Special Events Raise Vigil Anticipation: including a Very Young First Communicant

One of the more successful ideas I have employed over the years is the scheduling of special events during the Great Vigil of Easter.  The idea isn't really my own: as early as the Fourth Century the catechumenate was presented for Baptism at the Vigil.  So I have sought to follow suit, employing the third of the four parts of the Vigil ceremony not only for Baptisms, but more notably, for confirmations.  It's kind of scary doing this at first, since people are more inclined to expect confirmations on a Sunday, whether it be Palm Sunday or some Sunday after Easter, and this forces them to come out for another service.  It might even be unmanageable in some parishes.  But in my case it worked pretty well, and people have grown accustomed to thinking of the Vigil as the Big Day for such things.  Admittedly my parish is small, which sometimes works in one's favor.

This year I have no confirmations, though I do have one (pre-confirmation) first communion.  In the past, first communions have taken place on  Maundy Thursday as a rule.  But this year it will be at the Vigil, and that works out just fine, in keeping with my desire to give people more reason for coming to the Vigil.

And this first communion will be a special occasion for me as well: it will be for the youngest communicant I have ever had.  Several years ago I began to commune this little four-year-old's big brother, at age five.  But she won't be five until summer.  A communicant this young is sometimes shy about answering catechetical questions in class, simple as they must be, but her answers ring true.

What do people get when they come up for communion?  "A chip," she says.   Hm, a chip?  What is that chip?  A potato chip?  "No."  A piece of bread? Her head nods.  And what is that piece of bread?  Silence.  What did Jesus say that it is?  Silence.  He said, This is ____.  She finishes: "My Body."   So is it Jesus' Body?  Head nods.  So, tell me, what did Jesus say?  Now she answers: "This is my Body."  Yes, and what's it for?  And so on.  This child knows the ten commandments, she knows how to say the Creed, and she knows that the Sacrament is Jesus' Body, for the forgiveness of sins.  And she knows it's something she wants.  Who am I to forbid this?  In our parish I abide by the rule that while confirmation remains at the conclusion of eighth grade, first communion will happen whenever the child is ready, whether early or not.

So, could I just...

By Larry Beane

I'm getting a lot of requests for baptisms lately.

But it's not necessarily good news.

Just today, I got a call from a guy who lives about an hour away and would like his children "christened" at Salem Lutheran Church  "Christened."  That's always the first clue.  He said the name of his home church quickly, and then explained that his parents live in the area and that it would be most convenient to "just do it there."  So, could I just do the baptism?

I slowed him down and found out that he belongs to a Presbyterian church.  I told him that we do have Presbyterian churches in the area and that it would be best to find out which one is in fellowship with his church.  He insisted that Salem Lutheran would be more convenient, and that Lutheran and Presbyterian is really the same thing anyway.  So, could I just do the baptism?

I explained to him that Lutherans and Presbyterians do have some fundamental differences.  I briefly explained, for example, the difference between our views on the Eucharist.  He said that he was christened a Catholic and had no problem with our view of the Sacrament.  So, could I just do the baptism?

I recommended that he find a church that believes the way he believes.  I asked him which denomination of Presbyterian his church belonged to.  He didn't know.  He explained that did not pick that church based on belief, but based on the fact that they are convenient and have a really good school.  Belief really isn't the issue.  So, could I just do the baptism?

I explained that if I were to baptize his children, they would be under my pastoral care.  They would be Lutherans.  He replied that this would be fine with him.  He would have no problem being a Lutheran.  He didn't know what Lutherans believe, but he was certain that he would be fine with it.  But he really likes to go to the Presbyterian church because it's so convenient. And they have a really good school.  So, could I just do the baptism?

I felt like I was stuck in one of those Rev. Hans Fiene Lutheran Satire cartoons complete with the monotone computer voices, circular reasoning, the astonished silent blinking pastor, and Offenbach's Can Can music.

So, could I just do the baptism?

Worship Attire

By Larry Beane

An interesting article regarding the trend toward casual clothes in worship (and one way to address this pastorally):  "No Hooters shirts in Mass, please."

Pastors Need Pastors

Comments in a previous post started me thinking (again) about the matter of the spiritual needs of the pastor. Who feeds the shepherd?

Although the pastor benefits from the same Gospel he preaches, and receives the same sacrament he administers, thus receiving the full forgiveness of all sins, it's also imperative that the pastor have his own pastor. He needs another man to absolve him and to be his spiritual counselor. He needs this weapon against the devil and his flesh.

