(2/3) This is My Body: Pattern for the Mass, the Sacraments, and the Church

Below is the second of three sermons delivered for the Forty Hours Devotion of Saint Nicholas Parish in Walnutport (Northampton County, Diocese of Allentown), edited for clarity. Below is a keepsake of the event that I hoped would help people get the gist of the talks as a whole.

Next, I want to reflect on the consecration of the Lord’s Precious Blood, which seals “the new and eternal covenant” by being “poured out...for the forgiveness of sins.” This atoning action especially bears fruit in the “Sacraments of Healing”: Penance and Anointing of the Sick. Once again, by imposed hands and anointed words the Holy Spirit visits the sin-sick soul, declaring Life’s victory over death, truth’s triumph over the ancient lie.

In Confession, the priest is directed to raise his right hand as if to bless the penitent until making the Sign of the Cross in absolution. In face-to-face confessions he currently has the option of laying his hand on the penitent's head. How many times in the Gospels did Jesus extend His hand toward those He wished to heal? It was His most common practice, both for healing and for blessing.

The introductory text for Anointing of the Sick is taken from St. James’ epistle: “Is anyone sick among you? Let them send for the priests of the Church, and let the priests pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick persons, and the Lord will raise them up; and if they have committed any sins, their sins will be forgiven them” (5:14-16). Once again, there is an extension of healing hands, with power not their own.

An old Protestant hymn declares:

Would you be free from the burden of sin? There's pow'r in the Blood, pow'r in the Blood;
Would you o'er evil a victory win? There's wonderful pow'r in the Blood.
There is pow'r, pow'r, wonder-working pow'r in the Blood of the Lamb;
There is pow'r, pow'r, wonder-working pow'r in the Precious Blood of the Lamb;

Separating the consecration of the Blood signifies the Blood’s physical separation from the body in death. Even if blood does not spill out of the dead person, it dries up and no longer can nourish tissues and organs. In the ritual renewal of Israel’s Covenant with God, Moses arranged for the slaughter of an animal and then sprinkled its blood first upon the altar and upon the people, connecting the altar to the people, and the sacrifice to both of them. This effected their consecration: that is, both the altar and the people belonged to God, for His use exclusively. It also marked the dedication of the human person to sacrifice. We are people hard-wired for sacrifice, but the regular renewal of that connection is important for us because our flowing blood, ever enriched by oxygen, renews us on a cellular level from one moment to the next.

Note, too, that Moses sprinkled the animal’s blood upon the people only after they heard and consented to what Moses read to them from the Book of the Covenant. What a beautiful declaration comes from their collective mouths in what must have been a liturgical response: “All that the Lord has said, we will heed and do” (Exodus 24:7 [!--Even though the division of the Scriptures by chapter and verse didn't take place until the Middle Ages, I think it's appropriate that this declaration is "24/7"]. Our renewal in Christ depends upon our continuous repentance, turning away from sin, turning toward the healing rays of the Son.

Penance and Anointing shine that light. They effect the forgiveness of sins, which Jesus related at the Last Supper was the reason for His death: “poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Mk 14:24 et par.) These two sacraments concretely apply Divine Mercy to the concrete life situations that show our need for it: sin, suffering, and death. Even as we continue to participate in these life experiences—we continue to sin in ways big and small; we continue to suffer in ways big and small; we die incrementally in our bodies, our memories, minds, and wills—we also come to share in their remedy, the Divine Life. 

It is not that the outpouring of Christ’s Precious Blood on Calvary was insufficient; it’s that He invites us followers of His to incorporate that Blood into our bodies and souls, with regularity akin to the constant influx of nourishment into our veins and our stomachs. Tomorrow our solemn offering of time and presence will conclude with the Consecration of Christ’s Body, both in terms of the Sacred Species and the two Sacraments that help to make concrete our own consecration as members of the Communion of Saints, Christ’s Mystical Body, the Church.
 

Anointing of the Sick: Send for Me

The experience of illness is that of a privation (lack) of a good that ought to be present but is not, viz., wellness, integrity of body and soul. In particular areas, or even in general, we know that ”something’s not right!” Every illness is a prelude to death, the total and final dissolution of the body (CCC 1500).

What happens in the body has its inevitable effects on the soul, and vice versa. An unusually high level of attention to bodily ailments can translate into self-absorption, despair, or revolt against God, or it can promote a more mature appreciation of life’s essentials (1501). Suffering can make us bitter, or better! 

