was only then that the heretofore tenuous connections were made clear. Having read enough of Cdl. Ratzinger/Pope Benedict and von Balthasar to know, this wasn’t altogether surprising – they both share a proclivity for, as someone put it, “speaking in paragraphs”. It is when you are feeling yourself lost in their writings that you must buckle down and hold on for this is where some of their more interesting points work themselves out. Incidentally, there is one note by von Balthasar where he pauses to contradict something Cdl. Ratzinger had written in Introduction to Christianitywhich I found rather amusing given that I had just recently finished the section of this book containing his contributions. It is obvious to the gentle reader who may not know otherwise these two men knew each other fairly well.

I’d like to take a couple of extended quotes from each author’s contributions to illustrate what one may find inside. First, from Cdl. Ratzinger:

In my opinion, the connection between the mystery of Christ and the mystery of Mary suggested to us by today’s readings is very important in our age of activism, in which th eWestern mentality has evolved to the extreme. For in today’s intellectual climate, only the masculine principle counts. And that means doing, achieving results, actively planning and producing the world oneself, refusing to wait for anything upon which one would thereby become dependent, relying rather, solely on one’s own abilities. It is, I believe, no coincidence, given our Wester, masculine mentality, that we have increasingly separated Christ from his Mother, without grasping that Mary’s motherhood might have some significance for theology and faith. This attitude characterizes our whole approach to the Church. We treat the Church almost like some technological device that we plan and make with enormous cleverness and expenditure of energy. Then we are surprised when we experience the truth of what Saint Louis-Marie Grignon de Montfort once remarked, paraphrasing the words of the prophet Haggai, when he said, “You do much, but nothing comes of it” (Hag 1:6)! When making becomes autonomous, the things we cannot make but that are alive and need time to mature can no longer survive.

Then, from von Balthasar:

The Virgin, harboring a mystery under her heart, remains in profound solitude. In a silence that almost causes the perplexed Joseph to despair. Incarnation of God means condescension, abasement, and, because we are sinners, humiliation. And he already draws his Mother into these humiliations. Where did she get this child? People must have talked at the time, and they probably never stopped. It must have been a sorry state of affairs if Joseph could find no better way out than to divorce his bride quietly. God’s humanism at once begins drastically. Those whose lives God enters, those who enter into his, are not protected. They have to go along into a suspicion and ambiguity they cannot talk their way out of. And the ambiguity will only get worse, until, at the Cross, the Mother will get to see what her Yes has caused and will have to hear the vitriolic ridicule to which the Son is forced to listen.

*phew* That’s a lot to chew on. Then again, when you’re dealing with God’s plan for the salvation of mankind and the interaction of core parts of that plan it’s going to be rather heady work. If you’ve ever considered the connection between Mary and the Church, and particularly if you’ve never considered that connection, this book will give plenty to contemplate and a host of new insights. It may not be a definitive collection in this area, but then we will never have the definitive answers to these questions until we ask the One who put this plan together in the beginning. I’d highly recommend this book.

I’m apparently on a vocations kick lately. So be it. Servant and Steward has a reflection I want to see printed up and put in bulletins. Come to think of it, I want to see this type of writing periodically from priests all over, stuffed in bulletins, handed out or even just mailed randomly. It’s been said time and again the single greatest reason men don’t consider the priesthood is simply “nobody asked”. It’s time to remind them that they’re asked by God, and asked again by each of us to at least consider it.

And hey, while we’re at it, let’s not stop with priests – we need consecrated religious talking openly and honestly about their vocation. If Thomas Merton could write that much from a religious enclosure, certainly an occasional couple of paragraphs wouldn’t be a crazy idea. After all, if nobody asks, who can answer?

Today being the Solemnity of The Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Church asks us all to pray in a particular way for all priests. The Weight of Glory has the goods. Read. Listen. Pray. Just in case you’re not inclined to click over, I’ll cut-n-paste the prayer for priests – now you don’t have an excuse.

Prayer for Priests

Lord Jesus, present in the Most Blessed Sacrament,
and living perpetually among us through Your Priests,
grant that the words of Your Priests may be only Your words,
that their gestures be only Your gestures,
and that their lives be a true reflection of Your life.

Grant that they may be men who speak to God on behalf of His people,
and speak to His people of God.
Grant that they be courageous in service,
serving the Church as she asks to be served.

Grant that they may be men who witness to eternity in our time,
travelling on the paths of history in Your steps,
and doing good for all.

Grant that they may be faithful to their commitments,
zealous in their vocation and mission,
clear mirrors of their own identity,
and living the joy of the gift they have received.

