SPIRIT AND TRUTH
By Father Aaron Williams
The last segment of our study of the liturgies of Holy Week is the Mass of Easter Day. As I mentioned in an earlier column, historically there was no special Mass for Easter Day, per se. The Vigil was originally envisioned as lasting all-night and then ending shortly before dawn, making the Vigil Mass the Mass of the day as well. However, as time went on and the Vigil grew more and more complicated, it became more common to celebrate a separate Mass on Easter morning with its own proper prayer texts and readings.
This is why apart from the presence of the sequence (Victimæ Paschale Laudes), the Easter Mass is no different from any normal Sunday Mass — having no special rites or particular rubrics as we see in the liturgies during the week. As a side-effect, this serves to underscore the Paschal character of every Sunday celebration. Each Sunday, we revisit the mystery of Our Lord’s Resurrection. It is fitting that when we arrive for Mass on Easter Morning that we feel as if everything is once again as it should be. The Resurrection, after all, is a divine recapitulation — Christ restores creation to its state before the fall, which is why the Resurrection happened in a garden. Humanity fell from grace within a garden, so it is fitting that our restoration to grace would likewise occur in a garden.
If we compared the celebration of Easter Day from the traditional rite of Mass to our modern celebration, we would find very little textual differences. The prayers and readings are virtually unchanged. The modern rite, however, does give the interesting option to use the Gospel of the Road to Emmaus at Easter Masses which occur in the evening, which gives this well-loved passage its own proper place in the lectionary.

The sequence of Easter Day is a beautiful work of Christian poetry. The text contains a curious passage where the singer asks Mary Magdalene to retell us the story of the Resurrection, making this the only time in any liturgical text where we address someone other than God. Even on feast days of the Blessed Mother, liturgical texts never address Mary directly, but always speak to God regarding the mystery being celebrated. The Easter sequence is the one exception. This, perhaps, can underscore the unique role Mary Magdalene played in the early church as the ‘Apostle to the Apostles’ — announcing to all of the Apostles the news of the Resurrection.
Though our modern celebration of Easter is not particularly unique from any other Mass, there are a few examples from history of some local churches having their own customary rites associated with Easter Day. Perhaps the most significant of these comes from the Medieval English liturgy. The missals of Salisbury and York explain a rite which preceded the Easter Sunday Mass where the priest and ministers first process to the altar which served as the Altar of Repose during the Paschal Triduum. Unlike our modern celebration where the Blessed Sacrament is restored to the normal tabernacle after communion at the Easter Vigil, in the English custom the Blessed Sacrament remained secure at the Altar of Repose until the Mass of Easter Day.
Once the priest reaches the altar, the choir would begin singing the traditional hymn of thanksgiving (Te Deum) while the priest slowly raised the ciborium up from the altar and over his head, as if Christ was literally rising up from the tomb. For this reason, the English traditionally called this altar the ‘sepulcher’ instead of the ‘altar of repose.’
After the elevation of the ciborium, the priest would carry the Blessed Sacrament in procession back to the normal tabernacle — traditionally with the procession proceeded by a banner or image depicting the Risen Christ. We find a similar custom in Medieval Spain, except there it was more common for a single Host to be used rather than a full ciborium.
Some medieval parishes were even equipped with a special tabernacle or pyx which was suspended over the altar by a pulley system. In this case, the ‘elevation’ rite occurred by placing the Blessed Sacrament inside this tabernacle and then slowly winding the pulley until the tabernacle reached its normal height. An example of a tabernacle of this sort can be found in the oratory chapel of the Dominican parish in New York City: St. Vincent Ferrer. This was such a common ritual in European tradition that by the time of the renaissance it became common for churches to have a golden dove suspended over the altar with a small opening to serve as a pyx.
Suffice it to say by the time of the 19th century Enlightenment, this rite was no longer seen as effective as it was on Medieval Christians and most local churches began to drop it from their liturgical texts until by the dawn of the 20th century it essentially disappeared.

(Father Aaron Williams is the administrator at St. Joseph Parish in Greenville.)

GUEST COLUMN
By Reba J. McMellon, M.S., LPC
Matthew 11:30 – For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
I have a photograph of me taken several years ago on Memorial Day. I am wearing my father’s army shirt from the Korean War. The medal around my neck has the emblem commemorating 50 years since the Korean War. I know I’m supposed to call it a conflict, but it deserves the word war, in my book.
I don’t even know how to describe all that in a way that it makes sense to non-veterans. That is because I tuned out most of my dad’s war stories while he was still living. Since his death, I feel like a custodian for what he stood for. The good that he stood for.
Korea is in the news again. I find it fascinating now. I feel proud of what those young men did. How many even know the dates of the Korean war? Was it North Korea or South Korea? What was the conflict about? Now, I know. Now, it matters to me.

