I D Like to Beg Your Pardon in Advance

N I G H T I V

I’d like to beg your pardon in advance, because I’d like to start this evening with a rather ugly story. Maybe that’s overstating it. Maybe what I should say, rather, is I’d like to start this evening with a rather unpleasant ‘professional’ memory.

Nearly twenty years ago, you’ll remember, Chicago’s Cardinal Bernardin died of cancer. Much like Cardinal George, now, Cardinal Bernardin suffered with the disease for a number of years.

And during those years, during which he was sick, he decided that he would like to write another pastoral letter, to the Catholics of the archdiocese, on the subject of the liturgy, and more narrowly, on the eucharist.

The pastoral letter was never released; Cardinal Bernardin died before it was finished. But it had been begun.

I know, because I had been invited to a meeting, with about twelve of fifteen other people involved in liturgy in Chicago, to offer ideas and suggestions for what this pastoral letter on the eucharist ought to contain. Cardinal Bernardin wasn’t there.

1 Instead, the meeting was chaired by one of his aides, a priest I knew from my time at Sts. Faith, Hope and Charity. After calling the meeting to order, he asked a question that I thought revealed a clever strategy for generating discussion, by appealing to our professional pride.

He said, “You were all told, when you were asked to come to this meeting, what it was to be about. Cardinal Bernardin would like to write another pastoral letter on the eucharist before he dies. It’s a subject that’s close to his heart, and he has said that the eucharist is the setting in which he has encountered the greatest numbers of his flock across the years he’s been here in Chicago.” He continued, “If you’re anything like me, ever since you received this invitation, you’ve been pondering what you would want to say if you were helping to ghost-write this pastoral letter. If you were able, what words would you like to put into Cardinal Bernardin’s mouth concerning the eucharist?”

I don’t remember exactly who spoke first, but whoever it was, after that, we just went around the table, taking turns.

2 Or , I should say, we started to. We never completed the circuit.

I was about the fifth or sixth person to speak. And as best as I can recall, this is what I said. “From the time he’s been our archbishop, Cardinal Bernardin has been an advocate for unity --- here in Chicago, and throughout the Church, and within the ecumenical community.”

--- As a former president of the Bishop’s Conference of the United States, and as a member of several different standing Vatican committees, Cardinal Bernardin had seen more than his share of ecclesiastical dis-unity. And he had admitted to me before, that he found it discouraging.

I don’t want to get into the ‘deep weeds’ in explaining this, but in every one of the Church’s Eucharistic Prayers, just after the consecration, these is a section of the prayer, called the second epiclesis, that asks God to send the Holy Spirit to unite the Church. As the third eucharistic prayer expresses it, ‘send your Holy Spirit upon your people that we may become one Body, one spirit, in Christ.’

3 So I said, “From the time he’s been our archbishop, Cardinal Bernardin has been an advocate for unity --- here in Chicago, and throughout the Church, and within the ecumenical community. So first, I think I would highlight the ‘epicletic’ dimension of the eucharist as the ‘sacrament of unity.”

So far, so good. I should have stopped there. But I went on.

“Secondly,” I said, “Cardinal Bernardin is dying.”

--- As you will remember, Cardinal Bernardin had been very public about this. He had already published his book, ‘The Gift of Peace,” in which he recommended that we all try to ‘befriend’ death, as a first step on the path to this ‘gift of peace.’

I continued, “I think it would be comforting to people, to hear about the ‘eschatological,’ dimensions of the eucharist.”

‘Eschatology’ is another fancy Greek word that refers to a subset of theology that focuses on the ‘end times.’ Theological discussions around the subject of death are usually grouped within this branch of theology.

4 St. Ignatius of Antioch, on his way to his martyrdom at the end of the first century, wrote several pastoral letters to the churches along his way, from Antioch to Rome, offering them his encouragement. And in one of these letters, he had described the eucharist as ‘a remedy bestowing immortality, and an antidote to death.’ Whenever we gather around the altar, we include prayers for the dead.

So I said, “Secondly, Cardinal Bernardin is dying. I think it would be comforting to people, to hear about the ‘eschatological,’ dimensions of the eucharist.” Perhaps Cardinal Bernardin could weave his own condition into this theme from the Mass.”

