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Home > From the Pastor Previous "From the Pastor" Entries RECTORY OFFICE HOURS TO BE SHORTENED I’ve written many times of the budget challenges we and most other parishes face these days and of the steps we can or cannot take to address those challenges. There are many things we cannot do: pay employees less than the salaries mandated by the Archdiocese (or the state), reduce benefits, choose our own energy suppliers, put off repairs that would affect safety or result in higher repair costs down the road. There are relatively few options, however, for reducing expenses and the savings we realize may be minimal; but, as my grandmother used to say when baking or cooking, “every little bit helps.” The “little bit” we will address beginning Monday, August 30th, will be a reduction in the Rectory office hours. Right now, we stay open longer than most other parishes, both on weekdays and weekends. We’ve also maintained what seems to me to be a very civilized system of having a real person answering the phone and taking messages rather than a voice mail menu. I feel that if there’s one place where you should be able to talk to a human being when you call, it’s a church rectory. You may not immediately reach the person you’re looking for, but at least you’ve actually spoken to someone most of the time. The few messages we find on our voice mail after hours rarely involve emergencies and the vast majority of those calls could easily have been made earlier in the day. So, the new office hours (changes in bold print) beginning August 30th will be:
In talking to some of the teens who work the evening shift (whose salaries, by the way, are mandated by minimum wage laws), I’ve learned that there are almost no phone calls or visitors after those new closing times. No parish meetings begin later than those hours, and the key return system will not be affected by this change. The savings for the remainder of this fiscal year will be around $3,000.00, but in the next fiscal year, the savings will be more than $4,000.00. It may not seem like much, but “every little bit” does help. Fr. Bob
KIDS, PARENTS AND ALCOHOL Every parent today is familiar with fetal alcohol syndrome; no responsible mother would think of consuming alcohol when pregnant. This is an awareness that didn’t exist just a few decades ago, and how fortunate today’s kids are that we now understand the implications of a mother’s behavior during those precious first nine months of a child’s life. Now if only that awareness would extend beyond a child’s birth—how much better this world might be for our children. A few months ago, the pastors of the twelve parishes in our Deanery (the far southwest corner of Chicago and Evergreen Park) entered into a conversation about the over-exposure of children to excessive drinking on the part of some parents in our community. It’s a problem that surfaces among teenagers as the summer months begin; but perhaps that’s only the tip of an iceberg that fills backyard coolers during the warmer months and refrigerators the rest of the year. The teen problem became so serious for us last year that we enlisted the help of our Holy Name men to patrol the grounds on summer nights and we’re now in the process of preparing to install video surveillance in key outside areas around the school and church. And it’s certainly not just here: in a recent bulletin article, a neighboring parish warned teen drinkers that the police would be called and their cars towed from parish property if the teens continued to congregate there at night. But, as I suggested above, the problem of teen drinking is just the tip of a cultural iceberg that surfaces in Western Ave. bars, after—and sometimes during—kids’ sports events, and in backyards or living rooms throughout the year. Now please don’t get me wrong: I don’t believe that kids should be shielded from the reality that alcohol can be a normal part of adult partying. I started bartending for my family parties when I was about twelve years old. I had lots of fun creating mixed drinks to surprise our guests (ask me how to make a Scarlett O’Hara); but one or two drinks were pretty much the limit for most of our family and friends. My bartending experience demystified alcohol for me while allowing me to be part of the fun without participating in the drinking. But the other important part of my youthful exposure to drinking was the awareness that alcohol consumption was the exception rather than the rule at family gatherings: no one drank at kids’ birthday parties, baptisms or first communions, and alcohol was a minimal part of graduation celebrations. Those were events for the kids, not the adults! Unfortunately, the current culture seems inclined to use kids’ parties as an excuse or an opportunity not just to drink, but to sometimes drink way beyond what is prudent or healthy. Another area parish found that some parents had apparently regressed to their teen years at a father/daughter dance when the dads brought coolers of beer to the dance and left their daughters periodically fatherless to sneak out and grab a beer with their buddies. Anyone who doesn’t see something wrong with that picture needs to re-evaluate their priorities! My fellow pastors and I will be working over the summer to craft a pastoral letter to all of our parishioners that deals with this unfortunate reality in our community. In the meantime, please consider the effect that parental drinking can have on our kids—your kids—far beyond the nine months before they’re born into this world. Fr. Bob
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[Back
to Top] “Among the many signs and symbols used by the Church to celebrate its faith, music is of preeminent importance. As sacred song united to words, it forms a necessary or integral part of the solemn liturgy.” The emphases are mine and I use them to focus this reflection in the hope that we can all appreciate that “integral” part music plays in liturgy and how blessed we are here at St. John Fisher to have such exceptional talent in our own music ministry. Fr. Bob
[Back
to Top] As we prepare for the completion (sometime next month) of our enlarged choir and music space, it’s good to continue a reflection on liturgical music, with the focus this week on those who make the music. The U.S. Bishops’ document, Music in Catholic Worship, says this about the musical part played by each of us in the liturgy: “In liturgical celebrations each one, minister or layperson, who has an office to perform, should do all of, but only, those parts which pertain to that office by the nature of the rite and the principles of the liturgy. Special musical concern must be given to the role of the congregation, the cantor, the choir and the instrumentalists.” If we boil all that down to everyday
language, it simply means that we all have a part to play, no one should steal
anyone else’s part, and in the end, we’re all in this together.
