GUEST BLOGGER: THE MEAT OF THE MATTER

Today we are blessed to hear from our correspondent in Rome, Fr. Ott, about fasting.  Even though the end of lent it is very timely.  Read at your own risk for now you will know. 

To understand why Catholics (and many other Christians) don't eat meat on Fridays in Lent, we first have to understand the roots of the disciplines of fasting and abstinence in general. Then we need to see what it is about Fridays in Lent that make abstaining from meat an appropriate thing to do.

Fasting in the religious sense refers to consciously limiting the amount of food one consumes, for the purpose of arriving at a deeper spiritual awareness. It is a very ancient and biblical spiritual discipline (cf. 2 Sam 12:16; 1 Kgs 21:9; 2 Chr 20:3; Ezra 8:21; Jud 4:13; Esth 4:16; Joel 1:14; Jonah 3:5-7; Acts 13:4). So what does limiting my food have to do with my spiritual life? Eating is something that we generally do rather instinctively, without thinking much about it. I simply feel hungry, and so I go get something to eat, and then I don't feel hungry any more. But when I intentionally disrupt that cycle by fasting, it takes me off of "auto pilot" and helps me to realize what wonderful gifts our creator has given us. Life itself is a most amazing gift, as is the rest of creation, which sustains us and makes life worth living. When we fast, it causes us to stop taking things for granted. Thus it helps me to become more humble and grateful to God for his blessings of life and creation. This is why fasting and prayer are often linked together (cf. Lk 2:37; 5:33). The reordering of priorities, and the renewed sense of blessing and purpose that comes from this brings about greater mental and spiritual clarity, which is why it is often done to prepare for big decisions or life changing events (cf. Acts 13:4; 14:23)

Abstinence is a more specific kind of fasting, in which one completely omits a specific food or activity, often because of its symbolic meaning. This is also an ancient and biblical discipline, often requested by God himself (cf. Gen 32:33; Ex 22:30; Lev 11:4-11; Deut 14:7-21). We don't always know the reasons why God has asked for abstention from various things at certain points in history, but mystics and thinkers sometimes try to guess at these reasons, so that they might have a greater sense of purpose in obeying the law. Deut 14:21, for example, says "You shall not boil a kid goat in its mother's milk." Some have suggested that this is because this was actually a foreign religious practice, and therefore it was inappropriate for Israel to undertake it. Others reasoned that boiling an animal in the milk of its mother was just inhumane.

In the case of abstaining from meat during the Fridays of Lent, you won't find this specific rule in the Bible, because Lent did not exist yet when the Bible was written. But both the season of Lent and the discipline of abstaining from meat on Fridays are practices that are deeply rooted in biblical imagery.

The concept of a forty day pilgrimage is very well attested in the Bible. There are several periods of "forty days" in the world-purifying story of Noah and the flood (Gen 7:12, 17, 8:6). Moses spends forty days up on Mt. Sinai, receiving the Law from the Lord (Ex 24:18). Elijah journeys for forty days to escape Jezebel and get to the mountain of the God (1 Kgs 19:8). And of course, Jesus fasted and prayed for forty days in the desert (Mat 4:2; Mk 1:13; Lk 4:2).

It is out of this tradition that the Church established the forty day season of Lent. During this time, we seek to draw nearer to Jesus by going "into the desert" to fast and pray with him. And giving up meat on Fridays is part of this Lenten pilgrimage project.

To understand why this is, it is helpful to substitute "meat" with a more archaic word that means the same thing: "flesh." This gives a twofold mystical meaning to our abstinence. It can first of all remind us of the sacrifice of Jesus. On Good Friday, he gave himself completely for our sakes: flesh and blood, soul and divinity. When we give up "flesh" in this minor symbol of abstaining from meat, it is a small token reminder of the supreme sacrifice that Jesus gave up for us on the Cross.

The second meaning comes from the Bible, especially the Pauline letters. St. Paul likes to use the word "flesh" to mean "a proclivity to fall into sin" (cf. Rom 7:5, 25, 8:3-13, 13:24; 1 Cor 3:3, 15:50; Gal 4:29, 5:13-24, 6:8; Eph 2:3). In particular, he emphasizes that by conforming ourselves more perfectly to Jesus, we allow our "flesh" (i.e. tendency to sin) to be crucified (i.e., destroyed) along with his "flesh" (i.e., his body) (cf. Gal 5:24; Eph 2:14)

Now, to be sure, there were some cultural factors that led us to adopt this symbolic action. Eating fish instead of meat has at times been a symbol of solidarity with the poor, since fish was sometimes seen as poor people food, since you could catch your own for free. Some have even suggested that there was a time when politicians in areas of Europe with a large fishing industry promoted this discipline as a service to their constituents. But none of these reasons, if they ever existed at all, matter to us now, because these conditions no longer exist.

