A Method for Praying the Eucharistic Prayer: the Outline

Corpus-Christi-Holy-Quotes-Sayings-Wallpapers-Messages-SMS-3The Eucharist and the liturgy are together the very heart of Catholic spirituality.  The Eucharistic Prayer is the liturgical prayer designed to help us enter into the Eucharist.  Very few of the words are technically required (“this is my Body, this is my Blood” would confect the sacrament), but the prayers are there so that we can enter in.

Entering in is no small thing.  The sacrament makes Christ present no matter what we do.  But it is only good for us to the extent that we let him into our hearts.  Let us try to enter more deeply into the Eucharist.  Let us better pray the liturgical prayers the Church gives us to do that.

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Part of the challenge of praying the Eucharistic Prayer is that there are so many words – we can lose the forest for the trees.  We need to remind ourselves what each of those prayers is about.

One way we can do that is by adding our own very short little summary prayers.  While the priest says his many words, we can silently say a few, helping to guide our attention into his prayers.  In other words, we can create an outline: we can look at the big headings to remind us what all the more minute details are talking about.

(Here I will focus on Eucharistic Prayers II and III, the ones you most often hear.  But they are, in fact, based on the outline of Eucharistic Prayer I.  Everything I say here applies to that prayer too, and to any other more exotic prayers your priest might choose – though longer prayers like Eucharistic Prayer I include some other elements as well.)

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The main four moments of the Eucharistic prayer are the epiclesis, the institution narrative, the anamnesis, and the doxology.

The epiclesis is when the priest puts his hands over the gifts and invokes the Holy Spirit.  We can help ourselves enter in by silently praying, “Come, Holy Spirit.”  (I’ll give you Latin too: Veni Sancte Spiritus.)

Eucharistic Prayer III leads up to the epiclesis by saying, “by the power and working of the Holy Spirit,you give life to all things and make them holy, and you never cease to gather a people to yourself.”  Already we can be praying, “Come Holy Spirit.”

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Then comes the Institution Narrative, the story of the Last Supper.  When the priest has said, “this is my body,” it’s traditional to say “My Lord and my God” (Dominus meus et Deus meus).  You can enter into the prayer a little more by saying, “Body of the Lord, bread of life” (corpus Domini, panis vitae).

When the priest says “this is my blood,” you can enter into the rich words of Jesus that he repeats by saying, “Blood of the Lord, chalice of the covenant” (sanguis Domini, calix testamenti).

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Immediately after we sing “the mystery of faith,” the priest says a very important but neglected prayer, the anamnesis.  “As we celebrate the memorial . . . we offer you this holy and living sacrifice.”  He lays the Body and Blood on the altar and says, essentially, “this is the sacrifice we offer.”  You can remind yourself of this by saying, “Our sacrifice” or “Our offering” (oblatio nostra), or “for you, o Lord” (tibi Domine).

And at the end, he prays, “through him, with him, in him,” the doxology.  This is another sacrifice prayer: it says that we use the Eucharist to give “glory and honor” to the Father.  You can say, “Glory to you, Father” (Gloria tibi Pater).

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Between the anamnesis and the doxology are several especially underappreciated prayers.  They are less important than the four big ones (epiclesis, institution, anamnesis, doxology).  But they are important: they are the central petitions the Church makes, the ones she lays on the altar of the Eucharist.

They are petitions about the Church.  They remind us that the Church comes from the Eucharist; the Eucharist builds the Church.  There’s lots of silly things people say about the Eucharist and community, but this is the real substance of how the Eucharist builds the Church – the Body of Christ builds the Body of Christ.

These are in different order depending which Prayer the priest chooses.  You will have to pay a little attention to figure out which one is being prayed.  But you can do it – especially if you know what you’re listening for.

One set of prayers is about the Church in this world.  You can remind yourself how all these prayers are tied together by calling to mind, “the Church in the world” (Ecclesia in mundo).

Another set is about “our departed brothers and sisters” who are still awaiting “kind admittance to your kingdom.”  Here we recall, “the Church in purgatory” (Ecclesia in purgatorio).

And the third set asks “that we may obtain an inheritance with your elect, especially with the most Blessed Virgin Mary . . . and with all the saints.”  We recall “the Church in heaven” (Ecclesia in caelo).

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These short little prayers can help us keep track of what’s going on in the Eucharistic Prayer, and so enter into that prayer.  And by entering into the prayer, we can more spiritually enter into the Eucharist, the Body of Christ.

How do you pray the Mass?  How could you do it better?