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LITURGY: THE THINGS WE DO, THE WORDS WE USE
Those are the principal objects or spaces we encounter
every time we gather in prayer. But it’s also interesting to note the hierarchy
of importance of the principal objects in our worship space. The altar is
the most important object in the church, followed by the baptismal font
(which we’ll consider in a future article), the ambo, the presidential
chair, and finally, the tabernacle. LITURGY: THE THINGS WE
DO, THE WORDS WE USE – PART III There may be some who think that
Catholics read from the bible at mass, but that’s not strictly true. The
readings proclaimed at mass do indeed come from the bible, but they are
collected in a particular way into that most important book we call the lectionary. Again,
we have a word whose Latin origin offers a fascinating insight into how we
understand the proclamation of the Word of God at mass. The Latin “lectio” can
be translated “the act of
reading.” Why is that meaning so important? Think of the passage from the Letter
to the Hebrews: “The word of God is living and active, sharper than a two-edged
sword…” One of the many great insights of Vatican II was the recognition that,
when the Word of God is proclaimed, God becomes present among us in a unique
way. The book which contains that living Word, the lectionary,
is not just paper bound in leather, made to sit on a shelf, but a book meant for
the act of
proclamation in the midst of the people of God. The Word of God, like the mass,
the “sending”, is not something static, but a dynamic expression of God’s
presence and power moving among us. The scripture passages in the lectionary are
divided into cycles: three for
the Sundays of the year, based on the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, and
identified as liturgical years A, B and C; and two weekday cycles designated
as years I and II. Matthew, Mark and Luke are each given a year because they are
known as the “synoptic” gospels (same root as “synonym”); all three copied from
a single source (now lost) or from each other, so they all tell the story of
Jesus in a similar way. Mark, the first gospel chronologically, is a source for
much of the material in Matthew and Luke. The gospel of John doesn’t have its
own “cycle” because its structure and sources are completely different from the
other three and wouldn’t allow us to hear the story of Jesus’ life in a
comprehensive form during the course of a liturgical year. Passages from John
are inserted into the Year B cycle of Mark for a few weeks in the summer
(because Mark’s gospel is so short) and also show up during Eastertime in all
three cycles. During Ordinary Time (the majority of
the liturgical year) all the gospel passages in the Sunday cycles of the lectionary run
in sequence beginning with the early ministry of Jesus and concluding with his
sayings about the end times or final judgment. The first reading, usually from
the Old Testament (Eastertime is the exception), is chosen for its thematic
connection to the gospel, so it might be from Genesis one week and Isaiah the
next. The second reading is always from the letters of the New Testament and,
like the gospels of Ordinary Time, these passages also follow in sequence and
only by chance have any thematic connection to the other two readings. (For
example, during September, we’re hearing excerpts each week from the Letter of
St. James.) Although the lectionary for
each cycle contains all three readings, there is another book we use, the one
carried in procession at the beginning of mass by either the lector or deacon:
the Book of the Gospels. This
book, as its name implies, contains only the gospel readings for all three
cycles. It held a place of prominence in the liturgy for centuries, but fell out
of use as the proclamation of the word became less and less important,
particularly after the Reformation. It was reintroduced in the past twenty or
thirty yeas as liturgical scholars rediscovered its significance and publishers
made it available. As important and essential as the lectionary is,
it’s the Book of the Gospels that
takes precedence in the entrance procession of mass. It is meant to be placed on
the altar until the gospel
acclamation begins and the deacon
or priest comes forward to carry it ceremonially to the ambo. Its placement on
the altar creates a symbolic connection between the liturgies of Word and
Eucharist. Finally, under the heading of “things
we do”, there is something you might notice that we don’t do:
we don’t carry
either the lectionary or
the Book of the Gospels out of
church. Once the Word is proclaimed, it is meant to take root in us; we carry
the Word of God out the doors of the church. The Word is no longer written on
paper, but on our hearts. And that brings us to one last thing that we must do: listen.
