IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
One size doesn’t fit everyone. This isn’t just true for clothing, it’s also true for spirituality. Our challenges in life change as we age. Spirituality hasn’t always been fully sensitive to this. True, we’ve always had tailored instruction and activities for children, young people, and for people who are raising children, carrying a job, and paying a mortgage, but we’ve never developed a spirituality for what happens when those years are over.

Why is one needed? Jesus seemingly didn’t have one. He didn’t have one set of teachings for the young, another for those in mid-life, and still another for the elderly. He just taught. The Sermon on the Mount, the parables, and his invitation to take up his cross are intended in the same way for everyone, irrespective of age. But we hear those teaching at very different times in our lives; and it’s one thing to hear the Sermon the Mount when you’re seven years old, another when you’re twenty-seven, and quite another when you’re eighty-seven. Jesus’ teachings don’t change, but we do, and they offer very specific challenges at different times of our lives.
Christian spirituality has generally kept this in mind, with one exception. Except for Jesus and an occasional mystic, it has failed to develop an explicit spirituality for our later years, for how we are meant to be generative in our senior years and how we are to die in a life-giving way. But there’s a good reason for this lacuna. Simply put, it wasn’t needed because up until this last century most people never lived into old age. For example, in Palestine, in Jesus’ time, the average life expectancy was thirty to thirty-five years. A century ago in the United States, it was still less than fifty years. When most people in the world died before they reached the age of fifty, there was no real need for a spirituality of aging.
There is such a spirituality inside the Gospels. Even though he died at thirty-three, Jesus left us a paradigm of how to age and die. But that paradigm, while healthily infusing and undergirding Christian spirituality in general, was never developed more specifically into a spirituality of aging (with the exception of some of the great Christian mystics).
After Jesus, the Desert fathers and mothers folded the question of how to age and die into the overall framework of their spirituality. For them, spirituality was a quest to “see the face of God” and that, as Jesus makes clear, requires one thing, purity of heart. So for them, no matter your age, the challenge was the same, trying to achieve purity of heart. Then in the age of the persecutions and the early Christian martyrs, the idea developed that the ideal way to age and die was through martyrdom. Later, when Christians were no longer physically martyred, the idea took hold that you could take on a voluntary type of martyrdom by living the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience. They believed that living these, like the quest for purity of heart, taught you all you needed to know, no matter your age. Eventually this was expanded to mean that anyone who faithfully responded to the duties in his or her life, irrespective of age, would learn everything necessary to come to sanctity through that fidelity. As a famous aphorism put it: Stay inside your cell and it will teach you all you need to know. Understood properly, there’s a spirituality of aging and dying inside these notions, but until recently there was little need to draw that out more explicitly.
Happily, today the situation is changing and we’re developing, more and more, some explicit spiritualities of aging and dying. Perhaps this reflects an aging population, but there’s now a burgeoning body of literature, both religious and secular, that’s taking up the question of aging and dying. These authors, too numerous to mention, include many names already familiar to us: Henri Nouwen, Richard Rohr, Kathleen Dowling Singh, David Brooks, Cardinal Bernardin, Michael Paul Gallagher, Joan Chittister, Parker Palmer, Marilyn Chandler McEntyre, Paul Kalanithi, Erica Jong, Kathie Roiphe and Wilkie and Noreeen Au, among others. Coming from a variety of perspectives, each of these offer insights into what God and nature intend for us in our later years.
In essence, here’s the issue: today, we’re living longer and healthier late into life. It’s common today to retire sometime in our early sixties after having raised our children, superannuated from our jobs, and paid our mortgages. So what’s next, given that we probably have twenty or thirty more years of health and energy left? What are these years for? What are we called to now, beyond loving our grandkids?
Abraham and Sarah, in their old age, were invited to set out for a new land and conceive a child long after this was biologically impossible for them. That’s our call too. What “Isaac” are we called to give birth to in our later years? We need guidance.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

Spirit and truth
By Father Aaron Williams
The liturgical celebration of Good Friday is one with a very interesting history. I remember being told when I was younger that the simplicity of the Good Friday service was a window into how the Mass looked on any day in the ancient church. But, a careful study of history shows a much more interesting story.

