Second Sunday After Epiphany
Evening, 16 January
2016
Church of St John /
Agawam
Jesus saith to them: Fill the water-pots with water.
And they filled them up to the brim (Jn 2:7).
The Offertory of the ancient use of the Roman Mass is goldmine of sacramental theology and liturgical spirituality. Some say that the starkest difference between the ancient and modern forms of the Missale Romanum lies in the offertory prayers. Whatever the case, we could never explore the whole character of the Offertory here and now. But we’ll say a few things that will prepare us, not only to understand the Mass a little better, but to see what lessons are to be found in today’s Gospel as well.
Depending upon how you want to number
them, there are about eight or so prayers that make up the Offertory; for the
moment we’ll consider just two of them. First, the Suscipe, sancte Pater. The priest recites this prayer balancing the
paten in his hands with his eyes directed to the crucifix before him. This
prayer mainly considers those who are
offering the sacrifice, and as such, it is a prayer for mercy and of
intercession. The priest can do nothing but to declare his complete
unworthiness, on account of his “innumerable sins, offenses, and negligences.”
None of that is to be self-deprecating or to show false humility: but rather,
when a man comes so close to things that are so holy, he is only too aware of
his need for divine help. A cry for mercy spontaneously rises from his heart.—Suscipe!
But this prayer is also about those standing
with the priest, the ones who the priest represents—pro omnibus circumstantibus. The spotless host that the priest
cradles in his hands will become for the whole Christian people, both living
and dead, a sacrifice unto eternal life. We are enthralled at the mystery: this
small, ordinary morsel of bread will soon be changed into the very Body, Blood,
Soul, and Divinity of Christ. This is also why the Offertory rite is on the
elaborate side: we are mulling over the mystery, taking our time and reverencing
the gifts that the Father bestows during the Holy Mass.
The second prayer for us to consider
is the Suscipe sancta Trinitas. If
the previous prayer considers those who offer the sacrifice, this prayer focuses on those to whom the sacrifice
is directed. As the first few words indicate, our whole prayer rises to the
Most Holy Trinity. As we know, all
our worship and sacrifice is ultimately directed to the Triune God, and this
prayer reminds us of just that. And yet, our prayers rise to God in a very
specific way: we are also offering this sacrifice, as the prayer says, on
account of the memory of the passion, resurrection, and ascension of Christ—those
mysteries that carry us to God—but also in honor of the Blessed Virgin Mary and
the saints. The point is that this prayer directs our hearts to the heavenly
places. No wonder, then, that the priest offers this prayer bowed, with his
hands resting upon the altar, in a gesture of humble gratitude and
supplication.
But there is also something very,
very interesting about this prayer. Listen carefully to what the prayer says:
“Receive, O holy Trinity, this oblation
which we offer.” The bread and wine are prepared and ready on the altar, while
the priest asks God to receive them; he calls them an “oblation”—that which is
offered up. At that moment, nothing more than bread and wine rests upon the
altar, whereas you and I know that the Mass is an offering of the Body and
Blood of the Lord. Is there some kind of confusion taking place? Hardly. Rather,
this prayer—the Sucipe sancta Trinitas—is
already pointing ahead to the words of Consecration. Fascinatingly, the priest
offers this prayer as if the elements
before him were already the Body and Blood of Christ. The Offertory brings us
into a kind of sacred time where the distinction between before and after starts
to break down. The Mass is not yet halfway over, but already we are rejoicing
gratefully in the completed sacrifice: our prayers are caught up in the
timelessness of God. In a word, then, we
might say that this is proof that the mercy of God draws near to us before we
ourselves even realize. It is exactly as our Lord said: “your heavenly
Father knows well what your needs are before you ask him.”[1]
So, in summary, our Offertory rite is
about meditating on and preparing for the transformation that the bread and
wine will undergo during the Mass. This brings us to today’s Gospel passage: when Christ changes the water into wine at
Cana, we see a symbol of our own transformation in grace. This
transformation is what the saints and doctors have called theosis, or deification—the gradual process whereby you and I
become holy, and holiness is nothing less than becoming like the God who made
us.
That sounds rather bold—but the truth
is bold. What we mean to say is that our life here and now is not simply about
getting along, about making ends meet. Surely, we have the obligations of
family and work; our social pursuits; all our many, many activities and
interests. Most of these are good—but they are not the purpose of our
existence. Rather, every moment of every day is (or should be) a gradual
tending more and more toward our holiness, our closeness to God. Does this mean
we have to feel the process at every moment? No. In most spiritual lives, this
takes place gradually, quietly, alongside all our daily activity. But the point
is that we are at least serious about it and aware of it, this transformation
by God’s grace.
Certainly this means, concretely, the
elimination of sin in our life: big sins first, then little ones. It also means
other things, too, though we won’t discuss them all here. But the goal is to be
able to look back on our life and be able to say: “God changed me for the
better in this way; he transformed me like that.” The truth is, that our happiness hinges on whether or not
this transformation takes place.
Water is important; but it
is colorless and tasteless: wine, on the other hand, is rich and livening. So,
to come full circle: what we can do is to bring before this altar, everything in
our life that is like water—everything insipid and colorless, that keeps us
from being like God—so that Christ our sacrifice can purify us and make a
choice wine of all our life and days.
The last word goes to the
Virgin Mary. Friends, she was invited to the wedding feast— invite her into
your life, truly and deeply. She sweetens every bitterness. And what advice
does she speak to our hearts? “Whatsoever he shall say to you, do ye.”
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