I was involved in a rather extensive debate, over at a private discussion board at CAT41, on the question of whether or not the pastor is personally absolved by the the words of corporate absolution which he speaks a la the TLH page 15 formula. That formula, you will recall, is not a mere declaration of grace, though it is arguably a conditional absolution, as Fr. Petersen has explained in a Gottesdienst article about a year or so ago. The pastor says, "Upon this your confession," which is at least by implication the condition, "I by virtue of my office . . . forgive you all your sins . . ."

The matter of whether that corporate absolution is conditional (I believe Fr. Petersen's argument is persuasive) is related to the question whether as such it is not a true absolution (I'm a little less convinced about this). It's a matter of semantics, but what stands out in the formula, whatever you want to call it, is the personal application of grace--personal not so much in terms of the recipient, but in terms of the one administering it: "I forgive you" is not the same thing as "God forgives you," although in both cases it is God's forgiveness. The personal pronoun provides that the man saying the words is doing the forgiving, exercising the keys of the kingdom of heaven. The use of this formula in the corporate setting is admittedly weak, and a host of questions about its propriety are warranted. I use it, if only because I use TLH.

But what I have insisted the formula does not allow, in any case, is for the pastor to suppose that by the formula "I forgive you" he is thereby forgiving also himself. The grammar of "I forgive you" does not allow it, period.

Hence, in order to receive the benefit of hearing the word of personal absolution, the pastor must seek out another pastor. And if the argument obtains that the corporate formula, for all its benefits, is nonetheless altogether weak, then the pastor must seek out another pastor in private.

The formula for private absolution, although the implication is clearly present that faith is necessary for one to benefit from it ("as you believe, so let it be done for you"), is itself without question an unconditional declaration: ". . . and I as a called and ordained servant of the word, forgive you your sins . . ." As such, it is to be coveted as a special and extraordinary means of grace.

In short, the pastor should know that if wants to avail himself of all the varied means that God provides for receiving mercy, he may not allow himself to think he is receiving absolution only because he is hearing the words of the formula which he himself speaks. He needs to go to a pastor to get this, just like everybody else.

A Poor Woman Blessed

So I’m visiting a shut-in at the nursing home, and, as occasionally when I come I find her in the dining hall waiting for her supper, I must first wheel her back to her room, give her the Sacrament, and then wheel her back. On the way, I notice that there is another woman sitting in a wheelchair in the hallway, muttering something barely audible, but which I can determine to be a distress cry of sorts. Such cries are not uncommon in a nursing home, and usually come from people experiencing various stages of dementia. I noticed that she held a rosary in her hand, and when she caught my eye, she addressed me as “Father,” and, I was able to ascertain, was pleading with me for some kind of help. The look in her eyes was expectant, though she had never seen me before. But she knew from my attire that I was a representative of her God, and that was enough.

As an aside, I dare say that she would not have known this had I been dressed as a nursing home administrator or other suited professional.

Now, what does one do in such a case? People in such a state are, I repeat, generally victims of Alzheimer’s or at least of limited or confused mental capacity, which, it may be assumed, is a large part of the reason for their perceived distress. It is truly pitiful to see, and though I’ve seen it too many times to count, nevertheless I find myself troubled. Of course I cannot expect that this patient’s stress will be relieved by anything I can do, and for that matter I’m tending to someone else right now, but . . .

She has likely been trained to expect a blessing from her priest. She is Roman Catholic, and she likely knows that a blessing from a priest is to be desired, and comes, ultimately, from Christ. Say what you want about the salient differences we have with the Church of Rome, on this matter their methods of catechesis are superior to ours. At least their results are.

Poor woman! She is in distress, but she doesn’t understand the nature of the distress, as she is in no condition to be rational. But this much she knows: she wants a blessing from a priest, and, for all I know, perhaps that is all she wants.

Some would scoff at this, no doubt. Does she now know she can go directly to Jesus, and needs no priest? Such flippant indignation is born of hypocrisy, as far as I’m concerned, for those who express it would themselves likely be unable to ‘go directly to Jesus’ for relief, were they to be found in such a limited mental capacity.

So instinctively I paused on the way. My own parishioner, who also suffers from a bit of confusion, probably did not even notice or care that her route back to the dinner table would here be met with a four second delay. I paused in my tracks, and leaned over to the other, distressed woman, extended my hand, and quietly said to her, “The blessing of Almighty God be upon you,” as I placed my hand on her forehead and made the sign of the cross.

I thought I detected an expression of relief on her face as I turned and continued on my way. I hope so, certainly. What I know is that it is a good thing for a faithful parishioner to learn to seek a blessing from the priest, and to see it as a blessing from God.