When the Word of God is proclaimed by the lector or the reader of the gospel, we
are called to be, not merely passive hearers, but active listeners. That
challenges us to do something that many might find difficult: put down the
missalettes and really listen.
If one is hard of hearing or if the lector doesn’t speak clearly or loudly
enough, reading along might be necessary. Then there are two options: sit closer
to one of the state-of-the-art speakers in church or gently encourage a lector
you couldn’t understand to speak more clearly or slowly the next time. But the
best options of all are to arrive a few minutes early and read through the day’s
scripture on your own before mass so you can listen attentively during the
actual proclamation, or to check the “Readings for the Week” box in the bulletin
and read the passages at home before you ever get to church. It all goes back to
that meaning of “lectio.” The
Word of God is “living and active”, meant by its very nature to be proclaimed in
the midst of the assembly while the People of God listen attentively, drink it
in, and carry that Word out into the world. Fr. Bob LITURGY: THE THINGS
WE DO, THE WORDS WE USE – PART IV I’ve used a lot of space in the
previous three installments of this series to talk about the second part of the
title: The Words We Use. I
suppose it’s time we move into the first half and reflect on some of the actions
that are part of our worship. Processions take
up a minimal amount of time in the liturgy, but they’re more important than you
might think. When we process in
the context of the mass, it’s not just about getting from one place to another.
Take the entrance procession,
for example. Is this just something we do to get the altar servers, the lector,
the deacon and the priest into the sanctuary? If that were the case, we could
save some time and effort by just popping out from the sacristy; one verse of a
song would suffice to get us there. Obviously, there must be something more to
it, but here’s an example of what it’s not. When I first arrived at a previous
parish, the leaders of song were in the habit of introducing the entrance (or
gathering) hymn by saying: “Now let’s stand and greet our celebrant by
singing….” I quickly put an end to the use of that formula the day the entrance
hymn (on a Marian feast day) was “Hail Holy Queen!” It still cracks me up
whenever I recall that now, but at the time, I was not amused. The fact is: the entrance
procession is about the
entrance of all of
us into the liturgies of Word and Eucharist. Since it wouldn’t be very practical
to try to line up everyone in the gathering space in the back of church before
every mass, the principal ministers of the liturgy become symbols of the
gathering of the entire assembly. That’s also why the entrance (or “gathering”)
hymn shouldn’t stop when the ministers arrive at the sanctuary: it’s not just
about getting them “from one place to another” but about gathering all of us
into a community of prayer and praise and thanks. The second procession which takes place
at mass is the gospel
procession in which the
deacon or priest brings the Book of the Gospels from the altar to the ambo while
the altar servers approach the ambo with their candles. Like the entrance
procession, this action could certainly be done much more simply, but once
again, getting “from one place to another” isn’t the point. The procession with
the Book of the Gospels occurs as we stand and sing the gospel acclamation,
praising the Good News which is about to draw us from Word into Eucharist. These
are not simply the words of the Old Testament prophets or the New Testament
letter writers—as important as those are—but the words of Jesus himself, as
remembered and recorded by the four evangelists (“proclaimers of the Good
News”). The standing, singing and processing prepare
us for that unique proclamation. And if you have been at the liturgies of Holy
Thursday or the Easter Vigil, you will have noticed that we extend the gospel
procession even farther, with the
servers leading the deacon or priest around the sanctuary. That more extensive
procession is really the ideal, but it probably has more impact if it is only
used sparingly. The next procession is what we commonly
call the offertory procession,
though the correct name for this beginning of the Liturgy of the Eucharist is
the Preparation of the Table and
Gifts. When I celebrate classroom masses with our eighth graders during
Lent, I always ask them why this procession is necessary. Wouldn’t it be much
easier if the bread and wine were already there on the altar so that all I
needed to do was reach out and take them? But, here we go again: it’s not about
what’s easy, but about what it all means. The gifts of bread and wine aren’t my
gifts, nor are they even God’s gifts; they’re our gifts.
