"The Most Famous of All Early Christian Martyrs"

St. Laurence of Rome, Deacon & Martyr

(225 - 258)

Whether or not St. Laurence merits the title above, attributed to English writer on the saints, Sybil Harton, is anybody's guess. And does it really matter? He is, however, said to be the patron of Rome, of the poor, and of cooks.

What is for sure is that 3rd century deacon and martyr, Laurence, is certainly among the most honored and venerated of the early saints. He served as one of the seven deacons of Rome, under Pope Sixtus II, and, in fact, was the overseer of the deacons: the archdeacon. When Emperor Valerian initiated his persecution against the Christians, he singled out the clergy for early arrest, trial, and execution. Sixtus II, with whom Laurence worked closely, went to his death promising that Laurence would follow within three days. Laurence hurriedly gathered the Church's treasures, sold them and distributed the proceeds among the poor, the blind, the lame, the needy, and the disabled. The greedy magistrate, hoping for a cut of the Church's wealth, arranged a meeting with Laurence and gave him three days to deliver the "goods", which he did, only the "goods" turned out to be all these unfortunate people to whom Laurence had ministered. "These" he said, "are the treasure of the Church." Needless to say, the magistrate wasn't amused by this young 33 year old cleric. Laurence wasn't rattled, for he'd already made it clear that he was ready to die. The magistrate promised him a particularly slow death: "by inches", as he said.

Thus came to be the famous iron grate on which Laurence was fastened then placed to broil over burning embers. Some of the great Western Christian writers, Augustine, Ambrose and Prudentius among them, attest that Laurence's fervent love of Christ somehow got him through such a barbaric martyrdom. According to their recollections, Laurence quipped with those executing him: "Don't you see that my flesh is roasted enough on one side? You can turn me over now." Pretty gutsy! So impressed were some of the bystanders, including some Roman senators, that they converted rather immediately to the Christian faith. (I seriously can't imagine even this having the same impact on certain U.S. senators today - sorry!)

The Collect for St. Laurence's feast speaks of him serving God "with deeds of love", and asks that we be motivated by his example in "defending and supporting the poor, and by loving You with all our hearts" -- and that goes for senators too!

Holy Eucharist: the Center of Christian Worship Life

In John's Gospel Jesus confirms that the "work of God", for his followers, is "to believe in Him" whom the Father sent to humankind. John 6:36 seems to demonstrate that Jesus' hearers don't "buy" this Bread of Life talk, even though they've seen Jesus at work. But, then, neither have they accepted the Father's feeding them (by way of their desert ancestors) through God's many signs and deeds for their people.

Central to understanding why this is so and, indeed, central to understanding the sixth chapter of John, as well as the Eucharist, is Psalm 78 which is the alternative RCL liturgical psalm for Proper 13, Year B. Vv. 24-25 reads: "God rained down manna upon them to eat and gave them grain from

heaven...God provided for them food enough." Exodus 16:2, also an RCL alternative for the first reading last week, says "the whole congregation of the people of Israel murmured against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness..." -- both before and after this feeding, we might add. The Hebrew for "murmur" = "to dig in; to be obsinate; to complain all night". In v. 41 John says that "the Jews then murmured at" Jesus. John uses the Greek gogguzo = "to grumble". In both cases people complain and grumble because they lack the openness and risk of faith necessary to enable them to see what God/Jesus are really doing: namely, giving them life-giving food far beyond their desire for satisfaction of mere physical hunger.

God's feeding with the manna and quail was only an outward sign of the deeper reality of God's constant care and provision for God's chosen people. The manna, as Exodus notes, quickly melted. The people who ate it, the Jews' forebears, still died, as Jesus reminds them. But God's feeding of the people, God's enduring care and mercy and love go on endlessly: and that's the real sustenance, the real "bread" from heaven. So also in John's account in Chapter 6: Jesus is trying to help them see a reality beyond the carpenter's son from Nazareth, a reality beyond fleshly food which can sustain but temporarily. The two key phrases, in the Exodus story about the manna expressed in Psalm 78, and in John 6:31, are "from heaven" and "to eat".

Article 25 of the Articles of Religion (Book of Common Prayer, p. 872) says: "Sacraments ordained of Christ be not only badges or tokens of Christian men's profession, but rather they be certain sure witnesses, and effectual signs of grace, and God's good will toward us, by the which he doth work invisibly in us, and doth not only quicken, but also strengthen and confirm our faith in him." So, the Eucharist is not only a "badge/token" or sign, though it is that. It's also a "sure witness", an "effectual sign": a sign corresponding with the reality of God present in us, at work in us expanding our faith, our capacity to set our hearts on God.

