Franciscan at Home

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En nuestro número anterior, Dr. Kreeft exploró varios asuntos importantes que se suscitan cuando consideramos las preguntas de “¿quién?” y “¿dónde?” en cuanto se refieran a Cristo en la Eucaristía. En este artículo, el autor examina las tres preguntas finales con tal de ayudarnos a mejor comprender la enseñanza de la Iglesia sobre nuestro Señor Eucarístico.

¿Qué?
¿Qué actividad realiza Cristo en la Eucaristía? Obviamente, Él actúa sobre nosotros y dentro de nosotros en la Sagrada Comunión, tanto en nuestro cuerpo como en nuestra alma, ya que Él nos penetra en Cuerpo y Alma, no solamente para estar allí, para ser actual, sino para ser activo también en nosotros. Nos hace cosas. Nos salva de nosotros mismos, nos lava quitando nuestros pecados, nos justifica y santifica, y nos glorifica. Nos da toda gracia, nos hace, de forma gradual, lo que le hizo a María repentina y totalmente, es decir “llena de gracia”. En nuestro caso, este proceso no es completado y perfeccionado en esta vida, como lo fue para María. Pero lo que le hizo Dios, nos lo hace a nosotros. Hace – está ahora manos a la obra haciendo – una obra mucho mayor que el hacer el universo entero desde la nada: está haciendo santos de pecadores. El mundo entero es como aquella caja-más-que-mágica a la que llamamos el confesionario: Adán entra y Jesús sale. Cristo hace lo que únicamente Dios puede hacer: crea en nosotros un corazón puro. Nos está operando el corazón. Él es quien T.S. Eliot llamó “el cirujano herido”. La Sagrada Comunión es cirugía cardíaca.

Pero, ¿qué hace Cristo en la Eucaristía todo el tiempo, aun cuando no estamos recibiendo la Sagrada Comunión y cuando no estamos ofreciendo su Cuerpo y su Sangre al Padre para la salvación del mundo cuando asistimos a Misa? ¿Qué hace durante la Adoración Eucarística? ¿Qué está haciendo ahorita mismo?

Santo Tomás contesta esa pregunta con una sola palabra, una palabra maravillosa, en el himno eucarístico más perfecto que se haya escrito. El primer renglón es “Adoro Te devote, latens deitas, quae sub his figuris, vere latitas” (Devotamente te adoro, Dios escondido, oculto verdaderamente bajo estas apariencias). Aquella palabra, latitas, es la respuesta a nuestra pregunta, “¿Qué está haciendo Cristo allí?” Se está ocultando.

Ocultarse es un acto, no solo un estado estático de ser, sino una acción, una actividad, un acto libremente deseado que hace una diferencia, que cambia algo. Cuando nos ocultamos, cambiamos nuestra apariencia. Si no nos ocultáramos, estaríamos visibles; cuando nos ocultamos, hacemos algo, cambiamos algo, nos volvemos invisibles. Nos retiramos de las apariencias. Cuando dejamos de ocultarnos, no le sumamos nada a nuestro ser, sino que nos quitamos algo: nos quitamos nuestro disfraz, o nuestro escondite. Cesamos la acción de ocultarnos.

n our previous issue, Dr. Kreeft explored several important issues that arise when we consider the questions of “who” and “when” as they relate to Christ in the Eucharist. In this article, he will examine three final questions, to help us better understand the Church’s teaching concerning our Eucharistic Lord.

What?

What activity is Christ performing in the Eucharist? Obviously, he is acting on us and in us in Holy Communion, both in body and soul, since he enters us both in body and soul not just in order to be there, to be actual, but also to be active in us. He does stuff to us. He saves us from ourselves, he washes away our sins, he justifies and sanctifies us, and glorifies us. He gives us all graces, he makes us, gradually, what he made Mary suddenly and totally, namely “full of grace.” For us, this process is not completed and perfected in this life, as it was for Mary. But what God did to her, he does to us. He does—he is now at work doing—a far greater work than making the entire universe out of nothing: he is making saints out of sinners. The whole world is like that more-than-magical-box we call the confessional: Adam walks in and Jesus walks out. Christ does what only God can do: he creates in us a clean heart. He is performing heart surgery on us. He is what T.S. Eliot called “the wounded surgeon.” Holy Communion is heart surgery.

