One of the enduring memories during a recent family pilgrimage to Italy occurred early one morning when my two oldest children, ages 7 and 5, accompanied me to morning Mass. The location was none other than the tomb of St. Francis of Assisi. While we arrived a little early for the once-a-month English Mass scheduled there, we could see there wouldn’t be a seat. But, as we neared the altar at the tomb, it became clear pews to the side were empty. Our daughter exclaimed, “We can go to
Mass closer to the saint!”
I thought about that line often during Mass that morning and have continued to think about it ever since that day. Going to Mass closer to the saints is really something that ought to be part of our collective effort to worship God in spirit and truth, to embrace the call to holiness.
We Catholics profess to believe in the communion of saints. It’s a concept that can be, at times, difficult to wrap our heads around. What exactly do we believe about it? And how does that belief shape our faith lives?
Now those same children, God love them, can at times make attending Mass seem more like a blur. They’re distracted. They’re antsy. They have questions. At times, I think about the experience of the saints at Mass and fear mine is all too different.
But that early morning in Assisi has challenged and renewed my thinking on this. Parenthood has its challenges, of course. But, as those devoted to them know, challenges were the daily bread of so many saints. Going to Mass closer to the saints means embracing the trials and troubles of daily life, as they come and in whatever form they come.
The Catechism of the Catholic Church neatly describes this reality as such: “In the Eucharist the sacrifice of Christ becomes also the sacrifice of the members of his Body. The lives of the faithful, their praise, sufferings, prayer, and work, are united with those of Christ and with his total offering, and so acquire a new value. Christ’s sacrifice present on the altar makes it possible for all generations of Christians to be united with his offering” (No. 1368).
Myself having a unique fascination and curiosity about the saints, I began thinking about the struggles saints encountered, how they sacrificed and learned how to make their sufferings life-giving. Of how Mary bore untold sorrow in her heart as she saw her son suffer and die on the cross. Of how St. Paul experienced every kind of suffering in order to share the Gospel in foreign lands. Of how St. Marguerite Bourgeoys faced an onslaught of mosquitoes, wars, plagues and wildfires as a missionary on the Canadian frontier. Of how religious women like St. Theodora Guerin faced excommunication in the Indiana plains because she wouldn’t go along with the whims of a power-hungry bishop protected by the church’s law. Of how reformers like St. Francis of Assisi who, fittingly, bore the wounds of Christ in tandem with his work to make the Bride of Christ worthy of her name.
And as I’ve thought about all these unique sacrifices and sufferings, and more, I think of what propelled them, grounded them and enabled them to make sense of it all. Truly in the Eucharist, as the saints came to know, we find the answer to our searching, the satisfaction to our yearning, the meaning of it all.
“We can go to Mass closer to the saint!” We must go to Mass closer to the saints. Truly through their witness and example, and by the help of their prayers, we can enter more deeply into the eucharistic mystery, therein finding a pattern for living that allows us to join our sacrifices to Christ’s. In the communion of saints, we can find friends for the journey of holiness — a journey that entails carrying Christ’s cross, knowing our doing so bears purpose and brings life. And the Eucharist is the lynchpin that holds this mystery together.
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