They are indeed the “work of human hands” and they need to come from and be
presented by members of the worshipping community. We present simple bread and
wine to God so God can return them to us as the Bread of Life and the Cup of
Salvation. That leads us, not directly but
symbolically, into the fourth procession of mass: the communion
procession. If you think about it, of all the liturgical processions,
this is the only one which is necessary on a practical level and which really
looks like a procession. All the members of the assembly (who are able to do so)
are called forward to share in the Eucharist. That very movement is an
expression of faith and a declaration of our desire to receive the amazing gift
that is being offered. But it’s about much more than “receiving” the Eucharist,
and herein lies the connection to the offertory
procession: just as the simple gifts of bread and wine are brought forward
to become the Body and Blood of Jesus, so we bring ourselves forward in the communion
procession, ready and willing to
be transformed by our communion with Jesus and with one another, into the Body
of Christ, his real and living presence in our world. The significance and
importance of this procession is primarily what prompted us, several years ago,
to eliminate the Eucharistic Minister position at the middle of the church.
Unless there is an issue of extraordinary distance or excessive crowding, (as at
Holy Name Cathedral) the liturgical expectation is that all who are able to do
so join in the procession to
the sanctuary for communion. The other reason for eliminating the mid-church
communion positions was that the parish priests, who had not been part of the
assembly at mass, were stationed there—something that is forbidden by liturgical
law. Only those who are present for the entire mass can share the Eucharist at
mass; priests are not permitted to just pop out of the sacristy to help with
communion. The final procession of mass is, of
course, the closing procession or recessional.
Just as the entrance procession symbolically
gathers all of
us into the time of worship, so the recessional isn’t
just a matter of creating an exit strategy for the ministers. It’s about all of
us being sent out (remember “ita missa est”?) to live the faith we’ve just
celebrated. Because the recessional symbolically
involves the entire community, it follows that no one should be leaving the
church until the conclusion of this final procession. Of course, one could also
argue that it’s just good manners to stay in church until the mass is over. Is
it possible to imagine ourselves in the time of the historical Jesus, being
invited to sit at table with him, then getting up and leaving before the meal
was finished? Not likely, I hope! Because I’ll be on vacation for several
weeks, this series will probably be on vacation as well, unless I become
miraculously inspired in the next few days. When it does appear, Part V will
deal with more of the things we do at mass and, for the most part, take very
much for granted: sitting, standing, kneeling, bowing and genuflecting. Fr. Bob LITURGY: THE THINGS WE DO, THE WORDS WE USE – PART V There may be times, especially early in the morning of after a Saturday of household chores, when you come to church and wish you could just sit and relax. Why can’t we simply sit back, as we would at a movie or a play, and observe what’s going on at mass? I remember years ago when a relatively new student at St. Bride said to me “I’ve seen you before—on the stage in church.” That comment motivated me back then to do some catechesis (religious education) on why liturgy is not a performance or a spectator sport but rather an activity that requires the intense involvement and engagement of all who are present. When we gather in prayer, none of us can just sit back and watch someone else “perform.” It could be said that sitting, standing, kneeling, bowing or genuflecting are the “choreography” of the mass, along with the processions I wrote about in the last part of this series. Those actions, along with the words we pray, the songs we sing and the responses we make, are our way of engaging in the “full, conscious and active participation” in the mass to which the post-Vatican II Church calls us. So let’s take a look at each of them, beginning with the one we use the least: genuflecting. Genuflections are not really a part of worship for the assembly but more like bookends. Genuflecting has its origins in imperial times, when people were required to “bend the knee” before a king or emperor as a sign of submission. It makes sense that the church appropriated that gesture in relation to the reserved eucharistic presence of Jesus, our Lord and King. So it’s proper to genuflect toward the tabernacle when we enter and when we leave the church—if one is physically able to do that. There are also genuflections for the priest presider within the mass—at the “consecration” or “institution narrative” and just before communion. Now you may ask why I don’t do that, and the answer is very simple. Back in college I fell on my right knee on a terrazzo floor. Then a few years later, during a teen retreat at St. Bernadette, I fell and twisted that knee again when a precocious teenager decided to playfully tackle me. As a result, my right knee can lock unexpectedly if I bend it too far. So I’ve chosen to avoid the possible spectacle of me remaining stuck behind the altar in the middle of mass with a locked knee by substituting a bow for a genuflection. That brings us to bowing, which is a more integral part of worship. When the liturgical ministers process to the sanctuary and before they leave at the recessional, they bow to the altar, then to the tabernacle (an acceptable substitute for a genuflection in the context of worship). It’s important to note that