That’s just an example of how my father’s death has affected me. He was a man’s man, to say the least. He was a gruff, take no prisoners man and was the head of a family of women.
He wasn’t the peace maker but the policy holder. I find myself in that role. I’m not trying to fill his shoes, but I am wearing his army shirt.
Can you believe it fits me? My Dad was always a large man, in my eyes. Now I realize, at the age of 18, he was my size. For those of you who don’t know me, that’s 120 pounds soaking wet. If I exaggerate.
Much of my father’s agitation and gruff demeanor was attributed to being a war veteran. That may or may not have been true. The point is, as he began needing more care due to his health, he showed a side to him that I will admire for the rest of my life.
Talk about a hero. He went out of this world with the dignity of a war hero for sure.
It was a five-year stretch, after his last by-pass surgery. When he couldn’t walk far enough to get to a doctor’s office, he let me push him in a wheelchair. That took dignity on his part. He remained cheerful and complimented me constantly. Sometimes he liked to call me Charlie, for reasons I never understood.
Managing him, his chair, myself and sometimes my mom wasn’t for the faint hearted. It really did take skill. I’d push the door open, swing him around and catch the door with my foot or backside, in time to pull him in backward-all while managing to keep my purse from falling off my shoulder. I wasn’t always successful. Asking my dad to hold my purse was never an option, in my mind. I would not compromise his dignity in that way. Thank goodness cross-body purses became popular. I never had to stoop to a fanny pack … Besides, a fanny pack is too small for the inevitable mound of medical paperwork.
My father went into hospice care in November 2010. He remained in his house of 46 years. He had congestive heart failure and COPD. Many diseases linger. This one is certainly no exception.
We went through many stages. The day we came home from the emergency room with a hospital bed in his living room was big. But that did not stop his dignity.
He always welcomed visitors. He moved the two feet from the bed to his place at the table every day, even when we cautioned him not to. If the noise from his oxygen machine got on his nerves, he attempted to get out of bed and turn the thing off himself. That was not always a successful decision, but he did not let that keep him from what independence and say-so he had left.
The last few months were winter. It was a very cold winter for our region. Many after midnight calls came. It was always a fall (or slide) to the floor. It never failed that he greeted us with a strong and welcoming voice. See what I mean about dignity. A war hero. A vet. We would greet each other like two soldiers.
The next day he would brag on us a lot. He’d say, “I don’t know how you get me up off the floor so easily.” To which I would reply, “I’ve had training, Daddy.”
Maybe that is one reason why it was so hard to see him go. How do you close the chapter on someone like that? How does anybody watch as they close the casket on a loved one-much less your Daddy?
My father’s legacy did not end when they closed the lid. As a matter of fact, that’s when it really began.
This will be the tenth Father’s Day without my father. It hasn’t been ten years since he left. It has been ten years and three months.
On Father’s Day, Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day, I wear my father’s Korean War shirt. Much of his role in the family passed to me. I thank him for showing me how to soldier on with dignity.
My father’s last words to me were, “If you can get me comfortable, I’m going to go on out of here.”
He did. I thank him for trusting me and letting me love him in ways that were not possible before his health declined.
Caregiving does not have to be a burden. If you will go with it, it can be quite healing.

(Reba J. McMellon, M.S. is a licensed professional counselor with 35 years of experience. She worked in the field of child sexual abuse and adult survivors of sexual abuse for over 25 years. She continues to work as a mental health consultant, public speaker and freelance writer in Jackson, Mississippi. Reba can be reached at rebaj@bellsouth.net.)

