We modern Westerners don’t go in for apocalyptic much these days, perhaps because we are pretty comfortable with the way things are and are not particularly anxious for their overturning. But both the first and second readings present eschatological hope in terms of dramatic, cosmic transformation: mountains being made low, rugged land being made plains, the heavens passing away with a might roar, and the element being dissolved by fire.

The Second Letter of Peter goes on to pose this interesting question: “Since everything is to be dissolved in this way, what sort of persons ought you to be?” (I couldn’t help but notice that the American lectionary omits the question mark in this sentence). Peter provides something of an answer as well: we should be “waiting for and hastening the coming day of God.”

With regard to God’s consummation of history, we both “wait” and “hasten.” Here is the paradox of all of us who live between the times. We are not in charge of history’s consummation. God is. And so our stance within history is one of waiting. But somehow, in ways that are often hidden, our anxious waiting is the means by which we hasten the kingdom. Our waiting is active, not passive. As the book of Revelation says, both the Spirit and the Bride say “Come.”

Perhaps John the Baptist, who appears in today’s Gospel, is the model of this waiting that hastens. John is hardly passive – crying out, calling people to repentance – yet his stance is entirely one of anticipation.  His hope is not grounded in his own efforts, but in “one mightier than I.”

Parents – particularly parents of teenagers – often have the seemingly conflicting desire that their children both be patient with themselves and not try to rush adulthood, and at the same time take charge of their lives and do something. Growing into adulthood takes time, but it also doesn’t happen unless we actively seek to become adults. Otherwise, we remain arrested adolescents. This is perhaps a shadowing image of God’s desires for us: both that we wait patiently for the fulfillment of the Kingdom and at the same time actively work to hasten it.

The new translation of the Missal is perhaps a good occasion for us to exercise the waiting that hastens. We certainly need to try to learn the new responses, to proclaim well the new texts, and – most importantly – to pray in these new words. But we must also be patient; these things take time. The waiting that hastens is not a comfortable place to be, but it is where we live as Christians.

I know lots of great parishes have been catechizing the assembly about the upcoming changes to the English translation of the Mass. But sometimes, their efforts go a bit awry in that often, they tend to merely “insert” catechesis into the Mass without connecting it to anything else in the Mass. Some examples of this I have seen are:

• Four-minute catechesis: I know it’s popular, but it becomes a bit like class in the middle of Mass. Often, the topic chosen is disconnected from the themes presented in the Scriptures of the day, from the liturgical feast or season, or from even reference to any of the prayers or actions in that Mass itself.
• Instructional video: I saw this recently. The video was really well-done. But it happened right after the Gospel with barely any introduction. And once it was finished, the homilist continued on with his prepared homily, never once referring to anything that the video discussed or even trying to connect the video to the Scriptures, the action in the Mass (the video was on the Preparation of Gifts), or his homily.
• Extended announcement after Communion: This often has the same problem as the four-minute catechesis.

Although the Mass is not meant to be a time for catechesis, the Mass is catechetical in that what we do and say teaches and shapes us. That’s simply what ritual does—even when it’s done poorly.

So here are some more effective ways to use the Mass to help catechize about the upcoming changes to the English words of the Roman Missal.

First, the best way to teach about the Mass is to do the Mass really well…and to do that consistently week after week. People, especially children, learn more from what they do and see others doing than from what they hear or read.

Second, make more use of the homily—as a homily, not as instruction. The homily is a ritual action (CSL, #52) that breaks open the liturgy. Specifically:

The homily is part of the Liturgy and is strongly recommended, for it is necessary for the nurturing of the Christian life. It should be an exposition of some aspect of the readings from Sacred Scripture or of another text from the Ordinary or from the Proper of the Mass of the day and should take into account both the mystery being celebrated and the particular needs of the listeners. (General Instruction on the Roman Missal, #65)

See how the homilist is called to “expose” some aspect of the readings—most homilists try to do this; in general, gone are the days of “sermons” that have nothing to do with the readings. But also, note that homilists can also “expose” another text from the Mass of the day. This includes primarily the words we use from the Roman Missal; but it could also include texts from the antiphons, hymns, and songs. In addition, they could use the ritual languages of posture, gesture, silence, and space (e,g., the church building itself, the artwork within it, the items we use in the Mass) as connecting points for their homily.