So, why do we give up meat on Fridays? The Church is just asking us to make a significant action each Friday to remind ourselves that the Lord died for us on that day, and that we should respond by continually asking him for the grace to turn away from sin. And I do mean EACH Friday. Before Vatican II, Catholics were asked to abstain from meat every Friday of the year. After Vatican II, this specific discipline was limited to Lent, but we are still supposed to do something sacrificial every other Friday of the year. I think the hope was that faithful Catholics would go beyond the "letter of the law" and more fully embrace the spirit of it, finding creative and meaningful ways to express their union with Christ through personal sacrifices. But I think that's been kind of a flop. Most Catholics probably have no idea what this is about.

But now, you can spread the word ;)

MONDAY DIARY - ROCKING AND ROLLING WITH JESUS

Greetings!

Happy Easter Week! It's Guest Blogger Day! Below is one of my Easter presents from a fellow priest named Fr. O – no, not that Fr. O, another Fr. O in Rome. The day after Rome felt that earthquake he jotted of this note to let us know that all was Okay. I (and this is for Fr. O’s benefit) Rolled On Floor Laughing reading it. I asked if I could post this on Monday Diary to have a day off and he gave the thumbs up. Enjoy.

Dear family and friends,

Some of you may have heard about a 6.3 magnitude earthquake that hit about 70 miles outside of Rome last night. I just wanted to let everybody know that everything is fine here in Rome. The quake apparently killed about 14 people at its epicenter in L'aquila, but here in Rome we basically just felt some rolling tremors for about a minute. It kind of scared the (poop) out of me at the time.

It woke me up out of a sound sleep at 3:30 a.m., so I was pretty disoriented. The first thing I noticed was that my bed was shaking, and my mind immediately jumped to St. John Vianney, who was sometimes accosted by demons while in his bed. My heart started racing, and I jumped out of bed, only to realize that my floor was shaking also, as well as the scaffolding outside my window. I was actually relieved to find out that it was an earthquake and not a demonic attack! I stood there for several seconds, trying to decide what my next move would be. I probably should have run outside, but I wasn't thinking too clearly, and the tremors were not getting any worse. Nothing broke or fell over; just a bit of rolling motion for about a minute or so. Enough excitement for one night.

My other piece of excitement yesterday was that I got to distribute Communion for the Pope's Palm Sunday Mass at St. Peter's. It was a gorgeous day, with St. Peter's Square jam packed with people.

Hope you all have a blessed Holy Week!

And this came during the Triduum.

I did something last night that you would have loved. We had the Mass of the Lord's Supper here at the Casa at 6 p.m., followed by a light supper. Then I went out with a group of guys to visit the altars of reposition at a bunch of churches in the area. I think we went to about 9 different churches. There were pilgrims all over the city, and small groups of people in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament at every church we went into. It felt sort of like "trick or treating," except you get holiness instead of candy.

Happy Triduum

IS FATHER O A LITURGICAL ART SNOB?

And now from our correspondent in the Eternal City (Who should be studying.)

Fr. O writes, "I was in Siena yesterday, and I thought you might be interested in seeing this, in the same way people are often interested in seeing cars crash at NASCAR races. These are pictures of the stained glass windows at the church of St. Dominic in Siena. This is where St. Catherine's head is. Her body is at one of the prettiest churches in Rome (Santa Maria Sopra Minerva), but her head is unfortunately at the butt ugliest church in Siena. Most of the windows in the church are just clear glass in the shape of Gothic arches, but they seem to be in the process of replacing the clear windows with stained glass. They are by far the ugliest stained glass windows I've ever seen. In fact, I found them a little bit frightening. I think they look a little bit like pictures that children colored in with magic markers. Angry children from the psychiatric ward, that is. It's nice that they are commissioning original art, but is it too much to ask for something tasteful? Enjoy, and try to control your gag reflex."

WARNING: Do not look directly into they eyes of the figures in the windows. Actually, from this picture you cannot tell how horrible they really are.

I feel another series coming on. I don't think there is anything I can do to stop it. Must resist the temptation to type - must pray and think first. Arg . . .

Stay tuned.