Before I could take a breath, I was loudly interrupted by one of my professional colleagues, who held a position comparable to mine, at C.T.U. --- the Catholic Theological Union, down in Hyde Park.

He exclaimed, “No, no, no, no, no! Not more of that ‘pie in the sky when you die!” --- You might recognize the quote --- from Karl Marx. He went on shouting for a minute or two, and afterwards, several of the others piled on.

5 “Oh, nobody wants to hear about that! Wouldn’t it be kind of depressing?”

I confess I was sort of stunned. I hadn’t thought I had suggested anything controversial; on the contrary, I’d thought I was suggesting an idea that would be close to Cardinal Bernardin’s heart. And I was more than a little hurt that absolutely no one supported me. Soft-spokenly, I’d tried once or twice to counter their arguments. But finally, I gave up, and very shortly after, the chairman adjourned the meeting, before it turned into a brawl.

I left the meeting feeling thoroughly rebuked. Obviously, the sting of it hasn’t disappeared. And obviously, I’ve been thinking about it ever since. But I haven’t spoken about it.

It seemed to me that my opponents were not so much disagreeing with me, as with the whole Christian tradition. Strip ‘eternal life’ from the Christian message, and what are we left with? --- No more than a rather quarrelsome version of the Kiwanis Club.

6 Listening to the priest who challenged me so loudly, I was left with the impression that his vision of the Church was no more than a world-wide, benevolent, self-help group.

I recognized, even at the time, that death is a topic that touches lots of cultural taboos. (Sometime, if you’re hosting a party, and you’re ready for your guests to go home, try asking them, “So, what do you all think about death?” …You’ll clear the room within minutes.)

But insofar as death is a reality that touches every person on earth, must people genuflect before these cultural taboos and keep silent? And more pertinently, insofar as death is a reality that governs the entire unfolding of the gospel --- the whole ‘plot’ of the gospels building to Christ’s passion and death --- can Christians afford to genuflect before these cultural taboos? Can Christians afford to hold their tongues regarding the central promise that is offered by the gospels? Must Christians hold their tongues regarding this central promise of Christ?

7 For the past three nights we have been considering the themes of sacraments and sacramentality. I’ve argued that all of creation is sacramental, and that nearly any created thing can become a sacrament --- that is, a revelation of ‘who God is, and what God does.’ I’ve further suggested that Christ, himself, is the ultimate sacrament, that is, the ultimate revelation of ‘who God is, and what God does.’ Finally, last night I proposed that now, the Church too, is called by Christ, to be a sacrament of his abiding presence in this world.

…In this world…

But from the beginning, it has been a central claim of our Creed that Christ’s body no longer dwells here --- that with his ascension into heaven, Christ’s body now dwells at God’s right hand. From the instant that Adam and Eve had been cast out of the Garden, no human being had crossed the threshold that separates God from us. But with his ascension to God’s right hand, the Gates of Paradise swung open again to receive human flesh once again. And Christ had promised, “I will not leave you orphans; I will come back again, to take you to myself, so that where I am, you also may be.”

8 And so --- ever since --- Christ’s presence here on earth has been a sacramental presence --- revealed, most especially, in the eucharist --- the sacrament of his body and blood --- but also abiding in the celebration of every other sacrament, indeed, abiding ‘wherever two or three are gathered in his name.’

But central to the Church’s sacramental vision, is the claim that, having shared our life on earth, Christ himself has sanctified it; that having shared our human flesh, Christ himself has sanctified it; that having shared our human joys and sorrows, Christ himself has sanctified them, and made them holy.

But it sort of puzzles me, that so many modern Catholics --- exemplified by my opponents at that long-ago meeting --- that so many modern Catholics hesitate to take that final step.

It strikes me as nothing less than a spiritual failure-of-nerve, not to insist, just as strongly, that having shared our human death, Christ has sanctified it, too, and made it holy.

The ritual with which this season always begins includes the firm, unflinching insistence, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

9 But the gesture that accompanies those words is the key to what makes the whole thing sacramental, rather than merely morbid. Our heads are signed with ashes, in the sign of the cross. That makes of the ashes more than a symbol simply of death, in the abstract. The fact that they are made in the sign of the cross makes of them a symbol of Christ’s death, or perhaps I should say, it makes of them a symbol of Christ’s sanctification of death, achieved in the instant he gave up his spirit, and confirmed in the instant he rose from the dead.