But what is Christ doing there in the Eucharist all the time, even when we are not receiving Holy Communion and when we are not offering his Body and Blood to the Father for the salvation of the world as we assist at the Mass? What is he doing there during Eucharistic adoration? And what is he doing right now?

St. Thomas answers that question in a single word, a wonderful word, in the most perfect and beautiful Eucharistic hymn ever written. The first line is “Adora te devote, latens deitas, quae sub his figuris vere latitas.” (Devoutly I adore thee, hidden deity, Who beneath these figures hideth there from me.) That word latitas is the answer to our question, “What is Christ doing there?” He is hiding.

If you have ever traveled internationally, you have undoubtedly experienced the challenge of interpreting unfamiliar signs. Deciphering these enigmatic symbols can be a funny exercise, as long as you are not desperately lost. The first time I traveled to Australia, my wife and I were regularly in stiches at the utterly unique signs. My favorite had to be the camel, wombat, and kangaroo caution sign. Seeing this sign was a clear indication that we were far from home and in very unfamiliar territory[CR1] .

The purpose of a sign is to teach the viewer something: warning, action, direction, etc. The Catholic Christian faith is filled with signs that are designed to teach, but just like unfamiliar signs in a foreign country, if someone does not clearly explain the meaning of the sign, we will remain in ignorance or left to make our best guess. Frequently, cradle Catholics do not understand the meaning of the signs that surround them and this leads to a deficient Christian life, lacking the full available richness .

When it comes to RCIA, explaining the meaning of the signs and symbols is all the more crucial. Being one who came to the Catholic Church later in life, I cannot state strongly enough how confusing are many of the actions within the liturgy to an uninitiated observer. I’ll never forget being handed the baptismal candle, when my children were baptized, and seeing the chi rho (☧) on the side of the candle. Not knowing what it was, I asked the three religious sisters present at the baptism what it meant and they didn’t know either. I now know and can give a wonderful explanation, but that is for another time.

On May 29, 2012, it was announced that Bishop Samuel Aquila of Fargo, North Dakota was returning to his home diocese of Denver to become its fifth archbishop. Many archdiocesan leaders had an immediate hunch: Restored Order Confirmation was coming to the archdiocese. Bishop Aquila had already restored the order of the sacraments of initiation in Fargo, and even received public praise for it from Pope Benedict XVI during an ad limina visit to Rome. These expectations proved true when in the fall of 2013 the archdiocese began internal preparations to move toward Restored Order Confirmation, becoming the first archdiocese in the United States to do so. By 2020 the process of transition will be complete, though a majority of parishes in the archdiocese have already begun celebrating the Sacraments of Confirmation and First Communion together in the third grade. To assist this move toward restoring the sacraments to the traditional order of Baptism, Confirmation, and First Communion, the Office of Evangelization and Family Life Ministries (EFLM) conducted workshops and created a number of resources. This article will reflect on the process used by the Archdiocese of Denver in this reordering and the impact it has had upon catechesis within its parishes.

Norwegian painter, Carl Frithjof Smith, is not a well-known artist today. Despite his lack of fame, his art is beautiful and worthy of recognition and study. Smith lived and worked for all of his adult life in Germany, until his death in 1917. After studying at the then thriving Academy of Fine Art in Munich, Smith took a teaching position in Weimer, Germany, where he remained for most of his life. His work consists mainly of portraits and genre paintings.

Genre painting explores the sphere of a person’s ordinary activity. Focusing on scenes from daily life, these works delve into human interactions, often enticing us to examine our own everyday moments in a more thoughtful manner. The genre painter must be someone in touch with the inner psyche of others. In what is perhaps his most famous work, After First Communion, Smith triumphs at this craft, presenting a scene that is rich in human feeling and meaning.