we bow to the altar because some might think that we are bowing to the crucifix above the altar; but that’s not the case. The altar, if you recall, is the most important object in the church because it is the table on which the eucharistic presence of Jesus is made real, and so we treat it with extraordinary reverence. The lector bows to the altar (but not to the tabernacle) when approaching the ambo for each scripture reading. The other two bows—in which all participate—take place during the Nicene Creed when we come to the words affirming our faith in the Incarnation, and then at communion as we approach the Eucharistic minister and bow to the Body or Blood of Christ while the preceding communicant is stepping aside. This is probably a good time to take a slight detour from posture and consider the place of the cross or crucifix in the church. As I said, we don’t bow to the altar, not the crucifix above it, at the beginning and end of mass. The enormous crucifix above our altar, as beautiful and dramatic as it is, is not the principal cross in the church. That designation belongs to the processional cross, which is one reason I commissioned a new, more substantial one several years ago which we use throughout the year, except during Lent. The processional cross is so important because it always leads us, at least symbolically, into worship, then out into the world. The processional cross passes through the midst of the assembly as each mass begins and concludes to remind us that the cross is our emblem of victory over sin, suffering and death, the ultimate sign of God’s love for us, and the enduring sign of our salvation. Next week, this reflection will continue with the major postures of mass: standing, sitting and kneeling. I suspect some of that will surprise you. Fr. Bob
[Back
to Top] LITURGY: THE THINGS WE DO, THE WORDS WE USE – PART VI Up and down, up and down…..During my religion day a few weeks ago in our eighth grade classrooms, one of the students asked me, “Why do we have to stand and sit and kneel at mass? Why can’t we just sit for everything?” I suggested that he read this article to find the answer. So here we go….. Kneeling is a traditional part of eucharistic worship, but a problematic one. The first problem relates to the symbolism of kneeling, which tends to imply either adoration or penitence, neither of which is integral to Catholic worship, because Eucharist is primarily about praise and thanksgiving. The second problem involves the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (GIRM), the rules governing the mass which apply to the Church throughout the world. In that document, the over-arching rule for the universal Church during the Liturgy of the Eucharist is that the people stand “from the prayer over the gifts to the end of mass, except at the place indicated later in this paragraph.” The “place” indicated later is the consecration or institution narrative. Then the General Instruction gives each conference of bishops the authority to “adapt the actions and postures” described in the GIRM to their country or region. As it so happened, the conference of American bishops decided in 1969 that Americans want to kneel during most of the Eucharistic Prayer and they instituted that “adaptation” for the Church in the U.S. How they came to that conclusion will always remain a mystery to me. That brings us to standing which is supposed to be the dominant posture of the assembly at mass. The General Instruction states that “at every mass, the people should stand from the beginning of the entrance song or when the priest enters until the end of the opening prayer; for the singing of the Alleluia before the gospel; while the gospel is proclaimed; during the profession of faith and the general intercessions; from the prayer over the gifts until the end of mass….”, again with that single exception for the consecration. Even when the American bishops decreed that American catholics should kneel “beginning after the singing or recitation of the Sanctus until after the Amen of the eucharistic prayer” they left intact the expectation that all should stand from the Lord’s Prayer until the end of mass! It’s perhaps a combination of laziness and long-standing custom (no pun intended) that most American churches don’t follow that expectation, although some do. But why should we stand all that time? Because standing is considered the posture of praise, thanksgiving and intercession; we lift up, not just our minds and hearts, but our bodies as well, to the God who made us and sustains us. Standing also implies a readiness to move, to get on with the work of following Jesus along the road. If Jesus just sat around all day teaching or his disciples just sat there listening to him, not much would have been accomplished to spread the good news, proclaim mercy to sinners or heal the sick. That being said, no one should feel obliged to stand—or for that matter, kneel or genuflect—if physical limitations make that difficult. I remember someone fainting during the reading of the Passion last Palm Sunday because standing was just too stressful; it would have been fine if that person had sat down. However, going to the other extreme of telling everyone to sit during the reading of the Passion on Palm Sunday or Good Friday (as some priests mistakenly do) just panders to our American inclination to take the easy way out and diminishes the powerful symbolism of our standing. The final posture of mass is, of course, sitting, which the General Instruction prescribes “during the readings before the gospel and during the responsorial psalm; for the homily and presentation of the gifts, and, if this seems helpful, during the period of silence after communion.” (That “period of silence after communion” begins when the Eucharist is removed from the