What Jesus focuses on in the Gospel and what we need to hear in regard to the Eucharist is that Jesus, in his Person, reveals to us who and what God is. That was what the followers were truly hungry for. It's what our real hunger is for today: the reality of Godself. The round Eucharistic bread wherein Christ is present to us and which we see before us is a sort of "window in the wall", to borrow a beautifully descriptive phrase from the late Monsignor Ronald Knox, through which Jesus reveals to us the reality of the Father: a window which gives us access to a spiritual world incredibly beyond our human imagination and experience.

Jesus is, indeed, "from heaven". He speaks of himself as One sent from God. He himself is the Father's gift of sustenance for time and for eternity. All people are invited to come to the Father through Jesus in faith. Belief, setting one's heart on God, involves a mystery known only to God; but no one who come to Jesus is ever rejected. The ability to "come", to believe, is God's gift, not a human accomplishment. Through it a person shares eternal life even now and, ultimately, attains it forever in being raised up.

It's no easier to accept this through seeing the Eucharistic bread over which we pray Jesus' words of institution than it was for those free-loaders in Jesus' time to accept it through seeing a man whose origin and roots were in their own God-forsaken village, Nazareth. "How can this be?? This someone (-thing) we're familiar with -- we know. How dare he say that it's 'from heaven'?"

Jesus' response, for them and for us, is: "Don't murmur. Question, but don't grumble in disbelief." Ultimately, we either choose to take Jesus at his word, or we refuse. He simply repeats: the one who comes to me, drawn by my Father,

"I will raise him up at the last day...he who believes has eternal life."

The last part of John's Gospel appointed for today, Proper 14, Year B, explains the phrase (from v. 31), "to eat". Originally, "bread to eat" referred to the manna in the Exodus. Jesus now contrasts that physical, perishable and passing food with a different kind of food: "the bread of life", "the bread which comes down from heaven", bread, which when you eat it, you don't die. Jesus says that he himself is this "living bread".

By implication in all which goes before this passage, a person who comes to Jesus in faith begins to know who and what God the Father is. And as one has this experience, a continuous one, she/he gradually realizes that her/his life is being sustained and completed. This isn't just a passing condition or a fad, if one commits to continuous growth, but is permanent: one begins to "live forever", to experience "eternal life". Finally, on Jesus' assurance, this becomes possible not only for the individual, but for "the world": "...the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh." And that is "Eucharist", from the Greek meaning thanksgiving.

The Lima Statement on Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry, drafted in Peru in 1982 by over 100 theologians from all the major churches, speaks of the Eucharist as "Thanksgiving to the Father". In the Eucharist, the statement says, "God himself acts, giving life to the body of Christ and renewing each member. In accordance with Christ's promise, each baptized member of the body of Christ receives in the eucharist...the pledge of eternal life." That life comes to us through a sign: the sign of bread which sustains. While we let the sign itself, the sacrament, speak to us in all its richness of meaning, we can never allow ourselves to be so caught up with the sign that we become casual about the immense reality behind the sign, namely, the reality of Jesus the Christ, God's Son.

There's a Broadway lyric, a prelude to a song in The Sound of Music, I believe, which says: "A song is no song till you sing it; a bell is no bell till you ring it; and love in your heart wasn't put there to stay: love isn't love till you give it away." Through humble signs of bread and wine in the Eucharist, our gracious God "gives away" God's enduring love to you and me in Body and Blood of Jesus our Savior.

God's Dog

"It seems peculiar that in the case of Saint Dominic—a man who became world-famous for his words from the pulpit and his teaching—no written word of his own survives except for two purely formal letters and one letter of exhortation to the Dominican nuns in Madrid. From dozens of other sources, however, information about Dominic is copious, to the point that we can actually ascertain almost his exact location on almost any given day of his adult life." (Fr. John Julian, OJN, Stars in a Dark World)

There is a legend that before the birth of Domingo de Guzmán (or de Osma), between 1173 and 1175, his mother dreamed that a dog leapt from her womb carrying a torch in its mouth, and "seemed to set the earth on fire." In all likelihood this story was perpetuated after St. Dominic initiated his Order of Preachers, also known as "Dominicans" (Latin: "Dominicanes", "Domini" + "canes" = "the Lord's hounds/dogs").