At any point on life’s journey, while we still have our faculties, we can decide in what we call “redemptive suffering” to unite our physical, emotional, and spiritual hardships with Christ’s own—which included ours and everyone else’s anyhow. It is good to make a point of connecting those hardships repeatedly and prayerfully, even when tears and shouts accompany our prayers. We can pray that someone, somewhere, somehow might be assisted by our offering, though we may never get to learn of it on earth.

One of the most noteworthy developments since the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) occurred in the practice of the Anointing of the Sick. No longer is this sacrament intended solely for the deathbed: when a person is beset by serious illness or the frailty of old age, the time is ripe for anointing. It is also generally indicated before any serious surgery that requires general anesthesia.

Everyone used to call the Sacrament “Last Rites,” and many still do. The pedant in me sometimes gently corrects the misnomer, because I think of opportunities for instruction like a drunk drinks: never pass one up. I often hear talk of having people’s Last Rites “read to” them, as if we were police officers reading Miranda Rights to someone we’ve just arrested. It’s a curious confusion. Since the Sacrament can be repeated when illness returns or intensifies, I say it’s their “Last” Rites only when it’s the actual last time they’ve received it.

But then there’s CCC 1525, which makes a poignant comparison:

Thus, just as the sacraments of Baptism, Confirmation, and the Eucharist form a unity called “the sacraments of Christian initiation,” so too it can be said that Penance, the Anointing of the Sick and the Eucharist as viaticum constitute at the end of Christian life “the sacraments that prepare for our heavenly homeland” or the sacraments that complete the earthly pilgrimage.

Since the Church’s coup de grace (literally, “blow of mercy,” used here in that gentle sense) is said here with convincing pedigree to include Anointing, the precedent for retaining the term “Last Rites” is not bad after all.

In the case of the terminally and gravely ill, Anointing of the Sick ideally takes place alongside Confession and Viaticum (the final reception of Holy Communion). The unfortunate trend has been to wait until the patient/family member is “actively dying,” at which point he or she is often unable to make even a general Confession or ingest the Eucharistic species. While I say the sooner, the better, there is no better time than the present.

I do very much appreciate that families, especially those personally opposed or indifferent to religion, respect the religious and spiritual practices of their elders enough to request Anointing for their loved ones. It’s a spiritual work of justice, and who knows what good it will effect.

As for the Anointing of the Actively Dying, we proceed with the faith that the God Who knows and loves us better than we ever could know or love ourselves can sort out their interior state. The Communion of Saints is on high alert whenever someone “sends for the priests of the Church” (Anointing ritual; cf. James 5:14); it’s like the airing of the bat symbol that moves the Caped Crusader to a dude or damsel in distress. Yes, even at 2:17 AM.

Although the topic of death can be difficult to broach with anyone, let alone a gravely ill person, it can lead to valuable self-reflection (presuming that hasn’t been going on already) and, when necessary, interpersonal healing and reconciliation. Don’t allow fear to unduly delay this graceful activity.

“Their sins will be forgiven” (James 5:15): Anointing of the Sick does forgive venial sins when the recipient is properly disposed to that forgiveness (i.e., sorry). In this life, the forgiveness of mortal sins is reserved to the Sacrament of Penance; amid the need of that forgiveness, Confession is an appropriate complement to Anointing. Be not afraid to do the work of self-examination and to be open to the grace of repentance that Confession requires!

Option for the Poor

In his epistle, Saint James urged us to “show no partiality as you adhere to the faith.” He gave the example of showing partiality to the rich over the poor—something he must have noticed in Christian communities. The witness and teaching of Jesus demonstrates a certain preference for the poor as “heirs of the kingdom.” Any charity—or neglect—toward “the least of my brothers,” Jesus says (Mt 25:40), is done to Him. The Catholic Church has articulated such a preference in her social teaching: public policy and personal conduct alike must seek out ways to alleviate the burdens of the most vulnerable persons among us.

Our offerings of Christian Charity toward the needy fulfill the extensive prophetic writings on the Messianic age, when God will bring sight to the blind, sound to the deaf, speech to the mute, food for the hungry, and refreshment to the thirsty.

