I, John, had a vision of an open door to heaven, and I heard the trumpetlike voice that had spoken to me before, saying, “Come up here and I will show you what must happen afterwards.”
At once I was caught up in spirit.
Today’s first reading from Revelation presents a marvelous image of the grand throne room in heaven where the Lord sits in majesty, surrounded by saints and angels, where every creature is caught up in ecstatic song. Something like our Sunday morning services, only better.
Scholars can tell us little about the earliest worship services of the Church. The Evangelists’ four gospels and the letters of Saint Paul suggest the “institution” of the Eucharist in the words of Jesus; especially with his three commands to: Take and eat; Take and drink; and Do this in memory of me.
An ancient document called The Didache gives us more detail about the prayer which evolved into many variations of the Eucharistic Prayer. (Our Roman Missal today has nine.) The essential formula was a reworking of a daily Jewish prayer offered before every meal. (For that reason, the Church celebrates the Eucharist daily although we require attendance only on Sunday.)
Saint John’s vision bears a greater resemblance to a royal ceremony than to the Christians’ daily worship. But it is not hard to imagine, as I do in the hospital chapel, that the doctor amid the pews, me, the TV camera, and the microphones are surrounded by enraptured saints and angels crying, “Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty!” It doesn’t take a crystal of LSD to hear the tramp of saints as they go marching in, or the flutter of angelic wings. Even the smell of incense, which is never used where smoke detectors would erupt in anguish, seems to hang redolent in the air. Nor do I doubt that Catholics throughout the world, hearing the same sacred readings; keeping the same solemnities, feasts, and memorials; and responding to the same prayers, have joined us in solemn simplicity. And finally, I am sure millions of devout persons would join us if they could. We pray with and for them. If they are missing the Mass, we feel their presence in their absence.
Despite the monotony of this quotidian ritual, we need frequent reception of the Eucharist to fortify us as we cope with the stresses of a plague-infested society. If we cannot attend Mass daily or weekly, we are assured of its continual expression in the eternal presence of God. The universe can do no less for the Lamb who was slain.
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I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.