Why is this important to remember when teaching about the Roman Missal?

Because, as every good catechist knows, catechesis that is disconnected from the experience of the hearer will have a harder time finding root in the hearer’s life. That is why the United States’ bishops document on preaching says:

Since the purpose of the homily is to enable the gathered congregation to celebrate the liturgy with faith, the preacher does not so much attempt to explain the Scriptures as to interpret the human situation through the Scriptures. In other words, the goal of the liturgical preacher is not to interpret a text of the Bible as much as to draw on the texts of the Bible as they are presented in the lectionary to interpret people’s lives. (Fulfilled in Your Hearing, #52)

If you will include catechesis in the Mass about the Roman Missal, then try to use the texts of the Mass to help you break open the meaning of these new words. Don’t just insert catechesis into the Mass and not connect it to something within that Mass. Most importantly, try to connect it to the lives of the people who will hear what you have to say. Why will these words matter to them, other than they will need to know what to say when the time comes. Remember that “it is [the pastor's] duty also to ensure that the faithful take part fully aware of what they are doing, actively engaged in the rite, and enriched by its effects” (CSL, #11).

Some help for homilists and catechists

Below is a suggested schedule and outline of homiletic and catechetical points to help you prepare your assemblies for the new English translation of the Roman Missal. I tried to take some of the major changes that are happening and connect them to the Scriptures that are assigned for the two months prior to the start date for the new translation. These are just some ideas; you will surely have more and probably better ways to connect the Scriptures and ritual texts to what is happening in terms of the translation. This is certainly not a mandated schedule. I offer it simply as some help for you to look at your homilies and catechetical gatherings in a different light as we prepare for the new translation of the Mass.

Read the suggestions online or download them as a PDF file.

The Lord said to Moses, ‘Go down at once! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely; they have been quick to turn aside from the way that I commanded them; they have cast for themselves an image of a calf, and have worshipped it and sacrificed to it, and said, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!” ’ The Lord said to Moses, ‘I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them; and of you I will make a great nation.’

But Moses implored the Lord his God, and said, ‘O Lord, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? Why should the Egyptians say, “It was with evil intent that he brought them out to kill them in the mountains, and to consume them from the face of the earth”? Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people. Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, how you swore to them by your own self, saying to them, “I will multiply your descendants like the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it for ever.” ’ And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.

There are a few of these “arguments with God” in the Bible. I have always found these stories fascinating. In the Hebrew Bible, the protagonist is a chosen friend of God, holy and righteous. When the LORD threatens destruction to human life, the protagonist protests and attempts to persuade God. The human protagonist in these stories temporarily appears to have a better grip on God’s essential character – righteous, generous, and merciful – than the LORD does!

These days, we think of a conversation with God in which the human tries to change God’s mind as at worst a descent into a pagan understanding of prayer and at best a delusion. Of course, God does not “forget” compassion and mercy as the narrative seems to imply. Yet these stories remain, somehow, compelling and true, and we read them in the liturgy.

In the Roman Catholic lectionary, year C appears to be the year of Divine Negotiation: the 16th Sunday in Ordinary time (July 21, 2013) hosts Genesis 18:20-32, the story of Abraham asking God not to destroy the innocent of Sodom together with the guilty. The 24th Sunday (Sept 15, 2013) proclaims Exodus 32:7-11, 13-14, in which Moses begs the LORD not to embarrass himself by destroying his people on account of their idolatry. The Revised Common Lectionary also includes these readings, although they are alternates from the prophetic texts suggested for these days. In addition, both lectionaries include Luke 18:1-8, the parable of the unjust judge, five weeks later (the 29th Sunday of Ordinary Time or 22nd Sunday After Pentecost, October 20, 2013).

The story of the Canaanite woman (Matthew 15:21-28), read on August 14 this year according to both the Roman Catholic and the Revised Common Lectionary should also be understood within this Biblical tradition:

Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon.Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, ‘Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.’ But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, ‘Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.’ He answered, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.’ But she came and knelt before him, saying, ‘Lord, help me.’ He answered, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’ She said, ‘Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.

