The obvious topic for today's Lenten reflection is the Last Supper, which was also the first Mass, when Jesus offered Himself to us as the Bread of Heaven. A lot of people have problems with the concept of the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist; admittedly, it is one of the stranger things about the Christian faith, but it is clearly very important because Jesus Himself spent the entire sixth chapter of the Gospel of John expounding upon it, and it was believed by Christians since the very beginning of the Church. Before I was any particular faith, I was puzzled by the fact that some churches seemed filled with a spiritual presence, and others just seemed like pretty buildings. Finally it dawned on me that I felt this Presence in Catholic and Orthodox churches but not in Protestant ones. (For reasons I cannot explain, I did also feel it in the mosques I entered in Istanbul.) Perhaps the moment that most persuaded me of the Real Presence was when we attended a Greek Orthodox liturgy in Thessaloniki and at a certain point I didn't just feel the Presence, I felt it practically smack me! It was clearly supposed to be an important moment, because the three priests who had been chanting in unison suddenly broke into three-part harmony, bells rang, and they lit incense. However, the aesthetic quality of the liturgy wasn't enough to explain the rush of something I felt at that moment. Back home I tried to piece it together, and I thought maybe the energy came from the people around me, like the rush you get at a sporting event or rock concert, but that didn't seem right either. As I began to learn more about religion, I realized that had been the moment of transubstantiation, when the bread and wine actually become the Body and Blood of Christ.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: all those bells and smells don't distract us but instead call our attention to the moment when all the angels in Heaven bow down as our offering is taken to the Heavenly Altar and Jesus descends to our earthly altar. I have been to many a suburban parish where the solemnity of this moment can barely be discerned over the just-a-guy banter of the priest, and the people all looking at each other instead of the altar because some brain trust thought round churches "facilitate community." Thank you, but during the consecration I would like to be positioned so that I can't help but look at the offering upon the altar. In round churches it's way too easy to be distracted by the toddler mauling her toy bunny or the two people whispering to each other about who knows what, although you can't help wondering what when you're supposed to be marveling over the miracle occuring before you. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those people who hates having children in church and thinks they should be relegated to a nursery; in fact, the toddler could be very well-behaved, but she is fidgety by nature and therefore a potential distraction if things are set up to focus on her and the rest of the congregation instead of on the altar. In fact, such a situation is a perfect setup for grumpy people to complain about having children in church, when Jesus Himself said, "Suffer the little children to come unto me." Instead of blaming kids for being themselves, let's blame the real culprits - the people of questionable judgment who designed these buildings.
Gosh, I guess that was quite a rant! And didn't I give up complaining for Lent? Guess I almost made it!
Famous Hat
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