altar by the ministers, not when the tabernacle doors are closed. The priest and deacon sit at that time and the entire assembly should as well.) In any event, sitting is a posture of attention, transition or meditation, and there should be relatively little of it in our worship—however much some might wish for more—because worship is an active rather than a passive experience. Even when we sit to listen to the Word of God or to the homily, our challenge is to become active listeners, not merely passive hearers. And that brings us back to the question with which I began this reflection on posture last week: “I’ve seen you before—on the stage in church.” Mass is not an entertainment—neither play nor concert nor lecture. There is no stage, no platform for performance. We’re all in it together, we all need to be actively engaged—in our standing or sitting, kneeling or bowing, in singing or responding, in praising, interceding and thanking. Liturgy has no audience, only a church full of faithful believers, ready and willing to move out into the world to live what we celebrate in Word and Eucharist. Next week, we’ll consider some miscellaneous elements of the liturgy that didn’t fit neatly into the previous weeks’ reflections, including the preparation of the “environment” for worship. Fr. Bob
[Back
to Top] One might think that respect would be a given in a church, whether inside or outside. But, sadly, it’s not. At that recent wedding (which, fortunately, was not one I was witnessing), members of the wedding party and family thought that it was somehow appropriate to tailgate on the parking lot, a few yards from the church doors, thirty minutes before the wedding! Since, as I said, it wasn’t a wedding I was witnessing, someone else had the unenviable task of confronting them and explaining why their behavior was inappropriate and disrespectful. After finishing their beers, they closed the coolers and the tailgates and entered the church to celebrate the Eucharist and the Sacrament of Matrimony. (Can anyone tell me what’s so very wrong about the sequence of events described in that last sentence?)Now one might think that, at that point, the message would have been received and understood. Think again. As I was returning to the sacristy after hearing confessions (in the midst of which I could hear several young women outside talking about doing a “pub crawl” on the way to the reception), a parishioner came up to me and said “I have a suggestion for another bulletin article….” As parishioners were coming into the parking lot for mass, the tailgating had resumed, now with two cars, two coolers and two dozen people! This time I went out and, very clearly and firmly, told them to put the beers down and leave. When some of them laughed and continued drinking, I raised my insistence a few notches and waited there until all the beers had been returned to the (still very full) coolers. Did this make me angry? You bet! Do I have a right to be angry about such extraordinarily thoughtless, disrespectful and inappropriate behavior? Absolutely….and so do you. There are lots of fantastic young people in the twenty-something generation—generous, thoughtful, intelligent, faith-filled. But some (and not all of them twenty-somethings) have missed the boat when it comes to respect, not only for others, but for themselves as well. And it’s not just a matter of respecting a church building or the sacredness of a wedding mass; it goes even deeper than that. All the recent research on drinking, especially binge drinking among young adults, points to a growing problem and paints a troubling picture. This past summer, we faced a major issue of teens drinking on the parish grounds, as early as four in the afternoon! The drinking and attendant minor vandalism became so great a concern that I had to ask members of our Holy Name men’s group to patrol the grounds twice a night beginning in early July. What begins as a weekend beer or two for some teens can mushroom into something truly self-destructive in later life, and can manifest itself in the kind of behavior displayed at that wedding. I’m not suggesting that the parking lot tailgaters are on the verge of alcoholism—at least I certainly hope not. But do you know that we already have five AA groups meeting here in the parish? We would have ten if I had been able to say “yes” to others who have requested space in the past few years. AA provides a tremendous service and desperately needed support for its members and I’m glad we can accommodate them here, But perhaps we should ask why we have a need for so many groups in one small community.Respect is truly something we all want and deserve. But we can’t expect to receive it from others unless we first learn to give it—to others and to ourselves as well. Fr. Bob LITURGY: THE THINGS WE DO, THE WORDS WE USE – PART VIII apologize for not having this in last week’s bulletin as promised, but time got away from me. In fact, in order to do this next installment, I had to go back and read what I already wrote to see what was left out. That’s not to say that, even in seven parts (plus the two on music), I’ve considered all that there is to know about the liturgy. Volumes could be—and have been—written on the meaning and importance of our worship; however, I’ll keep this series to just two more parts. Then I would invite you to let me know if there’s anything else you would like me to ponder and write about in the future—regarding liturgy or anything else. I’ll also count on the inquiring minds of our eighth graders to provide me with material. But for now, let’s begin this reflection by considering what we call the environment of worship. You may not realize it, but we do have a liturgy environment committee whose ministry involves both imagining and implementing what some might call