"How Can I Understand?"

I’ve been thinking about the Ethiopian in Acts 8. He is an odd character, not the typical convert that the apostles are meeting in Jerusalem: he’s Ethiopian, he’s a eunuch, he’s in charge of his queen’s treasury, he practices his faith. It is not clear if he is a convert to Judaism or a “God-fearer,” one who believed in the monotheism of Judaism but was not bound by Jewish law. He’s traveled a long way to worship at the temple. He’s reading the scriptures on his own, even though he lacks instruction. He’s a seeker of the truth.

Phillip finds him as he’s reading Isaiah 53:7-8. He asks the Ethiopian if he understands it, and the man says no, that he needs instruction. With Advent coming up, and its readings from Isaiah, I can relate to the man. The prophets are confusing; there is so much cultural context that I can’t understand without instruction. He’s trying, but it’s not clear to him.

Phillip explains how Isaiah predicts the coming and sacrifice of Jesus. The Ethiopian requests baptism, and they stop along the road so Phillip can baptize him. Then Phillip leaves to continue his mission, and the Ethiopian, presumably, returns to Kush (now in Sudan) to spread the Good News he’s learned. Ethiopia does have one of the oldest Christian communities, and the Orthodox community there refers to him as Simeon Bachos.

I really like the account of the Ethiopian’s conversion. While others are joining by the hundreds, this is a personal account. We get to know who he is—where he’s from, his high position, his status as eunuch that probably keeps him from full participation in the community, his faith. He is devout and wants to know the truth. And when it comes to him, he accepts it. The waiting, the seeking, is over: the truth, in Christ, has arrived.

St. Edmund Rich

St. Edmund Rich was born in Abingdon, England, around 1174. From an early age, he practiced asceticism. He taught art and math at Oxford. After his ordination, he taught theology and became the treasurer of Salisbury Cathedral.

He was known as a great speaker; he travelled and preached for the Sixth Crusade. Pope Gregory IX named him Archbishop of Canterbury in 1233. In that role, he became advisor to King Henry III. He urged the king to ratify the Magna Carta, which had been signed by his father, King John. Edmund tried to negotiate between the Church and the king over control of leadership and property in England, making him unpopular to the king. A papal legate was sent from Rome in 1237, and King Henry used the legate’s authority to limit Edmund’s power.  

The feud with King Henry led Edmund to resign his see in 1240 and moved to France, where he became a Cistercian. He died that year and was canonized just seven years later.  His feast day is November 20.

Go, the Mass has Ended

I was recently at Mass, during communion. Most were kneeling in prayer or in line to receive. But several were making their exit. Opening the transept door and letting in the bright sunlight literally spotlighted the families leaving early. Of course the old joke ran through my head: “Judas was the first to leave Mass early.”

As I watched more and more leave, it reminded me of a conversation I’d had with a man a few weeks ago—a devoted man who attends Mass and Bible studies—who, when talking about a Mass that might be going too long, said, “Well, people can just leave after they receive. Mass is over by then.”

Um, Mass is over by then? What does he think Mass is, if it’s over as Christ’s body is still lying on the altar, in the hands of ministers, on the tongues of the faithful? When does he think it ends? I thought these people leaving early just didn’t care, but now I thought that they might not even know what Mass is. I know there are a lot of poorly-catechized Catholics who love Jesus as best they know him yet have no clue what the Church actually believes.

How sad would it be to go every week to church and be in the very presence of God and not know it? To receive Jesus, transubstantiated, and think it was still just bread and a commemoration? To show up to get your prayers said and communion received and not recognize the communal nature of the Mass or respect the solemnity of that time and space? How many are there and don’t know what they’re part of?

Sometimes people need to leave early: uncompromising work schedules, rowdy children, illness. But when it’s dozens of people, I suspect most of the reasons are just apathy about the Mass and the desire to beat traffic to lunch. Are those extra 10 minutes really that important?

For the record: the Mass is ended when the priest or deacon announces, “The Mass is ended.” Even then, it’s polite to wait for the recessional before actually recessing. One doesn’t have to read the Summa to figure out when Mass ends.

And this isn’t to bash those leaving early. At least they’re there at all. Some part of them recognizes the importance of Mass. They care to some extent. But do they understand? If they did, how could they bounce like that?

Do any of us fully understand? If we did, how could our minds wander? Physically present but mentally checked out. How could we at times go through the motions or get distracted. If we fully understood, we would approach the altar on our knees, in awe every time. We would never want to leave.