When I’ve taught this passage to undergraduates, their first reaction is shock at Jesus’ apparent callousness and narrow-mindedness. Like God in the Exodus story, Jesus is portrayed here as echoing, presumably, a common view of justice and mercy among his contemporaries. The woman’s boldness not only challenges his assumptions but the reader’s. The final reversal is then an especially striking testimony that Jesus’ ministry would eventually save not only Jews but Gentiles as well; that God’s love extends not only to “those like us” but “those we do not like.”

Do you find this passage challenging? How would you interpret it in a homily, or how would you like to hear it interpreted?

They may have to revise this gambit.

Researchers at the University of Cambridge have shown that sheep are actually quite intelligent. The study was reported on in February 2011 in the Telegraph.

Professor Jenny Morton, a neuroscientist at University of Cambridge, said sheep had been greatly undervalued for their intelligence.

She said: “They have a reputation for being extremely dim and their flock behaviour backs that up as they are very silly animals when in a group – if there is a hole they will fall into it, if there is something to knock over, then they will knock it over.

“So I didn’t expect them to be so amenable to testing and certainly didn’t expect them to be so smart. In our tests they performed at a level very similar to monkeys and humans in the initial learning tasks.

“When we then changed the rules they still performed as well as monkeys and better than rodents.

“They are quite intelligent animals – they seem to be able to recognise people and even respond when you call their name.”

When I looked up the citation for this article, I also found an earlier study praising the intelligence of sheep. Researchers found that sheep are good at remembering faces. The study was published in 2001.

So, why do we persist in thinking sheep are so dumb?

Uh… uh…

This elegant meditation merits reading, and re-reading. Here is a clip:

…Or maybe the Gospel writers thought everyone knew the tunes to some of the most famous things Jesus said—like the Beatitudes, the Lord’s Prayer or his last words from the cross. When I first learned my way through Luke, my teacher told me that the Magnificat was sung in the early church, along with the Song of Simeon. Why not the Lord’s Prayer? Maybe the music just vanished after everyone who knew it died, so that only the words remained for those who came later. Music speaks to our soft parts, and soft parts are as vulnerable as flesh, as grass, as the lilies of the field. Maybe that is what happened to Jesus’ music. It went back to where it came from until he comes again, singing us back into the presence of God.

You can read the whole thing here.

The prefect of divine worship, Cañizares, explains the renewal desired by the Pope. “We need more space for adoration and decent music in the liturgy” he says. “The reform of Vatican II was done in too much of a hurry.” So runs the subtitle to the interview.

“Catholic liturgy is living through ‘a certain crisis’ and Benedict XVI would like to give birth to a new liturgical movement, which would include more sacredness and silence in the Mass, and greater attention to beauty in singing, instrumental music and sacred art,” the article begins.

Llovera states that the Pope thinks the liturgical reform was realized in great haste. It was with the best of intentions and a desire to implement Vatican II, but it was rushed. Not enough time and space was given to welcoming and interiorising the teachings of the Council, and the manner of celebrating was changed at a stroke. The prevailing mentality was one of needing to change, of creating something new. Received tradition was perceived as an obstacle, and the liturgical renewal was seen as a laboratory for research, fruit of the imagination and of creativity, the equivalent of the magic spells of yesteryear.

He continues in a similar vein, saying that recent changes in the style of papal celebrations have benefited the Church, and that the “arbitrary deformities” introduced previously had brought secularisation into the Church, making the liturgy man-centred rather than God-centred, typified by the increased role given to the assembly [sic]. He laments a loss of a sense of the sacred. The Church is in a state of crisis, he says, singling out the poverty and banality of sacred music, both vocal and instrumental.

When asked what the Congregation is going to do about this, he says we must consider the liturgical renewal through the lens of the hermeneutic of continuity which, he says, Benedict XVI has given us for interpreting the mind of the Council. He is worried that the postconciliar reforms are starting to “gel”, and calls for a new initiative in formation for priests, seminarians, religious and laypeople, so that all may know what the liturgy of the Church really signifies. In particular, he states that the Congregation is going to revise and update the introductory texts (praenotanda) of the various liturgical books, and notes that this new formation initiative cannot take place without a “renewal” in the rites of Christian Initiation of Adults.

