Turning to the disciples in private he said,
"Blessed are the eyes that see what you see.
For I say to you,
many prophets and kings desired to see what you see,
but did not see it,
and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it."
When I have celebrated Mass for children, especially the small, itchy, scratchy kind of children who squiggle and wiggle through the prolonged program, coming to the final ceremony, I call out, "Now look up here! You see this? This is the Lamb of God...." That unexpected demand might hold their attention for the length of my announcement.
Hopefully, they'll one day learn to really look up here and see what many prophets and kings longed to see but did not see, and to hear but did not hear. Our sacraments, we're assured, are visible signs of invisible grace; and the grace is visible to those who have eyes to see. The Gospel is audible to those who have ears to ear.
The best word I've heard for this is disposed. The faithful are disposed to receive; they have the disposition because their hearts are ready, eager, and alert to the Day of the Lord, whenever and however it might come. Living in that way, we might not be as surprised as the wicked who do not recognize him in Jesus' parable of the Judgment Day; while the just are pleasantly surprised to hear his invitation,
"Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world."
Disposition is a practice. Upon entering the church, chapel, or our private space, we intentionally stop, take a breath, settle into silence and restfulness. Often we have words and gestures. My father, upon entering the church, always knelt, beat his breast three times, and silently recited his prayer. After a few minutes he would sit in the pew, and wait for the Mass, Stations, or Benediction to begin.
As we begin every liturgy, we usually dispose ourselves by frankly admitting we have sinned: "I confess to Almighty God...." A fool might begin with some absurdity like, "I thank you God that I am not like the rest of men." Jesus told a parable about that and we know the story both inside and out, as observers of others and discoverers of ourselves. "Yes, Lord, I am like the rest of men...."
We dispose ourselves also by doing the liturgy well. I feel sadness for those I see in parish churches on Sunday who are not free to sing with the congregation. The grace of God has not liberated their faces, lips, tongues, lungs, and heart to join the congregation. They might think of themselves as citizens of the freest people on earth, but they lack that quality of freedom. Some don't even want it.
We free ourselves with practice. I am not free to play the piano, although I am free to learn it. "Freedom is not free!" as the Veterans often reminded me. It takes courage, knowledge, discipline, and time.
Finally, being disposed to see and hear the Coming of the Lord takes time. Prayer is a daily, intentional practice; it is not simply something we do when we're exasperated and say, "Dear Lord, help me out."
Disposed to see and hear, we are delighted when the priest suddenly announces,
"Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are those who are called to share this banquet."
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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.