 

Summary

Come Holy Spirit (Veni Sancte Spiritus)

Body of the Lord, bread of life (corpus Domini, panis vitae)

Blood of the Lord, chalice of the covenant (sanguis Domini, calix testamenti)

Our sacrifice or offering (oblatio nostra) or, for you o Lord (tibi Domine)

Glory to you Father (gloria tibi Pater)

 

Once you have those, you can add the three petitions:

The Church in the world (Ecclesia in mundo)

The Church in purgatory (Ecclesia in purgatorio)

The Church in heaven (Ecclesia in caelo)

 

On Not-so-Good Music

Graduale_Aboense_2Everyone seems to be confused about the liturgy these days.

Con-fused literally means fused together; to be confused is to mix up things that are not the same.  The classic image is throwing out the baby with the bath water.  It is confusion because you don’t realize that the baby is something very different from the bath water.  It is a problem because bath water needs to be thrown out, and babies need to not be thrown out.

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You probably recognize “liberal” confusions with the liturgy—though sometimes we do well to state the obvious.

Some people think that if liturgy “accommodates” us by being in our language, it should accommodate us by changing the message spoken in that language—by replacing the Gospel of Jesus Christ with something more modern.  But those are not the same things.  In fact, they are opposite things: the liturgy is translated so that we can hear the original Gospel, not so that we can replace it.

Some people think if the liturgy changes at all, then everything should change.  But there are things that can change and things that can’t change.  That Christ is Lord, that he comes to us in the Eucharist, that he speaks to us in Scripture, that we fully find him only in the Church: these things don’t change.  What reading we read on which day, what language it is in, etc., have always varied, through time and place.

Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.  These are different kinds of change, different things.

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But “conservatives” are often confused about liturgy too.  Today the liturgy is often banal; therefore, many say, the way to be sacred is to go back to the Tridentine Missal.  This confuses all sorts of issues.

Granted that modern liturgy is often very bad – I grant that – what about it is bad?  Is it that it’s in the vernacular?  That some of the the prayers have changed?  What precisely is the problem?

Here’s my thesis: the real problem has nothing to do with the Vatican II Missal, nothing to do with English, nothing to do with a whole lot of things that people confuse.  The central problem (as St. Pius X pointed out at the beginning of his pontificate, over a hundred years ago) is bad music.

I could say things about the texts of our hymns.  But here, that’s not my point.  I mean the music, the tunes.

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To understand this problem, first consider the tone in which you say something, and how much it affects what you’re saying.  “I?  Love you?”  “[Well] I love you.”  “[Sigh, mumble] I love you.”  “I love you!!!”  “I love you!!”

“[Little] Lamb of God [isn’t he cute?], you take away the sins of the world!”  “[Bleeding, sacrificial: raise your eyebrows] Lamb of God, you take away the SINS of the [evil] world.”  “[Bored mumble:] Lamb of God . . .” etc.

“Lo-ord have mercy!”

The way you say something has an awful lot to do with what the words mean.  That’s the biggest reason music really matters.

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A very little theory.  Modern music is almost exclusively in what we call “major” and “minor” keys.   Major keys are – take my word on this – rooted in mathematics.  They sound pleasant because in fact they resonate with themselves – we’re talking the wave lengths of vibrations.  Dissonance sounds harsh not just because of culture, but because the waves that carry sound are jarring against one another.  Major keys sound nice because they are nice.  It resolves to something genuinely peaceful.  This is physics, and the musicians of the ancient world knew it.

Minor keys are more complicated – and thus a little more jarring – but fundamentally mimic major keys.

Here’s the interesting thing: until the modern period, almost every major musical system, worldwide, explicitly banned these simple, pleasant keys precisely because they’re so pleasant, such easy listening.  They lull you to sleep, make you feel too comfortable, don’t stimulate you or make you think.

The theory of Gregorian chant is complicated, but, seriously, here’s the most basic rule: you’re never allowed to sing in major or minor keys.  The music is supposed to be more challenging, more stimulating than that.

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Now, the issue is complicated because in the early modern period, musical geniuses like Bach started doing really complicated things: counterpoint, harmonization, and lots of key changes and chromaticism.  Because the music was so complicated, they resorted to the simple keys: major and minor.  But they only used those keys because they were doing such complicated things with them.

Notice, in the small print of your hymnal, how many traditional hymns are “harmonized” by people like J.S. Bach and Isaac Watts.  Traditional hymnody can be in major keys because there’s really complicated stuff going on; these hymns teeter on the edge of over-simplicity, but guys like Bach could save it, through rich harmony.  (This might explain why African music and African-American spirituals are rich, but dumbed-down white versions are not: serious harmony.)