As far back as St. Ambrose and St. Augustine, we have records which show that the ancient church used to not celebrate any liturgy on Good Friday at all. Instead, a single liturgy was offered beginning at sundown on Holy Saturday and lasting until dawn, and within this one celebration was marked both the Passion and the Resurrection of Christ (interestingly enough denoted by a shift in vestment color during the service from violet to white). I will address the matter of the Holy Saturday Mass in a future column, but suffice it to say that there was no Good Friday service early in the church because the entire mystery was celebrated in a single service on Saturday night.
By the end of the fifth century, you see a movement to begin offering a service on Good Friday, but with an emphasis on this service not being a Mass. Instead, it was designed as a service of scripture readings and psalms which concluded with the adoration of a cross. Eventually by around the seventh century, it became common for a particle of the Sacred Host from the night before to be reserved and received by the Priest alone at the Good Friday service. The particle would be received with unconsecrated wine to further underscore that what was happening was not a Mass.
The medieval church gave this service the title “Mass of the Pre-Sanctified,” which was a borrowed title from the Eastern Church which celebrates all through Lent the “Liturgy of the Pre-Sanctified Gifts,” which is essentially a Mass without a consecration where the priest receives communion from the reserved Sacrament.
The structure of this service was as follows. The priest entered wearing a black mourning chasuble. Interestingly enough, the deacons also wore chasubles for this service, but with a deacon stole. The priest and ministers prostrated themselves in silence and then, after saying a prayer, were seated for the reading of lessons. At the time of the Gospel, the deacon would remove his chasuble and read the Passion narrative from St. John wearing only a stole. When this was finished, the priest would change into black cope and go to the altar where he offered the solemn intercessions — similar to the intercessions in today’s Good Friday liturgy where each intercession is preceded by a period of kneeling for silent prayer. When this is completed, he changed back into chasuble and the cross is brought forward and adored. Afterwards, the priest and deacon went to the Sepulchre — the altar of repose from the previous night — and with solemn festival, the ministers brought the Sacrament back into the church to be placed on the altar. Incense was used and bells were rung as a prelude to the Resurrection. The priest incensed the Sacrament and the altar while kneeling. Then, plain wine was poured into his chalice and he received the Host with the plain wine. Afterwards all departed.
This service remained essentially unchanged until 1955 when the reforms of Pope Pius XII were instituted. At this point, a rubric was given that enough hosts were to be consecrated the night before so that the faithful may receive communion on Good Friday as well. The name of the service was changed to “The Solemn Liturgical Action of the Preparation Day” — a reference to the Jewish term for Friday as a preparation for the Sabbath. The structure of the service remained similar, but the procession with incense was omitted and the deacons wore black dalmatics. The Passion Reading was also shortened to remove the Last Supper, and the burial of Christ.
The Roman Missal of 1970 left the liturgy of Good Friday essentially untouched from its 1955 form. The only changes were aesthetic: the ministers wear red instead of black vestments, and the liturgy is now called “The Solemn Commemoration of the Lord’s Passion.”
What we can learn from this history is that the church, for centuries, has been intentional about making the Good Friday service simple and lacking any sort of ornamentation or “bells and whistles.” The rubrics in the Missal denote that the use of instruments is forbidden on Good Friday, and that all singing is to be done a cappella. The use of simple songs with refrains are much preferred to more difficult works or ‘solo-pieces.’ The liturgy should be intentionally stark — to underscore the emptiness the church feels at the death of Christ, reminding us of the separation we had from God due to original sin.
Parishes should try to avoid any sort of emotionalism. A lot of places today like to turn Good Friday into a praise and worship concert with light effects and loud music, but this doesn’t do justice to the church’s vision for Good Friday. We are meant to feel the difference between what happens on Good Friday and what normally happens at Mass. Here, simplicity is key. The more elaborate ideas can be left for Easter.