The new liturgical movement needs to ensure that the beauty of the liturgy is apparent. “Therefore I am going to instigate a new department in our Congregation dedicated to ‘sacred music and art’ at the service of the liturgy. Accordingly this will offer as soon as possible criteria and guidelines for sacred art and sacred music, both vocal and instrumental. We are also thinking of offering as soon as possible criteria and guidelines for preaching,” he says.

He wants the Church’s vigilance over the liturgy not to be perceived as inquisitorial or oppressive but as an act of service. Interestingly he also warns of the danger of turning aesthetics into a god, and states clearly that the salvation of the liturgy does not lie solely in beauty but in a true liturgical aesthetic. He warns of the risk, on the one hand, of thinking that a return to the past is the salvation of the liturgy, and on the other hand of banalizing the rite. Good catechesis based on the Catechism of the Catholic Church is the answer, he says. When asked what changes this would bring to the liturgy, he mentions eucharistic adoration, renewing and improving liturgical song, cultivating silence, and giving more space for meditation.

——————————————–

A useful backdrop to all this is given by Vatican observers. The word on the street is that the Cardinal is proving to be something of a disaster — so much so that even the Pope now realizes it. It is suggested that the Cardinal might soon be posted to Madrid, where the current incumbent is ready to retire. Apparently even the Cardinal himself would welcome this; it seems he has not enjoyed his time in Rome.

One informant says that on the day before the Consistory last month, his talk to the assembled cardinals was so anti-Vatican II that they were apparently furious, and the Pope had to grab the microphone, calm them down, and try to redress the balance. This, it seems, is when the Pope finally realized that this appointment isn’t working. Given this, one could be justified in wondering how much of what Llovera says is the Pope’s thinking is actually Llovera’s thinking.

Are the future actions mentioned in Llovera’s interview with Tornielli just the final convulsions of an unhappy reign, or might they actually come to pass?

I recently came across an op-ed in a Catholic publication that just brushed the edge of this argument. The quality of a Mass doesn’t depend on the homily, the writer suggested, nor should we should expect it to. To yearn for good preaching, to seek it out, undervalues the true point of the Mass, the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. I was left with the vague sense that my desire to have an effective “living commentary” [GIRM 29] on the Scriptures was at best something of an imposition on busy priests, and at worst, a sign of failing faith in the Eucharist. It is sufficient that there is a homily.

I don’t buy it. Sacrosanctum concilium called the homily a “part of the liturgy itself” [SC 52] - which implies that good liturgy entails good preaching.

In the midst of all the bustle around the introduction of the new translations of the Mass texts, and how they might affect our liturgical practice and experience, I want to make a plea for thinking deeply about the translation that is under local control:  the homily. What is the quality of that translation – the moving of the Word out of the Lectionary and into our lives?

Add in that my parish is deep into a process of examination and renewal, where we have said (among other things) that we desire challenging and relevant homilies and I’ve found myself pondering what principles one might apply in crafting a good homily. What moves me?

I want to hear other voices. No, this is not a call for lay homilists at Mass. Instead it is a plea to bring in, explicitly and regularly, voices from our long and rich Catholic tradition. Tell us what John Chrysostom, Augustine, Karl Rahner, Catherine of Siena, Hildegard of Bingen and Dorothy Day thought. What advice did the desert fathers and mothers have that speaks to us now? How might the Rule of St. Benedict make a difference in the lives of those of us who live in the thick of the secular world? What was in that last papal encyclical that we might need to hear?  Please, no generic platitudes or ferverinos.

Engage us in dialog. Ask us what we heard in your homily, or didn’t. Last week I asked my 16 year old son what he might have said about the Sunday pericopes (as a weekend sacristan at the parish, he hears 3 of the 4 homilies in a weekend!).  His first response was disbelief, “are you asking me what I would have said if I were the priest?” His second was to say that what he heard was a tough challenge to follow Christ , “I would have hit hard on vocations.” None of the homilies sounded quite that note.  How can you plant seeds unless you have a sense of the ground in which they might grow?