Who of us from the 1960's era could forget the popular Belgian song,"Dominique", sung in French by guitar-strumming "Soeur Sourire" ("Sister Smile") -- in real life a Dominican nun, Sister Luc-Gabrielle -- also known as "The Singing Nun". It literally took the nations of Belgium, France and the United States by storm! Noel Regney wrote the English version of this simple ditty about Dominic, Spanish-born priest and founder of a rapidly growing order of friars and nuns. The song reached and stayed at #1 on both the U.S. pop chart and "easy listening chart" for four weeks in December, 1963. It was the second foreign language song to hit #1 during 1963, the other being "Sukiyaki" by Kyu Sakamoto. To this day "Dominique" is still the only Belgian number one hit single in the American Billboard charts.

"Dominique" is remembered chiefly for its refrain, and for its frequent repetition after each verse:

French:

"Dominique -nique -nique s'en allait tout simplement,
Routier, pauvre et chantant.
En tous chemins, en tous lieux,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu"

English:
"Dominic, nic, nic, over the land he plods
And sings a little song
Never asking for reward
He just talks about the Lord
He just talks about the Lord"

The song goes on to recount a few of Dominic's exploits as he travelled in southern France, trying to refute the Cathar and Albigensian heresies which threatened the Catholic faith. A miracle attributed to Dominic is related and the song ends with a simple prayer to St. Dominic:

"At a time when Johnny Lackland
Over England was the King
Dominic was in the backland
Fighting sin like anything

Now a heretic, one day,
Among the thorns forced him to crawl
Dominique with just one prayer
Made him hear the good Lord's call

Without horse or fancy wagon
He crossed Europe up and down
Poverty was his companion
As he walked from town to town

To bring back the straying liars
And the lost sheep to the fold
He brought forth the Preaching Friars
Heaven's soldiers, brave and bold

One day, in the budding Order
There was nothing left to eat
Suddenly two angels walked in
With a loaf of bread and meat

Dominic once, in his slumber,
Saw the Virgin's coat unfurled
Over Friars without number
Preaching all around the world

Grant us now, oh Dominic,
The grace of love and simple mirth
That we all may help to quicken
Godly life and truth on earth"

The popularity of "Dominique" endured well beyond the 1960's, in a surprising number of forms. It was used in the 1990 film Mermaids, starring Cher. The Cuban artist La Lupe, and the Mexican artist Angelica Maria recorded Spanish language versions of the song. The Brazilian singer Giane recorded a Brazilian Portuguese version. Even Spike Jones recorded a version in which he first gave it a jazz-like interpretation, with trumpet and banjo, then melded it with "When the Saints Go Marching In", giving the song an entirely different sound. Sandler and Young revived the song in late 1966, a version which appeared on the Billboard easy listening chart. The performance was a medley including other religious-themed songs including "Deep River" and "Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen". The song was referenced in The Simpsons episode "Bart's Friend Falls in Love" (1992), where Milhouse van Houten visits his girlfriend in an all-girls convent school. A nun playing guitar and singing "Dominique" passes along, followed by several equally happy little girls. The musician Poe used a sample of the song in her album Haunted, on the track "House of Leaves". Debbie Reynolds starred in The Singing Nun movie which has an English version of this song. Finally, in 2009, the song was used in the third series premiere of British teen drama Skins.

I suspect that St. Dominic might have been quite pleased at the enduring influence of this song in his honor! The simplicity of the message of "Dominique" has obviously struck a chord in the hearts of many folks over the past almost 50 years. Today's Collect for the feast of St. Dominic speaks of his perception of "a famine of hearing the word of the Lord", moving him and his companions "to satisfy that hunger with sound preaching and fervent devotion..." It implores the "God of the prophets" to "make your Church...in this and every age, attentive to the hungers of the world, and quick to respond in love" to those craving for that true love found only in the Word which inspired Dominic's life: Jesus Himself, the Word of God.