the “decorating” the church throughout the seasons of the church year. Over the past several decades, the church has discarded the word “decorating” simply because it really doesn’t describe the scope of what’s required to prepare our worship space for the celebration of the eucharistic liturgy. Instead, we now speak of preparing the environment for worship, which does indeed involve flowers, plants, fabric and such, but isn’t quite the same as deciding on what color to paint the walls in the living room or what fabrics to choose for the furniture and drapes. For one thing, the church provides some fairly clear guidelines which either should or must be followed in preparing the worship environment. For another, we don’t “decorate” the church to call attention to the flowers or the fabrics that are used—no matter how beautiful they might be—but rather to enhance our worship experience and to support our common prayer. It might be best to look first at what we may not or should not do when preparing the environment for worship. First under the heading of “no-no’s” is artificial: everything that we use in worship should be real. In John’s gospel, Jesus reminds us that his “flesh is real food” and his “blood real drink.” All the elements of liturgy should be just as real and natural as the bread and wine. The candles at the altar must be 51% beeswax; oil candles are discouraged. Artificial plants or flowers should never be a part of the environment—though we have to make an exception when it comes to flammable materials, like Christmas trees, and we have cheated a bit with some silk autumn leaves among the mums in church right now since real leaves would dry up in a matter of days. The second environmental trap to be avoided is trying to be too literal in interpreting the liturgical seasons. The best example of that is the creation of a desert for Lent with sand and cacti. The worship environment shouldn’t try to transport us back to biblical times or to the Holy Land. I experienced one of the worst examples of that extreme at a previous parish (not to be named) where the environment team turned the Eastertime sanctuary into the garden surrounding Jesus’ tomb, complete with enormous fake boulders, a waterfall, and enough plants and trees to populate a garden center. In the midst of all that, the altar nearly disappeared, which brings us to the one thing which must never happen in the creation of the liturgical environment. Several times in this series I’ve mentioned the preeminence of the altar, and the American bishops addressed this in an essential teaching on the environment of worship: "(The altar) is never used as a table of convenience or as a resting place for papers, notes, cruets or anything else. It stands free, approachable from every side, capable of being encircled. It is desirable that candles, cross, any flowers or other decoration in the area should not be so close to the altar as to constitute impediments to anyone’s approach or movement around the common table.” The only objects that may be placed on the altar before the Liturgy of the Eucharist begins are the altar cloth, corporal (the white square of linen in the center) and a microphone (if necessary). During the Liturgy of the Eucharist, the only other objects that may remain on the altar are the sacramentary and the vessels for communion, and they must be removed at the conclusion of the communion rite. All of this is not meant to be a picky housekeeping issue, but rather a matter of safeguarding the sacredness and dignity of the most important object in the church. Similarly, the environmental elements created around the altar (flowers, plants, fabrics, candles) are there to help us focus on the action taking place at the altar, not to call attention to their beauty or to direct our minds away from the Eucharist. That’s why, for example, it’s inappropriate to place a manger scene anywhere near the altar during Christmastime. Even on Christmas eve or day, we don’t come to church to be transported back to Bethlehem but rather to celebrate the real presence, here and now, of the risen Lord Jesus. I’ve used a lot of space here to describe the “don’ts” of liturgical environment. Next week (I hope) I’ll finish up with the “do’s” necessary to create a beautiful and dignified space where we can raise our hearts and minds to God. Fr. Bob [Back to Top] [Back to Previous Entries]
LITURGY: THE THINGS WE DO, THE WORDS WE USE – PART VIII In the previous installment in this series, I considered what should not or must not be done in creating the environment of liturgy. Now we can look at just a few of the “do’s” of liturgical environment. It should go without saying that the liturgical season is the starting point for shaping the environment of worship, and the colors of each season play an important part in the decisions that are made. For example, the violet or purple of Lent is not the same shade used in Advent. Lenten purple tends toward red—the royal purple of the King, with a hint of the blood of sacrifice and an acknowledgement of the penitential focus of the season. Advent purple is closer to violet blue, reflecting this time of anticipation and hinting at its Marian dimensions. We begin with those essential colors in these two seasons, but we can add others: gray and sandy tones in Lent and shades of rose or blue in Advent. White is the primary color of Christmastime and Eastertime, but can be enhanced by gold, silver or even the colors of the rainbow during the fifty days of Easter. More than half of the liturgical year is given over to Ordinary Time where all the possible shades of green can be used. The final liturgical color of red is limited to Passion (Palm) Sunday and Pentecost. While all these seasonal colors determine fabric choices for the environment (including, of