Be practical.  What practices might help us deepen our sense of God at work in our lives? Talk about ways to engage the Scriptures, ways to pray. Lectio divina. The Examen. The Rosary. Silence. Talk about what we might try if we find prayer a rough go. We are here because we long to encounter the living God. Help us grow in the ways that lead us to find God in all things and at all times, not just in the hour we are offering now.

Whether or not we find the new translations a breath of air or a weighty yoke, perhaps we can commit to to thinking about the translations we undertake each time we preach, or hear, a homily. God’s people deserve more than a homily that is merely there, they deserve one that moves them.

Michelle Francl-Donnay, Ph.D.
Columnist, Catholic Standard & Times
quantumtheology.blogspot.com

Trinity Sunday Sermon

“The New Paradigm of Homoousious”

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. (And I really mean it this time).

The Trinity [three intertwined circles appear on a giant projection screen]. It’s a confusing topic; one that I am not qualified to speak about because I failed the systematic theology portion of the General Ordination Exam. [Three circles morph into a green three-leaf clover] St. Patrick converted the King of Ireland to the Christian faith by using the clover [use awkward hand gesture to point to the screen]. As he held up the clover he enumerated (or is that renumerated?) about the Trinity telling the king that…[choir sings St. Patrick's Breastplate to drown out the next few phrases. Twelve minutes later when the hymn ends and everyone has processed around the church nine times, the preacher continues].

The interplay between the Persons of the Trinity is like a dance. But not just any dance — a perichoretic dance of love. I once danced this way at a wedding of a good friend. My date left with a groomsman while I was doing my interpretive dance of the Trinity. It was at that moment that I decided to go to seminary.

But I digress. Where was I? Oh, the interpenetration of modality. Which sounds vaguely obscene until you remember that God loves you. Like a fox. But in a co-eternal, co-equal, co-habitating kind of way.

Did I mention I used to be a horrible acolyte back in the day? [After laughing at his own joke, preacher picks up three tapers and attempts to bring them together and then pull them apart. Unfortunately he lights the pulpit hanging on fire and puts them out with the three glasses of water he brought up to supplement the fire illustration in case it fell flat. He recovers by singing an a capella version of "Holy, Holy, Holy," dramatically miming the line "Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea."]

In sum, we are all called to a hermeneutic of being immortal and invisible while still being led by faith and not by sight. Let me end by quoting from the well-loved Athanasian Creed; so beloved in church lore that it’s relegated to page 846 of the Book of Common Prayer. In the “Historical Documents” section that you may have covertly perused earlier in the sermon. “Blah, blah, blah Unity, blah, blah, blah Godhead, blah, blah, blah Essence.”

Amen.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!
The Lord is Risen indeed! Alleluia!

This night we have gathered
to celebrate something wondrous:
the power of God’s love to conquer death and hell,
not only in the life of his only-begotten Son,
but in the lives of all his adopted daughters and sons.

This night we have gathered
to celebrate something wondrous:
the power of God’s love to meet our very deepest needs
for reconciliation, transformation and healing,
in our hearts, our families, our communities, church and world.

This night we have gathered
to celebrate something wondrous:
the power of God’s love revealed to us in story and song,
in fire and water, in bread and wine.

This night we have gathered
to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

“The sun has set: black darkness broods above;”
yet Christ, our “champion leader kind,”
in whom the lights of heaven were set in their courses
gives light—a new light—to our nightwatch
in which we plumb the depths of the mystery
made oh so very real to us this night.

“For this is the night, when all who believe in Christ
are delivered from the gloom of sin,
and restored to grace and holiness of life.

“This is the night, when Christ broke the bonds of death and hell,
and rose victorious from the grave.
Wickedness is put to flight,
sin is washed away,
innocence is restored to the fallen,
pride and hatred are cast out,”
peace and concord become not just a dream,
but a reality that begins with us, here and now.

So we have kindled our evening sacrifice,
“a honey-sweet offering of wax and wick and flame,
the work of human hands and of tiny bees.”

“Beneath the might of fire, in slow decay,
its scented tears of glowing nectar fall;
and lower and lower droops the candle,”
as we while away this night
in which there is truly nothing better,
nothing more important,
nothing more lovely,
nothing more rewarding
that we can do.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!!

Yes, this the night, when we tell our story:
our story, bound up within God’s own greater story.

