A priest’s testimony

“Llegas muy temprano”, (You’re too early!”) was the sacristan’s greeting as I closed the door upon entering the Assumption church here in Carcaixent, Valencia. It was 7:20 PM and the weekly mass is at 8:00 PM. I purposedly came earlier for I intended to make the usual 30-minute afternoon meditation there before the mass.

“José, why is there no electric fan in the chapel?”, I casually asked him, as I was heading towards the Blessed Sacrament chapel, with my backpack full of groceries (I bought some provisions earlier). Outside the church, the temperature reached up to 38 degrees Celcius and I was sweating like a pig.

“Es que tampoco no hay nadie que viene a estar allí” (Because nobody comes and stays there) was José’s less apologizing but poignant reply. What follows was his comment that left me pensive since then until the writing of this reflection:

“Casi no hay nadie ya que entienda lo que hay allí. Piensan que es un cajón, un ‘armario’ donde se guardan las ‘hostiacillas’ para la comunión. La gente reza delante de las imágenes y no delante del Sagrario porque ya no entiende qué es aquello” (Almost nobody understands what is inside there. They think that it is just a box, a kind of “container” of the hosts for communion. People pray before images (of a saint or Jesus) but not before the Tabernacle because they don’t understand anymore what is it).

* * *

It is very sad to think that people do not understand nor believe anymore that inside that “box” we call Tabernacle is Jesus Himself, in His Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. It is Jesus Christ in Person, under the especie of bread. Jesus Christ – the same Lord and God that the angels, saints and all heavenly powers adore – is sacramentally present in the Tabernacle. He, Whom no angel would dare to look at directly without absolute reverence, is there inside the Tabernacle, ignored by people.

When we say sacramental presence, it simply means Jesus is really present, but under the mode of presence (appearance) of the bread. The “bread” is not anymore bread in its essence but only in its appearance. Its essence (its “whatness”) is the Body of Christ. But neither it is a symbol of Christ’s presence, like some Protestants claim: it is Christ Himself present, alive. He looks at us; He listens to us.

We may not perceive Him with our physical eyes (like we see the person next to us), but His presence there in the Blessed Sacrament does not depend upon our perceiving Him. “Blessed is he who believes even without seeing.” Our incapacity to perceive His presence physically does not negate such presence. Only he who has the “eyes of faith” can perceive Christ’s Real Presence in the Tabernacle. “For what is essential is invisible to the eye” (The Little Prince).

* * *

We, priests, should be the first to give testimony to this truth – not so much in words as in deeds. To give witness to Christ’s Real and Sacramental Presence in the Tabernacle, no argument is more convincing than the living testimony of the parish priest who visits frequently the Blessed Sacrament Adoration Chapel. Once again, St. John Mary Vianney is exemplar in this respect.

I can’t understand why a parish priest would construct an Adoration Chapel, adorn it marvelously and yet, is seldom seen praying inside it. Frequent visits to the Blessed Sacrament during the day is not only a pious practice strongly recommended by the Church, but something that the priest should feel the need to do if he aspires for an efficient and meaningful priestly ministry.

I think, every pastoral activity – seminars, constructions, visitations, social care, etc. – should take its go-signal after various consultations with the Lord in the Adoration Chapel. After all, every parish project or activity does not – if we come to think of it – belong to the parish priest. It is the Lord’s initiative, don’t you think?

* * *

Of course, I am not insinuating that, perhaps, we are not praying for the success of our parish activities. What I am trying to say is that the order we are following is a mistake. Most of the time, we proceed with the activity; then, we pray for it. We should reverse the order: we consult first the Lord in prayer; we even offer sacrifices to ask for the His enlightenment; then, we proceed with the activity or project. (Prayer, sacrifices, action).

I’m sure, for whatever parish project or activity, the Parish Council is consulted. Why not consult the Lord also in the Adoration Chapel a talk to Him personally? An activity or a certain parish project alone already entails frequent visits to the Adoration Chapel. If we want parishioners to believe in Christ’s Real Presence, we, priests, should be the first to give testimony to this truth and show our conviction through our action.