course, the vestments worn by liturgical ministers), flower choices can expand the use of color in any season. We tend to expect poinsettias in more than just white and although white lilies are essential at Easter, all the colors of springtime flowers would be missed if they weren’t included. Although green predominates in Ordinary Time, autumn shades of yellow, bronze and orange certainly have their place in the environment during the fall. The seasons of the church year also dictate the tone or “feel” of the environment, ranging from simplicity to abundance. Lent and Advent call us to the far end of simplicity in preparation for the abundance of Easter and Christmas, while Ordinary time is generally best expressed with the green of houseplants, coupled with fresh summer flowers or autumn grasses & mums. One of the often-overlooked imperatives of liturgical environment is the extension of the seasonal elements beyond the sanctuary to embrace the assembly of believers. We regularly use the columns on the side walls of church for draping fabric or hanging Lenten branches or winter evergreens. Sometimes you’ll find plants or flowers at the “break” in the center of church as well as in the shrine areas and around the baptismal font. As I’ve mentioned a number of times in this series, we don’t gather in church to watch a performance in the sanctuary, but to become engaged and intimately involved in the great act of giving praise and thanks to God. Surrounding the assembly with seasonal fabrics or flowers is an invitation to all who are present at mass to feel part of “the action” of worship rather than passive observers. Another important aspect of liturgical environment is consistency. There’s no need to reinvent things each year or come up with a clever twist on the season. When it comes to liturgy, creativity is good; novelty is not. When we come to church on the First Sunday of Advent, the environment should tell us immediately “Advent is here!” and provide us with a feeling of comfort and continuity with past experiences of the season. Even if the environment changes in subtle ways or adds a new or different element from time to time, it should never shock or call attention to itself with either a “wow!” or “what were they thinking?” response. That brings us to one final aspect of the liturgical environment, our response to it. The one question to never ask about the environment of worship is “what does it mean?” As I’ve said previously, both in these articles and in bulletin introductions to Lent and Advent, the liturgical environment is never created to call attention to itself or to convey a specific message. Rather, it’s all about creating an atmosphere that expresses the season of the church year while supporting and enhancing our celebration of Word and Eucharist. My hope is that these reflections of the past three months will help to deepen, not just our understanding of liturgy, but our desire to be fully engaged in the act of giving praise and thanks to God during this new year of grace in the Church. For now, as Bugs Bunny would say, “that’s all folks!” Fr. Bob
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to Top] PARISH ANNUAL FINANCIAL REPORT December, 2009 The Annual Financial Report for Fiscal 2009, which ended this past June 30, can be found below. This document provides details about the financial situation of St. John Fisher Church and School. Just as individuals and families do, the Church and School work hard in an attempt to balance their budgets. In these challenging economic times, balancing the budget has become increasingly difficult for individuals, families and institutions. The Church and School are no exception. As the Annual Report shows, our parish is experiencing the effects of the recent recession. While actual Church operating results did post a small surplus of $28,000.00, Church collections were still down more than $104,000.00 below budget expectations. The actual School deficit, adjusted for unpaid tuition collected after the end of the fiscal year (June 30, 2009), was $204,000.00. This brings the combined operating deficit for the Church and School to more than $186,000.00 for Fiscal 2009. Fortunately, this deficit was covered by money the Church has held in reserve for emergencies. With the drawing down of those funds, however, we face a situation in which the Church savings are dwindling rapidly and will soon be exhausted. As you may notice, the physical plant of the Church and School are the original articles and they have proudly served generations of parishioners. Like any aging facilities, the parish buildings are starting to show their years and are in need of constant attention and updating. The heating and plumbing systems are original equipment and, sooner rather than later, substantial funds will be necessary to ensure their continued operation. Although the parish is a charitable organization, the Church and School still must pay for water, gas and electricity, along with insurance for its various facilities. These expenses are both constant and difficult to control due to ever increasing utility costs. Just as many families have,
the Church and School have taken belt-tightening measures. But many of the costs
we struggle with are, to a certain extent fixed, and there is little room to cut
costs in these areas. St John Fisher remains a strong and vibrant parish, as demonstrated by the recent year-long 60th Anniversary celebration. Catholic education is considered a vital ministry of the Church. St. John Fisher School is a jewel with graduates thriving in high school, college and beyond. Please help us continue this strong tradition. We appreciate your continued generosity and sacrifice for St. John Fisher. The Parish Finance Council
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