If Christ our Savior has passed through it --- if Christ our Savior insisted on passing through it --- how scary can it be?

Plenty scary, of course. I don’t want to minimize it. But no longer a cause for despair.

~ A week later, the disciples were once more in the room; but this time Thomas was with them. Despite the locked doors, Jesus came and stood before them.

10 ‘Peace be with you,’ he said. Then, to Thomas, ‘Take your finger and examine my hands. Put your hand into my side. Do not persist in your unbelief, but believe!’ Thomas said in response, ‘My Lord and my God!’ Jesus then said to him, ‘You became a believer because you saw me. Blessed are they who have not seen me, and believe.’

Many of you know that I’m a diabetic. I was diagnosed when I was nineteen, and have been using insulin, ever since, to control my blood sugar. The doctor who diagnosed me was a self-proclaimed ‘redneck’ from Arkansas, who didn’t pull his punches. He told me then, ‘this disease will cut your life expectancy in half.’

Thank God he was mistaken. But I certainly don’t blame him. That was the conventional prognosis at the time. The fact that I’m still here, is a tribute to God’s grace, and to the amazing progress medicine has made, in the years since, in treating the disease, and making it manageable.

11 ⨁

A year after I was ordained, on the Monday of Holy Week, my second youngest brother, Neil, was killed in a terrible car crash. He was just short of his nineteenth birthday. He, and his two college roommates, were on spring break from the University of Illinois. They had decided to go up to Lake Geneva for a few days, as one of his roommate’s families had a cottage there. They never made it. They were struck by a car, going in the opposite direction, head-on. Neil and his two roommates, as well as the driver and passenger in the other car, were all killed instantly. At the inquest, several months later, it was revealed by authorities that the other car had been going a hundred miles an hour --- in the dark --- with its headlights off. The driver of the other car had a blood alcohol level that rendered him legally comatose.

I’m not sure that I’ll ever be able to claim, with Cardinal Bernardin, that death is my friend. But I am familiar with his work.

12 Looking around this evening, I’m aware that many of you are, too.

But the fact that you’re still here, tells me something.

I’m not sure that death will ever be my friend, although I live in the hope that Christ always will be….. Christ always will be….. And I trust you share that hope.

But the scriptures, and even the Catholic tradition are curiously silent about what lies beyond death. Not that they are silent about our claim that death is not the end --- the New Testament is full of that. But regarding what eternal life will look like, we hear very little. The vision proposed, when we were children, of cute, fat little cherubs, perched on clouds, is not very compelling --- not even very appealing --- once we’ve left childhood.

The scriptures do present some symbolic visions of what sort of ‘heaven’ we ought to expect. Christ speaks, repeatedly, of the ‘heavenly kingdom,’ or ‘the kingdom of heaven.’

13 St. John, in Revelation, describes a new, heavenly Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride, beautifully dressed for her husband But as a liturgist, as you might surmise, my favorite scriptural image of what heaven will be like, is the ‘heavenly banquet.’ I know that at one level, it makes no sense. Once we have passed through death, will not ‘food’ be rendered redundant? Will not hunger be a thing of the past?

Maybe the eucharist, here, offers a clue. I doubt whether many of us come to Mass because our stomachs need to be filled. The sliver of bread and sip of wine --- now become Christ’s body and blood --- offer virtually no nutritional value.

No, as with every sacrament, the appearance is only the beginning. And the image of heaven as a ‘heavenly banquet,’ is meant only to clothe in an earthly garment, the promise-of-Christ-beyond-words.

‘Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood,

14 you will have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise them up at the last day.’ Questions, comments? Experiences of the ‘sacramentality’ of death?

1 Corinthians 15: 51-57

Now I am going to tell you a mystery. Not all of us shall fall asleep, but all of us are to be changed --- in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, at the sound of the last trumpet. The trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. This corruptible body must be clothed with incorruptibility --- this mortal body with immortality. When the corruptible frame takes on incorruptibility, and the mortal, immortality, then will the scripture be fulfilled --- ‘O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’

Thanks be to God who has given us the victory through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,

15 as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.