YOU ARE MORE INTERESTING THAN YOU THINK

Almost every job has a certain mystique about it. Chances are that if you are in the middle of it, it all seems rather boring. But to others there is a certain amount of wonder. What goes on in those places that we cannot go? What is behind the curtain? What is it like down in the coal mine? What is it like in the restricted area, in the closed meeting, out in the field, using that machinery, meeting those people, being in such a frightening position, witnessing the event, knowing the inside information, having the skill, understanding how the system really works? (This part of my ongoing conviction that people are far more fascinating than they think they are.)

Today I thought I’d start sharing some of the places that being a priest has taken me. Just some little stories that you might find interesting.

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!

Early in my priesthood (when, as you will see I still had some hair) I was afforded the opportunity to go to Rome. It was 1999 and so everything was pretty much under scaffolding. Msgr. (at the time) Broglio, a priest of the Diocese of Cleveland, was working at the Vatican. Always hospitable to those visiting from the diocese he took me out to eat. It was quite late at night (even by European standards) and he asked at the end of the meal if I would like to have mass with the pope in the morning. Um. Sure. Let me check my schedule. Look at that! All clear.

I was to be at the brass doors early in the morning with my blue ticket (actually, not too many hours from the time of the asking.) Passing through he bronze doors I was saluted by the Swiss Guard. For a priest, the halberd is just sort of tilted out to the side and then back. By the time you are a cardinal they are swinging the thing all over the place. (I exaggerate a little.)

In a room just inside was a group of people waiting to go up to the pope’s private chapel. They were from all over the world and from all walks of life. There was one loud couple there that asked where I was from. When I said, “Cleveland,” they replied, “Oh, you must know Tony!” I had no idea about whom they were speaking until it became clear they meant Bishop Pilla. “Oh, and A. J., you must know him!” “Do you mean bishop Quinn?” “Oh yes, and Eddie.” “Do you mean His Excellency Bishop Edward Pevec?” And so went the conversation. * sigh *

Soon someone came for us and ushered us about the papal palace and up to the third floor. How many world leaders came with major concerns and peasants with petitions over the centuries? It was awing to imagine them.

The lay people were escorted into one room and the priests into another so that we could vest. Then we were escorted into the chapel. (That’s me just to the left of the Paschal candle.) John Paul was already there kneeling on his priedieu. Inside the priedieu were pieces of paper and it was said that these were the petitions that he wanted to remember at this mass. It was amazing to be so close to this man who changed the face of nations, the vicar of Christ, leader of the Catholic world, yet one of the most met and seen persons in history.

His secretary came in and helped him vest and mass began (in Latin facing east.) There was a small choir of nuns in the back that sang in Latin and Polish, surprisingly not all that well, but the mass was electrifying.

After, we were afforded time to pray and then we departed, John Paul still kneeling in prayer. After taking our vestments off, all of us were gathered into a library and we stood in line as John Paul entered and greeted each one of us personally. Some had business with him, some merely offered greetings. When he came to me I knelt and kissed his ring. His secretary said, “Father John Valencheck from the Diocese of Cleveland.” John Paul said, “Ah! Cleveland!” My response is a source of embarrassment to this day. It only happened to me one other time and that was when I met a black bear in the woods in up-state New York. I said, “abadabbabibble.” He handed me a rosary and a blessing. Wow. I could think of a billion things most people would think of as more important for him to be doing at that moment. But he took that time out for me. It still gives me chills. I still don’t completely comprehend it. (On top of that, how many world leaders would take that much time to pray for their people and the world in the first place?)

Ah well, anyway, to finish the story, we were walking down a marble staircase about as wide as the house in which I now live and I was escorting a lady who wrote a stations of the cross booklet and brought for John Paul to bless. The couple about which I spoke at the beginning of this already too long story were behind us again speaking loudly about what clever things they said to the pope. When we got to the turn of the stairs, there was a landing with giant double doors. They seemed to magically open as we approached revealing Msgr. Broglio. “Fr. Valencheck,” he said, “It seems you left your umbrella last night.” “Why thank you Monsignor.” “Not at all. Shall we see you for dinner tonight?” “I should be most honored.” And with that he stepped back, the doors seemed to close on their own and the couple behind us snorted and would not speak in my presence any longer. (There’s proof for God right there.)

I thank God still for that day. What a blessing. And the best part of it all is that I was not unique. What a man. (Perhaps soon, what a saint!)