This is the night when God spoke the creative Word,
released the first fire of the Big Bang,
unleashed the mystery of evolution,
and brought our first ancestors into being.

This is the night when Noah’s dove
returning to the ark, olive branch in its beak,
brought news that the great waters were receding,
and that God would never flood the earth again.

This is the night when God stayed the hand of Abraham,
and promised to provide a new offering,
a sacrifice to lay bare every human heart,
revealing the depths of God’s love,
disclosing the violent jealousy at the heart of our original sin,
and ending, once for all, every other sacrifice.

This is the night when when our ancestors,
the children of Israel,
came out of bondage in Egypt,
and were led through the Red Sea on dry land.
And oh! how they danced, on that farther shore,
singing to the God who was covered in glory,
who delivered them from death
and drown their enemies in the sea!

This is the night when God’s promises are fulfilled:
the web of death woven over the nations is destroyed,
the rich feast of God’s holy mountain is spread,
and everyone who hungers and thirsts
can come and eat and drink and live!

This is the night when God’s people are gathered from the nations,
sprinkled with clean water, and cleansed from all defilement,
given new hearts, not of stone but of flesh,
upon which are inscribed the law of a new covenant.

This is the night that dry bones live
as the breath of God comes upon the beloved dust.
Given anew, that breath never will be withdrawn again!
Zion sings, the daughters of Jerusalem rejoice,
the sons of Israel cry out with gladness,
as the reproach of our ancestors is taken away,
our shame is turned to praise,
and we are gathered home to God!

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!!

This is the night we welcome into our midst
N., and N.,
who have died with Christ,
and been buried in the watery grave.
Sealed with the Holy Spirit,
they are risen to new life,
and are “marked as Christ’s own forever,”
bearing in their own flesh
the mystery of his dying and rising.
Confessing the faith of Christ crucified,
they “proclaim his resurrection,
and share with us in his eternal priesthood.”
Clothed in radiant garments of white,
they are become our angels,
seated on the stone rolled away from the empty tomb.
Their presence among us
proclaims that the one who we too often seek
among the dead and dying things of this world
has been raised to new life,
and even now goes before us.

With their parents and godparents, we have renounced
“all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God;
the evil powers that corrupt and destroy,
and the sinful desires that draw us from the love of God.”
With them, we have professed in no uncertain terms
the faith of many generations.
We have spoken truths more true than what our senses fathom;
the words that declare our personal, but never private, belief
that there is one God, Father and maker and lover of us all;
and one Lord Jesus Christ,
truly flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone,
truly of one being with the living God;
and one Spirit, the Lord and Giver of life,
the Spirit of Creation that hovered over the waters;
the Spirit who spoke by the prophets;
and one holy Church, one people in God’s sight,
stretching throughout time, past, present and future;
a forgiven people, with a mission of reconciliation,
whose very bodies are destined for glory,
made partakers in Christ’s own resurrection,
for the life of the world to come.

This is the night that we, with Ezekiel,
beheld water flowing from the threshold of the Temple;
with John the Seer, we saw the River of Life
flowing from the throne of God.
And within that living stream
we have remembered our own baptisms,
and we have been grateful indeed.

Now soon that gratitude will overflow
in abundant thanks and praise,
as we lift up our hearts, and join in the hymn of all creation:
that hymn that echoes forever through the halls of heaven,
yet sung once for all by Christ,
when he “stretched out his arms upon the cross,
and offered himself, in obedience to God’s will,
a perfect sacrifice for the whole world.”
“By him, and with him and in him,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,”
we will “offer and present to God
our selves, our souls and bodies,
to be a reasonable, holy, and lively sacrifice.”

And then we will feast:
“the gifts of God for the people of God,”
the holy things for the holy ones,
“which earth has given and human hands have made,”
become the very Lamb of God,
who takes away the sin of the world;
the flesh and blood of Christ our God,
set before us to be our “holy food and drink
of new and unending life in him.”

And all that we have celebrated this night:
God’s story and our story,
covenants made and covenants renewed,
dry bones dancing,
and the whole creation being made new,

the very dying and rising of Jesus Christ
will be written on our hearts, dwelling within us,
as we dwell in him, this night,
and for ever more.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!!