* * *

José’s last comment struck me like a lightning: “Es que tampoco los sacerdotes aquí vienen para estar allí. Nadie da testimonio. Por eso, la gente no sabe con quien pueden identificarse” (Because our priests here neither come to stay there. No one gives testimony; so people can’t find an example to emulate).

Sembraré mientras es tiempo

“Disculpa, lo que dijiste ayer en la homilía que ‘el que camina en la mano de Dios, cuando se cae, se cae en la mano de Dios’, fue muy bonito” (Excuse me, what you said in the homily yesterday that “He who walks in the hands of God, if he stumbles, he stumbles in the hands of God” was very touching).

The one speaking was an old woman who sat beside me at the Blessed Sacrament chapel, while I was doing my 30-minute afternoon meditation, just before saying the Mass. Oblivious of the possible disturbance she might have caused in other persons present, the woman proceeded with a comment that encouraged me more to do what is not customarily done in weekday Masses here: give a short homily.

She said: “Ya soy vieja, pero así aprendo poco a poco cada día más” (I am already old, but, in this way, I learn a little more each day). I said to myself, if we, priests, would cease to give even a very short but substantial exposition of the Gospel reading, then, old women like her, would be deprived of learning ‘a little more each day’.

* * *

However, a short but substantial homily is easier said than done. Especially if the presider is not well-prepared, though he has fervent desire to shed light upon the readings of the day, he could just be ‘roaming around the bush’. As a result, instead of learning ‘a little more each day’, old women would grew more confused.

I remember the recommendation my professor in Pastoral Theology gave us regarding homily preparation. He said, if we are to deliver a 30-minute homily, we should prepare it for three days; a 15-minute homily, one week; a 5-minute homily, two weeks.

Exaggerating a little, his point was clear: the shorter (and, of course, substantial) is the homily, the more time is necessary for its preparation. The reason is quite easy to comprehend: to impart substantial truths needs painstaking preparation. Metaphorically, it’s like the case of a young suitor (who is truly in love), who takes a great deal of time searching for the exact words to express his affection, and even rehearsing it many times in front of the mirror.

* * *

But the real time for preparation is not the days or weeks allotted when the priest’s turn to preach comes. The preparation starts in the seminary when the candidate to the priesthood begins to immerse himself in the meditation of and living the Word of God. We cannot give what we don’t have. What we preach in the homily is (should be) truths that – at least – we, priests, are struggling to live by.

That is why more often I preach to myself. Or at least, I am reminding myself of some truths that, if silenced, would be neglected. As I listen to myself preaching, (I hope priests reading this understand what I mean), the Gospel presents itself to me in a new light. Better said, I begin to see anew my life and my priesthood – a new vision or perspective – in the light of the Gospel.

In this sense, the practice of giving short but substantial homily during weekday Masses is beneficial not only to daily Mass-goers (here, a dozen of sexagenarian and some octagenarian women), but also to us, young preachers. I, for my part, am also learning ‘a little more each day’.

* * *

Taking advantage of the fact that during funeral masses, the church is almost full, I begin to prepare a 3-minute homily, planning carefully what to say, considering the occasion, but always trying to slot in – like the prophets of old – the call to conversion, expressed in modern language. Most of the time, I have the sensation that my words simply fell on deaf ears and I am like a ‘voice in the wilderness’. But the Lord knows how to cheer me up discreetly. Sometimes, He would use an unsolicited comment of an old woman as an instrument.

Nevertheless, with or without results (usually we don’t see the results of our efforts so as to keep us from getting proud), I resolved to keep on sowing few seeds as I walk along this field or that vineyard. One day, I got inspired by a line of a Spanish hymn that we usually pray in the Liturgy of the Hours, which goes: “Sembraré, mientras es tiempo, aunque me cueste fatigas” (I shall sow, while it is still time, although it would cost me weariness).