In the painting we see Mass participants spilling out of a church door on the left, down steps, and onto the street. This crowd consists mainly of young girls. What is most striking about this painting is the dazzling white of the girls’ ceremonial dresses. Worn at baptism, first Eucharist, and marriage, white garments symbolize the purified soul of the believer. The gray stone of the church contrasts with the vibrant white of the girls’ garments. There is an ethereal feel to the work that is anchored by the darker tones of the church and the garments of fellow parishioners. Smith balances the careful study of figures with a soft atmospheric treatment of the subject matter. This interplay is particularly clear in his treatment of the background compared to the foreground. The subject matter is clear and well described, and the use of contrast is greater in the foreground, while soft colors and brushstrokes are used in the background. His art is considered to be a middle way between rigid academism and airy plein air painting. While the general feel of the painting is lovely and pleasant, the expressions and interactions of the subjects are what draw us deeper into the work.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church calls the sacraments, “the masterworks of God in the new and everlasting covenant” (1116). The sacraments confer upon us a special grace that assists us in becoming the people God created us to be. Unfortunately, too often the first celebration of the sacraments in childhood is approached as if it were a one-time developmental milestone, rather than the beginning of a lifelong celebration or a further step down the path of continuing conversion.

Both experience and research have shown us that the period of preparation for the Sacraments of Penance and Eucharist is a rare time when even families who are only marginally connected to the parish are willing to spend more time in formation. This can be an opportunity for evangelization, if catechists and catechetical leaders are open to the Holy Spirit and focus their catechesis not only on preparation for the initial reception of the sacraments but also on the ways in which the sacraments can change our lives.

As a confirmation facilitator, it feels like a “rescue mission” trying to re-ignite faith, hope, and charity in souls that are growing cold and are in need of conversion. The young people I serve do not always benefit from the witness of fervent or healthy families. Parents sometimes value their child’s résumé over their religious formation. Many things, like sports, compete with time for God on the weekend. The result is an attitude that religious formation is more of a burden than a blessing. I often assume that those who come to be catechized do not want to be there.

I’m trying to learn how to depend on the Holy Spirit and be attentive to the diverse needs of those being catechized without being disheartened or overwhelmed. Somehow the catechesis I provide must be a means for a young person to discover Jesus and come to follow Him, perhaps for the first time. Last year as I served a group of thirty students, composed of both public and Catholic school students, it was intimidating to say the least. We began the year with Alpha, a program based on video presentations and small group discussion. For the first few months, I came to know only a fraction of the confirmation students, those who were assigned to my table. I wondered how I could establish a relationship of trust and openness with the other students.

Uno de los signos de la experiencia contemporánea es un sentido muy extendido de quebrantamiento, una especie de pesadez de ser. Por lo mismo, una de las afirmaciones menos debatidas de la cristiandad es que tenemos necesidad de sanación, tanto a nivel personal como a nivel social. Los analistas sociales buscan sin cesar las causas de este descontento individual y colectivo. Mientras existan factores culturales que contribuyan a la enfermedad posmoderna, la teología cristiana siempre ha ofrecido una causa de raíz del descontento de la humanidad: el pecado original que heredamos y los pecados personales que cometemos. Si el pecado fuera el fin de la historia, la Cristiandad ofrecería un panorama bastante desolador. Según sugiere su mismo nombre, sin embargo, la Cristiandad no termina con nuestro quebrantamiento, sino que señala hacia arriba y hacia afuera a Cristo, quien vino a este mundo precisamente para salvarnos de nuestro pecado y del peso de sus efectos.

Aunque siga el debate sobre las raíces de los problemas de la humanidad, el punto central de la Buena Nueva del Evangelio es la verdad de que Jesús vino para que nosotros pudiéramos tener vida (Cf. Jn 10,10). Esta participación en la vida divina por medio de la gracia, recibida de manera especial por medio de la oración y de los sacramentos, se nos ofrece gratuitamente. La gracia es un don divino que a la vez sana nuestro quebrantamiento y nos eleva a la verdadera grandeza espiritual. Santo Tomás de Aquino escribió sobre este doble efecto de la gracia en la Summa Theologiae: “…el hombre para vivir rectamente necesita un doble auxilio de la gracia de Dios. El primero es el de un don habitual por el cual la naturaleza caída sea curada y, una vez curada, sea además elevada, de modo que pueda realizar obras meritorias para la vida eterna, superiores a las facultades de la naturaleza. El segundo es un auxilio de gracia por el cual Dios mueve a la acción. Ahora bien, el hombre que está en gracia no necesita otro auxilio de la gracia, en el sentido de un nuevo hábito infuso. Pero sí necesita un nuevo auxilio en el segundo sentido, es decir, necesita ser movido por Dios a obrar rectamente.”[1] Estos efectos curativos y transformativos de la gracia son precisamente el antídoto contra nuestros corazones rotos y nuestro mundo roto.