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The biggest problem in liturgy today is that we sing our Psalms at Mass, and all of our hymns, in musical keys that lull us to sleep, pat us on the head, tell us to be comfortable and complacent at just the moments we ought to be called out of ourselves into the mysteries of faith.  There are plenty of problems with our texts, but first of all, musically, we are putting our souls to sleep.

Jesus is just our cuddly little lamb.

Fix this one problem – first, by singing the Psalms in serious tones, then by reintroducing serious hymns, whether the old major-key ones with serious harmonization, or even by setting your favorite texts to old Gregorian tunes (any halfway serious church musician knows how to do this) – and you have solved the banality of the modern liturgy, without getting into Latin, the Tridentine rite, bad lighting, girl altar boys, ad orientem, or any of the host of issues that get confused in most conversations about the Mass.

Listen to the Psalm tone next Sunday.  Does it urge you to meditate on the mysteries of God – or just make you feel comfortable and complacent?

The Psalms on Worship

King David, Westminster Psalter

King David, Westminster Psalter

Our Psalm 26 next turns us from moral concerns to worship – and thus takes us to the heart of the Psalms.

The move already began in the section we considered last week.

I do not sit with the fraudulent

I hate the coming together of those who do evil

And I do not sit with the impious.

In Hebrew, “those who do evil” is “those who spoil things,” whereas “the impious” is a rhyming but unrelated word that means those who are just plain wicked. The Greek of the Septuagint, however, translates that wickedness as “impiety”: to be just plain wicked, rather than a ruiner of things, points more deeply, to one’s relation with God. The deeper problem is not just what we do, and what we ruin, but who we are, and how we relate to the Ultimate.

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The next strophe addresses worship more directly:

I wash my hands in innocency

And I circle round your altar, o Lord

This is the verse the priest used to begin with as he washed his hands before offering the Eucharist, though in the reformed Mass he says only a loose paraphrase. From a glance at several other ancient rites of the Mass, it looks like those who do not use this Psalm do not wash their hands at all. In other words, the priest washes his hands because it goes with this Psalm.

It’s a nice image. We want to be prepared for worship. Jesus gives a parallel image when he talks about wearing wedding garments at a wedding feast. It’s simply a matter of fittingness. It is only right that we come to the altar “clean,” prepared, made right.

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We could go a step deeper and say this kind of preparation is itself an essential part of our worship.

There is a parallel between the two verses we put above: “I wash my hands,” “I circle round your altar.” Worship is something we do. The “circling round” is itself worship, the person actively “entering in” (here, literally) to the praise of God.

Similarly, washing his hands is not just preparatory to worship. It’s part of worship, part of proclaiming who God is and how we stand in relation to him.

And we wash our hands “in innocency.” It is part of worship, to be sure, to include our bodies: to walk around, physically wash our hands, stand, kneel, turn to the altar, lift up our hands and voices, etc. Our bodies are part of us, and so they are part of our prayer.

But even more, our hearts are our inmost selves, and so as we lift up our hands and voices, we above all lift up our hearts. We truly lift up ourselves in praise of God.

And so we not only wash our hands in water, but in innocency. We offer our souls in worship. And central to offering our souls is our moral state.

The point of all this is that, in the Psalms, morality and worship are not two separate things. “I will wash my hands in innocency, and circle round your altar” means that my whole life enters into worship.

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The Psalms root us firmly in the imagery of the Temple in Jerusalem. Going “round the altar” bespeaks the pride of the people of Israel in the house of God. It was somewhere you went with joy, somewhere you longed for, “the glory of Jerusalem, the joy of Israel, the fairest honor of our race.” (The phrase will later go to Mary, but Mary and Jesus are prefigured in the Temple.)

Worship is joy. The only thing more wonderful than getting ready to go to the Temple (washing our hands) is going to the Temple itself (circling the altar). Or: washing their hands as they entered the Temple was a time of great joy.

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The question is sometimes posed whether worship is “for God” or “for us.” When people say, “worship is for God, not for us,” I think they are trying to make the point that worship means nothing if it is not focused on God.

But worship is for us. It is good for us to look to the Lord. It is good for us to enter in, liturgically (through ritual washings) and morally (through washing in innocency). This is our highest fulfillment.

One of the greatest glories of the Psalms is making vivid for us the goodness of worship. Indeed, the Psalms themselves manifest the point: by talking of all of life, but in the context of praise.

Are there parts of our life that would make more sense by thinking of them as on the way to worship?