By Father Clement “Clem” Olukunle Oyafemi
JACKSON – Early in the year 2002, a few months after the terrorist attack on the twin towers in New York (9/11), I was invited to officiate at a wedding in Detroit. It was a time of extreme fear and uncertainty throughout the entire country. No one was willing to trust anyone.
So, I flew from New York to Detroit, landing around 6 p.m., early enough for the wedding rehearsal. Dressed fully in my clerical wear, I made it easier for anyone to identify me, and I was also expecting my designated driver to stand at the airport with my name on card as was usual.
Unfortunately, there was no sign with my name, nor was there anyone to ask who I was. I waited and waited at the airport but there was no one to get me. By midnight I made up my mind I was going to stay the night in the nearest hotel and then take a cab to the church the next day to witness the wedding.
As I was approaching the front desk, two young men moved toward my direction, and one of them intentionally brushed his elbow against me and quickly said, “Am sorry sir.” I looked at him and smiled. Then he began a conversation. “By the way, are you Father Clem from New York? Then I said, “Yes, why are you asking?” And the man responded, “Well, I am your designated driver. We have been waiting here for six hours and we couldn’t find you.”
I told the two young men, “I have been here for six hours also, and I have been looking for my name on a sign, but couldn’t find it.” The man responded, “Dr. Cochabamba made a sign with your name on it and gave it to us when we were leaving for the airport. But we threw it away telling him, ‘We know what a priest looks like.’”
I asked him, “So why didn’t you find me? As you can see, I’m wearing my clerical suit.” The other man responded, “Because, we were told that your name is Father Clement, and you were coming from New York. We pictured a tall, white man with a beard, and in his early sixties. So, when we saw you, we did not pay attention, because you did not match the image of the ‘Father Clem’ we had in our heads.”

Just like the two designated drivers in the story, who had me pictured incorrectly in their minds, the majority of the people, in the time of Jesus, had a different image of the Messiah in their minds. Jesus didn’t “fit the mold” of their expected image of the savior. And that is why they did not accept him.
By asking the question, “Who do you say that I am?” Jesus was questioning his disciples about his identity. (cf Mt 16:15) This question is very essential to the Christian faith. It is very important for us to know the identity of Jesus so that we may relate correctly with him. And trust me, Jesus will never entrust his church to those who do not know him.
Peter’s confession, as we see in the gospel passage, represents the apostles, and all people who believe in Jesus as the Messiah, and the Son of God. The response given by the apostles to the question, “Who do people say that I am?” shows, clearly, that many people, in the time of Jesus, did not really know him. And if you do not know a person’s identity, you may not know how to relate to him/her. Some thought he was Elijah, or Jeremiah, or one of the prophets. They were very much mistaken. They did not know him, even after three years of his mission among them.
Notably those two men who came to the airport had a different image of me in their heads. Similarly, there are so many Christians today who do not really know Christ. They neither know his person nor his teaching. So how can they truly follow him? Someone can go to church for one hundred years without knowing Christ. The knowledge we are talking about is not book knowledge. It is experiential knowledge. If I may ask rhetorically; how can we love who we do not know? How can we serve who we do not love? Leadership in the church is based on loving service. And that is a big challenge for us today.
The universal church celebrates two great personalities in the history of Christianity – Sts. Peter and Paul on June 29. These great apostles knew the true identity of Christ. Peter was chosen by Christ to be his first vicar on Earth (pope). He was endowed with the powers of the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven. (cf Mt 16:13-19) He was charged with the role of shepherd of Christ’s flock after having affirmed his love for Christ, three times. (cf Jn 21:15-17) St. Peter led the church and suffered martyrdom in the year 64 AD. Buried at the hill of the Vatican, recent excavations revealed his tomb on the very site of St. Peters Basilica. The head of the universal church is called “pope”, which means “father.” Pope Francis is the 266th pope after St. Peter.
Although Paul did not meet Christ in person, he met him in a miraculous way. Christ chose him after his conversion on the road to Damascus. (cf Acts 9:1-16)
Paul is regarded as the greatest missionary of all time. He was advocate of pagans and called the apostle of the Gentiles. Paul testified to Christ, not only in words, but in action. He traveled, worked and taught more than any of the apostles who were called before him. Only Pope John Paul II has surpassed him in terms of missionary journeys. Like Peter, Paul also suffered martyrdom. He was beheaded and buried on the site where the Basilica, bearing his name, now stands.
As we celebrate the Solemnity of Sts. Peter and Paul, let us pray that God may continue to raise courageous and fearless leaders to lead his church from generation to generation. Through the intersession of Sts. Peter and Paul, may the Lord sustain the church and keep us true to his teachings. Amen.

(Father Clement Olukunle Oyafemi – Father “Clem” is the Coordinator of the Intercultural Ministry of the Diocese since 2020. He has two master’s degrees, one in theology and one in religious education and a bachelor’s degree in philosophy. He shares with Sister Thea his passion for the Lord and music. Father Clem founded the Rejoice Ministry of African Worship Songs –AFRAWOS– in 2002.)