The Hymn Writer Who Counted "Only the Sunny Hours"

John Mason Neale, Priest

(1818 - 1866)

Grey, old, ivy and vine-covered Sackville College, East Grinstead, was an ancient refuge for some 30 poor and aging persons in 1846 when John Mason Neale was appointed as warden there. A sundial on the gate bore the words: "I count only the sunny hours." Though he lived only 48 short years, John Mason Neale accomplished far more than most of us do in longer lifetimes. A quiet, gentle man, Neale radiated an inner serenity which few could understand or explain, especially since the surrounding atmosphere throughout most of his priesthood was anything but serene and peaceful. Founder of the Sisterhood of St. Margaret in 1856, which ministered to the poor and to children and is still in existence, he once made this comment: "There is nothing I should dread more than that unreal, melancholy way of going on which one sometimes sees among those who are in earnest in serving God: as if it were impossible to be holy without ceasing to be natural, as if to be earnest in self-devotion was necessarily to become dismal. On the contrary, remember that cheerfulness, that the capacity of being amused and amusing, nay more, that high spirits are a gift from God."

Born as a P.K. ["Priest's Kid"] in 1818, his father was an evangelical and his mother, a strict Calvinist. His father died when he was five, and so his training was rather exclusively in the Calvinist tradition. Neale later won a scholarship at Cambridge University where an amazing and unexpected new door was opened for him: the catholic revival. The Oxford Movement had begun with John Keble's "National Apostasy" sermon at St. Mary's, Oxford, in July, 1833. The "catholic" movement was promoted by such greats as John Henry Newman, later a Roman Catholic cardinal, and Edward Bouverie Pusey, among many others. Neale never became well-known. Introduced to the catholic revival at Cambridge, his was an inner, more personal transformation. Fr. William H. Baar observes: "Here was a faith quite new to him. It was objective and mysterious at the same time, morally demanding, and the creed of saints, and yet it was kind, warm, and considerate of human weakness, including the struggling masses of all ages."

From the time of his introduction to the catholic movement, Neale blossomed into an extraordinary scholar and quiet personality. He was ordained deacon in 1841 and priested in 1842. The following year he married Sarah Norman Webster, who also shared his catholic leanings, and together they raised five children. As mentioned above, he became warden at Sackville College in 1846 and did almost all his scholarly work here.

His daughter later wrote a tribute to her father which gives a hint of the extraordinary scope of his activities: "In conjunction with others, he was the first to attempt a revival of church architecture; he was personally and singly the first to attempt a revival of English hymnody; he was the first of the present generation to call attention to the Eastern Chuch; he was the first to revive the notion of sisterhoods. Now it is past doubt, even by the confession of foes, that these are four points absolutely won and incorporated into the current policy of the Church of England...We ought to place on record his slowness to take offense, his patience of contradiction, his easy generosity of mind."

There were many who resented not only the Oxford Movement, but Neale's own liturgical reforms which at one point got him inhibited by a neighboring bishop. In 1856 the townsfolk had caused a riot and even personal violence against the Sisters and Neale at the funeral of one of the Sisters because of Neale's use of a small embroidered cross on the funeral pall. Nine years later, on the feast of St. Margaret, after these "angels of mercy" had won over the peoples' hearts through their faithful ministry, the same townsfolk insisted that a procession of clergy and nuns pass through their streets on the occasion of the laying of the foundation stone for a new convent, they themselves bearing banners and flowers!

We are most indebted to John Mason Neale for his hymn translations from Greek and Latin, among them: "All glory, laud, and honor"; "Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle"; "To Thee before the close of day"; and "O come, o come, Emmanuel". Memorable hymns include: "Good Christian men, rejoice"; "Good King Wenceslaus"; "A great and mighty wonder". Aside from his hymns, Neale wrote histories, sermons, catechetical texts, biblical commentaries, devotional books, doctrinal dissertations, poetical works -- even popular novels. It's said that he knew 22 languages which he used in his research.

John Mason Neale died on the feast of the Transfiguration, August 6, 1866. He had, indeed, counted many "sunny hours" in the service of his family, his community, his Church, and, indeed, of humanity.

Learning To Be Transfigured by Love

Wherever it is that you and I find ourselves at this moment -- wherever on this earth we call our island home, in whatever country or nation, whatever state, whatever village, town, or city, whatever family, whatever parish, if we have one, whatever community, whatever place of work or school, whatever relationship -- "it is good for us to be here." It's good because this is exactly where the Father shows you and me the Son, Jesus: through the creation around us,

through the social, political, economic, psychological, religious organisms/institutions/mechanisms which are the back-drop of our lives, through the specific characteristics and variations of our interrelationships, and even through all that we see amiss around us, including all our own and others' deficiencies, inabilities, handicaps, failings -- "the disquietude of this world", as today's Collect puts it.