AND NOW FROM OUR CORRESPONDENT IN ROME

Today's guest blogger is Fr. O from the Diocese of Cleveland (with whom I was in the seminary) and who is now studying in Rome with the aim of becoming a professor at our seminary. (He is also a really cool guy.) Here is his Palm Sunday experience in Rome:

I left my house with a few other priests at 7:45 a.m. for the 25 minute walk to St. Peter’s. The streets were blissfully quiet at that hour, so we didn’t have to dodge any speeding Smart Cars or motorini (scooters) like we normally do. The rising sun and swiftly moving clouds promised great weather for Palm Sunday Mass in St. Peter’s Square. Making our way up the Via della Conciliazione, we saw a pretty good crowed already gathered in Piazza San Pietro, even though Mass would not begin for almost another hour and a half.

Turning to the right, we made our way to the Bronze Doors, where we were greeted with a salute by a couple of Swiss Guards. Those guys have amazingly cool uniforms, I must say. Talk about a fashion that never goes out of style. We showed them our little blue tickets - invitations to help distribute the Eucharist at this Mass. They led us into the nave of St. Peter’s Basilica, but in a way I had never seen it. There were no pilgrims or tourists inside; no lights or fanfare. This is perhaps the greatest church building in all of Christendom. But for us on this day, it was our sacristy. The living church was gathering in the piazza outside.

We went into the Blessed Sacrament chapel, where a hundred or so other priests from all over the world were assembled. We were given a white surplice, a red stole, and a few last minute instructions in Italian, and then we waited there in prayerful silence until it was time for us to line up in procession.

As the line began to form, I ended up being positioned right next to Fr. Robert Barron, a priest from Chicago who happens to be one of my favorite theologian/authors. I have been reading his book “And Now I See” for my Lenten reflections. It’s really a great book (as I mentioned to him); I highly recommend it.

The procession formed in the great hallway leading to the Bronze doors. After the incense, candles, and cross, there was a large group of young men and women holding huge palm branches. We (the hundred fifty or so priests) were after them, holding large olive branches. Bishops and Cardinals assembled after us, holding large palm branches that had been elaborately woven into ornate shapes. Usually people weave their palms like this during the homily on Palm Sunday, but I guess they didn’t want a bunch of Cardinals fidgeting with their palms during the Pope’s homily, so they took the liberty of doing this for them. Just kidding, Cardinals. I knew you would be paying attention.

Finally, the first part of the procession began. We marched out the doors and down the center of the Piazza to the huge obelisk that rises in the center. A stage had been set up there for the proclamation of the first Gospel for that liturgy. It was really a strange sensation walking through the crowd like that, with people from all over the world pressing up against the wooden barricades, waiting for the glimpse of the Holy Father. For most, this would be the only chance they would ever have to see him “in real life”. You can see that fact in their eyes; their enthusiasm is palpable. It is obvious when Pope Benedict finally enters the piazza, because I hear the sounds of cheering behind me. He makes his way through the throng of faithful Catholics, happy to see their devotion to Christ as they sway their palms. I’m happy for them to have this opportunity, and I smile as I remember the first time I saw Pope John Paul. Denver, Colorado, 1993 – World Youth Day. It’s a memory that will be treasured for a lifetime.

After the Gospel is proclaimed, we proceed back up the center aisle and up the steps to the canopy covered sanctuary. On the way up the steps, I made a funny observation. To bring some color to the sanctuary area, they had laid down some sod on either side of the aisle going up the ramp to the sanctuary. But it wasn’t just sod. It was actually different kinds of lettuce, with a sod border. When you see it on TV or from out in the piazza, it just looks like nice geometric shapes of greenery. But up close, it kind of made me want a salad just then. Hold that thought ‘til after Mass.

As I entered the sanctuary, I walked past a row of dignitaries - people wearing gowns and tuxedoes, some with medals on their lapels or sashes across their chests, others with unique ethnic garb. They reminded me of the fact that our church is poised to be a major influence in international relations. It made me want to pray more for our pope, because he and his staff are faced with some incredible challenges and opportunities on the world stage.

I took my place behind the dignitaries, about 30 feet from the altar on the right side. It was a beautiful morning for an outdoor liturgy, with bright sunshine and a gentle cool breeze. The first reading is proclaimed in English with an Australian accent. The psalm is in Italian, and the second reading in Spanish. Then we stand for the Gospel. The passion is chanted beautifully by three voices in Italian. It takes a long time to get through it, and my back is a little sore by the time it’s done. But as I sit to listen to the Pope’s homily, I notice the Swiss Guards. They don’t get to sit down. They remain at attention for the entire Mass. The must do some pretty intense lower back exercises for training. Either that, or they have really excellent shoes. I don’t envy them at that moment, but I still dig the uniform. One of them is standing only five feet away from me. I wonder if they are trained to use those halberds and broadswords in combat?