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

THINGS OLD AND NEW
By Ruth Powers
Right now there is a debate going on in some quarters in the church regarding whether or not there is such a thing as a vocation to the single life, in addition to the unquestioned vocations to ordained, married, or vowed religious life. Part of the reason for the debate is that, unlike the other vocations, there is a great diversity of reasons why people are single, therefore it is difficult to make statements about what “being single” means.

We are all single for some part of our lives. We marry or enter priesthood or religious life after some period of living as a single person. We may become single again due to divorce or the death of a spouse. We may actively choose not to marry for a wide variety of reasons. Better theological minds than mine are grappling with this question, and I will leave it to them. However, I would like to propose a shift in the way we look at vocation for single people that makes it plain that it is not a second class state of life, but rather it is an opportunity to live out the vocation given to all of us at our Baptism, no matter who we are.
In Lumen Gentium, one of the primary documents of the Second Vatican Council, the fathers of the Council wrote of the universal vocation of all Christians, the call to holiness. They wrote, “Thus it is evident to everyone, that all the faithful of Christ of whatever rank or status, are called to the fullness of the Christian life and to the perfection of charity; by this holiness as such a more human manner of living is promoted in this earthly society. In order that the faithful may reach this perfection, they must use their strength accordingly as they have received it, as a gift from Christ. They must follow in His footsteps and conform themselves to His image seeking the will of the Father in all things. They must devote themselves with all their being to the glory of God and the service of their neighbor. In this way, the holiness of the People of God will grow into an abundant harvest of good, as is admirably shown by the life of so many saints in church history.” In other words, we are all called to be holy by following the teachings of Christ and through service to others. The single person is just as capable of living this call as is the married person, the priest, or the person who has taken religious vows.
Whether a person is single by choice or by chance does not change the fact that we are still made for love, self-gift and service. There are many ways that the single person can be true to this call. First of all, it does not require religious life to develop a relationship with God; and depending on the individual situation, the single person may have more time to develop a relationship with God because as St. Paul says, it is a time where you can give your “undivided attention to the Lord” (1 Corinthians 7:35) by reading, studying and prayer. Live your whole life with passion and purpose as an offering to God for the gifts you have been given rather than actively seeking something to make you happy, and you may find that happiness will sneak up on you. The single person has the time and opportunity to develop many friendships if he or she wishes to, and in these loving friendships they can help others live more faithful lives as well. As it says in Hebrews 10:24-25, “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together … but let us encourage one another.” Finally, the single person has the freedom to devote time to service, and finding an area of service that one is passionate about can often be another avenue to a happy and fulfilled life.
With this said, the church also has a responsibility to her single members, who all too often get overlooked. In Familiaris Consortio, St. John Paul II wrote that those without a family must be able to find their family within the church. The Catechism of the Catholic Church, in paragraph 1658 also speaks to the church’s role in serving its single members: “We must also remember the great number of single persons who, because of the particular circumstances in which they live – often not of their choosing – are especially close to Jesus’ heart and therefore deserve the special affection and active solicitude of the church, especially of pastors. … Some live their situation in the spirit of the Beatitudes, serving God and neighbor in exemplary fashion. The doors of homes, the ‘domestic churches’ and of the great family which is the church must be open to all of them.” As a church which calls itself the People of God, we have the responsibility both as a group and as individuals to work to make sure that all are included and no one suffers loneliness needlessly.
Single people have an important though sometimes unrecognized role (sometimes even unrecognized even by themselves) in the Body of Christ. They have a unique opportunity to live out their baptismal call to holiness and service, and we as the church have a responsibility to include and support them.

(Ruth is the Program Coordinator for St. Mary Basilica Parish in Natchez.)