At our best God reveals the Son to us in the sharing together of the Scriptures, in sacramental signs of inward and spiritual grace, and particularly in the Eucharist. "This is my Son, my Chosen..." And in this place, with these particular sisters and brothers, in the midst of the challenges facing us to proclaim, by word and example, Christ's Good News to those in this community, with these resources which we have, meager as they are at times, God bids us to "listen to Him!", to Jesus the Chosen One, the Beloved.

What does that mean to you and me: "listen to Him"? Where is God inviting you and me to go? What does God ask you and me to leave behind? How is God asking you and me to change or be changed by listening to Him? In other words, what does it mean for God, who transfigured Moses and Jesus, to transform/transfigure you and me through Christ?

Surely it must have to do primarily with love, which God is and which God has poured out upon us in Jesus, the Beloved, in the Resurrection/Ascension/Pentecost mystery. St. Bernard of Clairvaux, great 12th century Cistercian abbot, wrote magnificently about love. He says: "Of all our motivating relationships, love is the greatest, especially love that is returned to God."

That's the whole purpose of your life and mine: to love God with all the heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love the neighbor as oneself. Bernard says that there are two realities which should keep us growing in relationship with God, despite the awareness of personal sin and selfishness: 1) God emptied Godself in Christ, for love: the means. 2) God did this that we might become filled, identified, oned with Christ: the fruit. The first reality cultivates HOPE. The second reality cultivates LOVE. And both are necessary. St. Bernard: "Hope without love is like a prisoner marking off days on his calendar. Love that is not returned gradually diminishes."

"...let us love one another, because love is from God. Everyone who loves

is a child of God and knows God, but the unloving know nothing of God.

For God is love; and God's love was disclosed to us in this, that God

sent God's only Son into the world to bring us life...

If God thus loved us,...we in turn are bound to love one another...

Godself dwells in us if we love one another; God's love is brought to perfection within us..."

(1 John 4:7-9; 11-12)

But how are we to learn this -- how are we to be transfigured by Love? Bernard replies simply: "Let Christ teach you how to love him!"

The Gospel is our textbook as Christians for learning how to love, both God and one another. In the Gospel we learn by example, by how Jesus acted; and we learn by actually loving, by doing as Jesus did in relation to the Father and other people. St. Bernard again: "Love is the only activity of the soul that allows a creature to respond to its Creator."

In one of his 86 sermons on the Song of Songs, Bernard speaks tenderly of the mutual love between the soul and God who is Love:

"...You should understand that if your soul seeks God, God has sought it...

The desire [of the soul to love God] is the product of God's activity...

[The soul] loves because she is loved. Love prompts the search [for God]. The search proves love.

You will not seek until you are sought. When you are sought, you can't help searching...

The Word teaches this. When you believe it, you have been found...

Everything you need is in the Word..."

"This is my Son, my Chosen -- listen to him!"

Remembering the Curé d'Ars in the Year for Priests

I noticed that one of my devotional "friends" from seminary days, the good Curé d'Ars, St. Jean-Marie Vianney (1786-1859), whose feast is celebrated today, was a contemporary of another of my "friends": the founder of the Missionaries of the Precious Blood, St. Gaspar del Bufalo. Both were born in the same year, although Jean-Marie outlived Gaspar by 22 years. Not surprising, because Gaspar was pretty much of a "Type A" person, given to a lot of worrying and fretting, despite his superior holiness! Both had run-ins with the government which outlawed clergy in the time before Napoleon took over and was later exiled. Jean-Marie had actually been drafted into the army, but joined others as they went

AWOL, into hiding, for several years.

St. John Vianney was certainly more low-key than Gaspar had been. He came from peasant stock, was a sheepherder, was academically challenged to the point of failing his exams right up to ordination. He just never got the hang of Latin: a big problem, given that all the seminary lectures were in the "dead" language as well as the exams. Jean-Marie was only passed on because a couple of priest friends/mentors/advocates got him a private hearing before the examiners, so that he could respond in French. He made a passable showing, enough to get hands laid upon him finally, though it was with the restriction that he could not hear confessions. It took two years before that ban was removed. Ironically, once the good Curé began to hear confessions there was a deluge, for, like, 20 years, of people flocking to him to be reconciled to God: almost 30,000 a year, including some royalty, they say! Just goes to show what some of us seminarians always said: theological knowledge was, for sure, necessary, but highly overrated. As it turned out later, he was so successful in his ministry that he was made an honorary Canon of the Cathedral, though he refused the purple robes, sold them, and gave the money to the poor. He was also was awarded the decoration of a Knight of the Legion d'Honneur by the French government, another trinket which he promptly threw in a drawer and kept locked up. So much for dependence on academics alone! St. John Vianney did instinctively what Fr. Art LeClair once advised me to do when I was fretting over having to teach freshman and senior religion in Detroit in the '60's: he said, "Don't teach them -- love them."