Specific public policies toward the needy are a source of profound division—especially, one may notice, among Christians of good will. Persons of some means don’t want to be taxed more so that their money could go to the poor. Critics are quick to denounce examples of lavish spending in transportation, clothing, and entertainment that take place alongside the use of public funds for food. Anyone can become guilty of exploitation and misuse of resources. I couldn’t begin to devise ways to foster supportive relationships among the rich and poor, ways to encourage mutual responsibility and generosity. We always do well to start at home with whoever and whatever is before us.

How about a preferential option toward the spiritually and emotionally burdened, toward persons of physical disability or mental illness? What if we started to be on the lookout for ways to help them? We might become easily discouraged when our efforts are rebuffed, or don’t seem to do any good, or if we were burned in the past.

Let’s face it: service to the poor (poverty of whatever sort) can be an uncomfortable thing. It can stretch our finances, our time, our emotions, and more. Jesus’ encounter with the man in the Gospel was rather gritty, with His groaning, spitting, and touching His tongue. Jesus’ acts of healing rankled people in power to the point that they sought His life. Maybe it was because He healed on the Sabbath; maybe His opponents simply felt uncomfortable because Jesus did something for those people while they remained idle. Whatever the case, Jesus’ every word and action is a model for us, and we are all His poor beneficiaries.

But most of all, can we recognize our own blindness and deafness and lameness, our own hesitancy, that Jesus wants to heal in us, so that we can be of better service to His people? But if expected Jesus’ healing to set in before we tried to serve, people all around us would start to shrivel and die—and so would we.

Now I Lay Me Down

In my random bloggings I occasionally reflect on holy card prayers such as may be found in the vestibule or in people's missals.  This most recent one was brought to my attention by a brother priest, who found it at a religious gift shop.  It is called "Healing Prayer at Bedtime."  This is helpful on so many levels:  one, because I am in the healing business; and two, because if you prick me, I bleed, and not a few times I myself have been a...cause of anguish...to my fellows.

Many people review their day before hitting the hay, seeking reasons for gratitude as well as repentance.  (My temperament tends to seek the latter, but I happily note that the former often surfaces as well.)  Alongside a word of thanks to the Font of every blessing, who among us would not appreciate a prayer to repair every relational tear?

Lord Jesus, through the power of the Holy Spirit, go back into my memory as I sleep.  Every hurt that I have ever caused another person, heal that hurt.  All the relationships that have been damaged in my life that I am not aware of, heal those relationships.  But, Lord, if there is anything that I need to do, if I need to go to a person because he or she is still suffering from my hand, bring to my awareness that person.  I choose to forgive and I ask to be forgiven.  Remove whatever bitterness may be in my heart, Lord, and fill the empty spaces with Your love.  Amen.

Am I right?

This prayer is refreshingly comprehensive in scope.  It presumes contrition for the offenses we are aware of, and begs awareness of the unknown.  Compare the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, where the priest begs forgiveness for transgressions "voluntary and involuntary" (before the Trisagion Hymn).

We are humbled to realize that we may not fully know or accurately recall all the sins we have committed.  The Lord's Sacrifice forgives us of all that we have consciously recalled and confessed, as well as whatever we have genuinely forgotten.  Then there is the catalogue of repressed actions, things we have pushed deeper into the subconscious because we were unable and/or unwilling to deal with them at the time.  We hoped those things would just go away, but they cannot help but manifest themselves in everything from dreams to nervous tics.  As we grow in the spiritual life, we want to become more conscious of our faults and sins--not to wallow in the attendant guilt, but rather to make right what we can, when and where we can.  The movement from victimhood to responsibility is vital for our human and spiritual growth.  It is second to our increasing acceptance of Our Savior's love for us.

Since "nature abhors a vacuum," we seek divine love in place of the deeply-rooted bitterness that may have consumed us earlier.  It is said that we have a "God-sized hole" in our hearts that we often try to fill with created things.  Idolatry happens when we ascribe to any person or thing the regard due to God.  Many of us inordinately invest ourselves in created things--even our own feelings and preferences.  If we wish to divest ourselves of these unhealthy attachments, we need a Sufficient Substitute.

There is a considerable risk to allowing the Lord to probe more deeply into our emotional and mental states.  It's not a risk, it's a guarantee: He will find stuff.  We trust that He is sustaining us throughout the excavation process.  Whatever we find, we will receive adequate courage and insight to examine.  We can receive the willingness to humbly offer our discoveries in Confession (and, if necessary, in counseling or other therapeutic venues like recovery programs), for God's glory and for people's good.  Our own good counts here, by the way; how couldn't it?