We pray that Your Holy Mother, Mary,
present throughout Your life,
may be ever present in the life of Your Priests. Amen.

… like four times in my previous post, I suppose it only right to show it done well.

It’s rare – very rare – when something happens at church that genuinely makes me sad. Annoyed? Sure. Disturbed, perturbed, distracted, confused? Yup. Shoot, there have even been times when the words frustrated and yes even probably angry have applied. This was the first time I was just plain sad.

I went to Eucharistic Adoration after work and, after a paving-related traffic snafu, managed to get there later than I’d planned. I glanced at my watch and decided I might as well stay a little later than normal and actually be there for Benediction. Aside from the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, Benediction properly done is probably my favorite liturgical act, so this was not exactly a sacrifice on my part.

As the time approached I began to ruminate on just how long it had been since I had heard and sung Tantum ergo, my second-favorite right behind Panis angelicus. Incense, chant and a blessing with Christ Himself in the Eucharist, it is a veritable panoply of liturgical design writ small. As I was contemplating all these wonders of reverence for His Presence, one of the people in the pews got up, closed the sign-in book and brought it in to the sacristy. Then I noticed – no censer, no boat; okay, lack of incense is far from the biggest deal. My eyes started to flit around as I noticed everyone seeming to be packing up. Before I could even formulate the thought in my mind, the same woman returned from the sacristy, removed the luna from the monstrance, placed it in its holder and returned it to the Tabernacle.

This all seemed like a very strange, very disturbing dream. Should pink elephants have flown in on teeny butterfly wings and begun to speak to me in Gaelic-accented Urdu I wouldn’t have been more surprised. As the rest of the people filed out I quietly recited a Tantum ergo, at least to myself. Where was Father? No Benediction? No incense? No chanted Tantum ergo? Something indeed was not right.

Then it struck me. This rectory used to have three priests in it, now it has one. And his responsibilities now take him even further away from the parish than ever used to be the norm. Yes, something is wrong – something is very wrong. With so few priests now available around these parts they very often have tremendous problems being available for leading the very prayers that are the only chance of ever overcoming this situation.

Perhaps next time I will do the little I now can, and my Tantum ergo will not be silent. Holy Mary, Mother of the Eucharist and Mother of Priests, ora pro nobis!

On the way to school yesterday:

Son: Can we listen to EWTN on the satellite?
Me: You don’t want to listen to Kids Stuff?
Son: Nah, EWTN please.

On the way to son’s Karate class:

Daughter: Can we listen to the song on EWTN?
Me: You mean the Divine Mercy chaplet in song?
Daughter: *already singing the chaplet*

Yup, they’re warped. And in the best possible way too. After spending the first twenty some-odd years of my life wandering in the desert I can’t even comprehend being so very comfortable with all these Catholic-isms. As I watch my kids grow in the Faith, each very much in their own way, I’m continually reminded they are experiencing this all in a way I will never quite understand.

Dang it, doesn’t he know it’s not right for a grown man to cry?

And to think, just this morning I was more than just a little stern with my son for something which, in retrospect, wasn’t really all that important. Apparently St. Jerome and I have more in common than just a love of languages. *sigh* It’s times like this when you realize just how far you really do have to go.

I must apologize to my readers for having been so lax this week. I thought for sure after my son’s First Communion things would slow down. Apparently God got such a chuckle out of that idea that he decided to show me just how silly it really was. I haven’t even had the time to make some of the updates to my sidebars I’ve been meaning to do for a while now. Ah, some day.

NLM has a very intriguing interview with Fr. George Rutler here. Anyone who knows NLM and Fr. Rutler should not be surprised that some very interesting questions and equally insightful answers are to be found.

That’s what I think of when I hear or read priests who have a habit of doing the right thing, particularly when they do it in a sensitive and simultaneously strong way. Fr. Fox, after inviting his parishioners to a Corpus Christi procession, asks them to leave the church in silence as Christ is placed back on the altar between Masses. Then he reminds them the silence is not only for others, but themselves as well:

That silence may be hard, and it can be intimidating—because its so powerful.
It’s not empty, just as this church is never empty.
In that silence, we are confronted with the God who was not content to remain distant,
but comes close, and wants to come as close as possible to us.
God wants to do more than say hello— he wants to be one with you.

“[T]his church is never empty.” That is a reality that I don’t think is contemplated nearly enough these days. Jesus is always there, waiting for you. Just as He was silent nine months in Mary’s womb, so He silently waits in the bosom of the church for you to return his visit. Have you dropped in to say hello to Jesus, to renew that “becoming one” with Him lately?