Throughout his ministry in the godforsaken little village of Ars-en-Dombes, St. John was particularly mindful of the reality of Christ's presence in the Eucharist, mainly because he spent countless hours in adoration before the Blessed Sacrament, before daybreak or in the evening. During his homilies, he would often turn towards the tabernacle, saying with great emotion: "He is there!" For this reason, though he himself lived in complete poverty in his peasant quarters beside the church, he was generous in embellishing the little yellow parish church. His continuous example gradually led his parishioners to take up the habit of coming to pray before the Blessed Sacrament, discovering, through the conviction of their pastor, the grandeur of the mystery of faith.

Standing only five foot two and wearing thick glasses, Jean-Marie Vianney, however, was no plastic saint. He was personally very ascetic, possibly a little more than was wise. He ran a pretty tight parish ship, forbidding dancing, immodesty, swearing, and obscenity. At one point he exclaimed: "Queen Victoria rules in England, but I rule in Ars!"

And his people "bought" it because he was totally devoted to them and to their spiritual well-being. He helped transform their lives and brought them closer to Jesus. He is, or should be, the envy of every one of us ordained clergy!

It's fitting that in March, 2009, Benedict XVI declared a Year for Priests, holding up St. Jean-Marie Vianney, patron of parish priests, as the obvious model. It's my belief that whether we clergy are Roman Catholic or not this might be a good time for us to look at our own devotedness and service to the people entrusted to our spiritual care, re-evaluate our love of Christ in the Eucharist, and make any necessary changes accordingly. There's a little Year for Priests prayer card available at: www.catholicprayercards.org/catalog/item/4235164/7034821.htm. The picture of the good Curé on the front side leaves something to be desired, but a few fitting quotations from him on the flip side make for a good closing here:

"When we go before the

Blessed Sacrament let us open our heart;

our good God will open His.

We shall go to Him; He will come to us,

the one to ask, the other to receive.

It will be like a breath from One to the other."

"The priesthood is

the love of the heart of Jesus."

The Bread of Life Which We Knead & We Need

Many years ago, the artist, Corita Kent, wrote:

"We knead new bread

and we need new bread

and this can be said of the bread and of the word.

In trying to get hold of things mysterious

we try to invent something definite

and mystery can never be defined

or must always be redefined

or better yet

come at newly and indirectly

through stories and things around us..."

On the Sundays between July 26-August 23 the liturgy this year uses the 6th chapter of John's Gospel account: the longest chapter in his book. It's a discourse on bread, specifically bread which gives life and sustenance, with allusions to the Exodus experience in the Hebrew Scriptures and to Jesus, "the living bread".

Some vivid images come to mind as I think about bread. In major seminary Brother Eugene Bruggmann was the baker of weekly breads, pastries, cakes, and cookies for the whole community. Originally from Switzerland, we called him "Brother Eugen". His cookies were characteristically notoriously hard, almost as if they were stale, though they were far from that. His cookies gained particular fame as "Eugen cookies" after one wag among us actually nailed one of the cookies to the bulletin board in the basement! Nevertheless, the cookies and especially his bread and rolls were mouth-watering.

When I was a Trappist novice in Utah in 1960, one of our work tasks was to wrap bread for sale in the gift shop. Imagine the torture of doing that for a whole morning, having had a sparse breakfast! The bread was wonderful: whole-grained, fresh-baked and we were given ample portions of it in the refectory. Chapter 39 of St. Benedict's Rule says: "Let a good pound of bread suffice for each day, whether there be only one meal or both lunch and dinner..." In

combination with the good monastic coffee served, it was almost occasion enough to do continual penance for undue enjoyment!

Finally, my late good friend, Fr. Arthur Kreinheder, Lutheran monk and founder of St. Augustine's House in Oxford, MI provided happy memories of many dinners we shared together at St. Augustine's back in the '60's, at which he always served the most substantial and delicious bread.