My attention snaps back to Pope Benedict as he begins his homily. Taking a page from John Paul’s playbook, he addresses the homily squarely at the youth. Digging into his own playbook, he chooses two of his favorite themes: truth and love. He is both compassionate and challenging as he comments on the procession of palms and on Psalm 24. “What does ‘the following of Christ’ mean concretely? It has to do with an interior change of life. It demands that I no longer be closed in considering my self-realization as the principal purpose of my life. We are talking about the choice between living for myself and giving myself – for what is greater. And let us understand that truth and love are not abstract values; in Jesus Christ they have become a person. Following him, I enter into the service of truth and love. Losing myself, I find myself.” Such a tremendous mind and pastoral heart. I thank God for the gift of his leadership, and ask for the grace to respond generously to his words.

Now comes the reason why I have such a good seat. It’s time to work to earn my place. During the creed, we are ushered back into the vestibule of the basilica where each priest is given a ciborium full of bread for the Eucharist. At the appropriate time, we are led out to the sanctuary and lined up behind the altar. For the entire Eucharistic prayer, I stand about 15 feet behind the Pope, seeing the same thing he sees. The piazza is filled with pilgrims from all over the world. He chooses the third Eucharistic prayer. At one point in that prayer, there is a line that says, “Father, hear the prayers of the family you have gathered here before you. In mercy and love, unite all of your children, wherever they may be.” I have read this myself a thousand times, but now, looking out at this massive international crowd with their palms swaying in the late morning sun, these words have never seemed more poignant to me.

As everyone begins to pray the Our Father, we are ushered out to points all over the piazza to distribute the Eucharist. This is not a neat and easy thing. People are packed into the spaces between the wooden barricades marking the aisles, and they have to find a way to get to us as we stand in the aisle on the other side of the barricade. The result was at first a little unsettling for me. It sort of reminded me of watching carp in a feeding pond, as the people “swam” over each other attempting to get close enough for me to reach them. But looking deeper, I noticed a strange beauty in their eyes. These people are all here because they are hungry for Christ. It seemed to me that they were thinking, “being here at St. Peter’s is beautiful, and it’s pretty cool to see Pope Benedict in real life, but please don’t walk away until I’ve had a chance to receive Jesus!!” Don’t worry, I won’t. Take your time.

After Communion, I make my way back into the Eucharistic chapel of the basilica, where I deposit my empty ciborium and take off my stole and surplice. I stop for a moment to look around the empty basilica – such a rare opportunity to see it like this – before I head back outside.

At the end of the Mass, the Pope begins addressing the youth of the world with personal messages in many languages. He speaks to the pilgrims in English, German, Portuguese, Spanish, Polish, and Italian (there may have also been others; he has already begun this by the time I got back outside). Each new language inspires cheers from different sections of the crowd, with the Italians responding the loudest. This is their town, after all. There is an obvious joy in the Holy Father’s voice that can be detected no matter what language he is speaking. And when he finishes, that joy is returned in the cheers of thousands of pilgrims. Many start chanting, “Benedetto!” Our shy Pope – very different than John Paul in this regard – graciously quiets them down. “Thank you for your enthusiasm,” he says with a smile on his face, “but now we must pray the Angelus. Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae...” And so we return to prayer with him.

As the recessional hymn begins, a white truck with a raised chair in the back pulls up behind the altar. I’ve seen the “popemobile” before, but I’ve never watched him get in. The chair swivels around, and he climbs up the steps in the back to have a seat. It is really inspiring to see the joy and enthusiasm on peoples’ faces as he greets them up close.

Most of my days living here in Rome are not particularly glamorous. Learning to read Greek and Hebrew at the same time in the midst of a foreign culture is pretty much the most difficult thing I have ever attempted, so I don’t get much free time to wander around and see the city. But I try not to complain too much, because I know that mornings like this are a very rare blessing that most people will never see. I really hope you get to experience it for yourself some day. I also hope that more young people will respond to the call issued by God and affirmed by the Pope: to give of themselves in loving service. If you happen to be called to the priesthood for the Diocese of Cleveland, then I look forward to teaching you about the Bible when I get home in about four years. But for now, I’ve gotta get back to my Hebrew flashcards :)

PD Holy Week Report: Eating some humble pie today. Three, count them THREE nice articles about the faith today.