The Gospel for today's liturgy, John 6:25-34, is situated in the second of four parts of John's Gospel, called the Book of Signs. It deals with Jesus' public ministry where, by sign and word, Jesus shows himself to his own people as the revelation of the Father, only to be ultimately rejected. In the Book of Signs Jesus alludes to the main Jewish feasts: Sabbath, Passover, Tabernacles and Dedication, and to how he is their fulfillment. This particular passage is in a section regarding Passover where Jesus makes available bread which replaces the manna of Exodus.

Throughout John's Gospel Jesus teaches by way of conversation with others, particularly with people who've missed the point of a question, action, or teaching. He leads them step-by-step from a human experience or situation to a deeper reality involving himself. In today's passage the people are amazed to find him and the disciples at Capernaum following the feeding of the 5000, and they want to know when he arrived. Their motive: they want more bread, and here's the wonder-worker who can provide it. Jesus begins a conversation about bread and advises that they direct their energy to getting imperishable, enduring food which the Son of Man will give them.

Sounding very much like typical "rugged American" church people, they want to know what "works" they should be doing to accomplish this. Jesus points out: "No works: just one work -- learning to set your heart on the One whom God has sent." On this One the Father has set his seal. For Hebrews, a seal authenticated commercial and political documents, and the rabbis had a saying: "The seal of God is truth." In fact the Talmud says that one day a small scroll fell from the firmament into the midst of the Jewish law experts in the synagogue, who were weeping, praying, and fasting. They opened the scroll and it contained one word: emeth = truth, spelled with three Hebrew consonants: aleph = 1st letter; mem = middle letter; and taw = last letter. Thus God's emeth is the beginning, the middle, and the end of life. Jesus directs the peoples' spiritual search to Himself as God's life-giving truth.

Apparently that wasn't good enough for them, because now they press him for a sign. It's understandable since the Hebrews were a people of sign, rooted in a long tradition of signs and wonders being performed. They proudly remind Jesus that Moses gave them a heavenly sign in the manna which fell in the desert during the Exodus. Jesus retorts:

"Hold on a minute -- it wasn't Moses who gave the sign: it was God." "My Father," Jesus says, "gives you the true bread from heaven, bread which gives people life." Well, this sounds like a pretty good deal, and they all shout out:

"Sir, give us this bread always." Identifying himself with God, Jesus responds to their cry of hunger, "I am the bread of life."

It's an effective teaching process which Jesus uses: guiding them from physical hunger, to the beginning of a spiritual search to satisfy their inner hunger, to reflection on their religious heritage, to the person of Jesus who is the true and life-giving Bread from the Father. John the Evangelist clearly makes his point: God always feeds God's people.

Bread is a powerful sign of God's meaning for us. The "bread of life" is God's word in Scripture as well as the Word of God himself in Sacrament. Jesus is the One who sustains us. We use bread in the Eucharist for the simple reason contained in Jesus' words: "Jesus took bread, and broke it, and gave it to his disciples." And when he had said, "This is my body, given for you", he added: "Do this in remembrance of me." A simple action/sign, but an incomprehensible reality. God in Christ is our life, sustaining us; present to our life, our sorrows, our joy. His presence is as real and as wonderful as the bread which Brother Eugene and the Trappists made, or which Fr. Arthur served. Perhaps realizing that we might have difficulty in believing it, that we might not trust in mere words, Jesus took bread and wine and made them the signs by which he becomes our life and our joy.

A story is told about Fr. Daniel Berrigan, great Jesuit priest and political activist. Tired from his ministry of witnessing to the madness of nuclear war, he and his friends once went on a picnic. They enjoyed each others' company and relaxed, then celebrated Eucharist together. Gathered in a circle around bread and a cup of wine, they read Jesus' words, then passed the elements around. Daniel prayed, "You grant us this much in a time of the breaking of hearts: the breaking of bread." Jesus says, "Unless the grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it bears fruit." The only way for bread to be produced is if wheat is planted and "dies" and grows. In Baptism we are planted, as it were, in Christ. But suffering and death are also inevitable, else we remain alone. In our willingness to die to ourselves, we become grain, bread, for one another. Bread is good and nourishing in itself, but before it can give life it needs to be chewed and consumed.

Corita Kent again: "The Holy Communion is the Creator's act through his people of binding the wounds and healing a broken humanity. Sometimes it is a party. Sometimes it is not. But participation in it signals your desire to take on hope..."