The Presence of Christ in the Gathered Assembly 9781472550149, 9780826419002, 9780826419019

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For my religious community the Felician Sisters in gratitude for being Eucharist and celebrating Eucharist with deep faith and commitment

FOREWORD

Judith Kubicki's theological work The Presence of Christ in the Gathered Assembly is an intelligent, clearly written study of a central belief of the Catholic people. She writes from within the perspective of the liturgical reform and renewal begun during the Second Vatican Council, with its emphasis on the manifold presence of Christ in every liturgical gathering. Her subject is a mystery of faith held firmly, if often inarticulately, by generations of Catholics. Like theologians before her, Kubicki has aimed to illumine for believers the mystery of Christ's manifold presence. Like theologians of earlier generations, she does her work by using the conceptual resources of contemporary culture and the liturgical experience of the worshipping community. Such efforts have shaped the long Catholic tradition of liturgical/sacramental theology. Kubicki enters into and expands that theological conversation by drawing on insights of postmodern thought that have bearing on the current and shifting liturgical practice of the Catholic Church. Catechetical leaders and teachers, bishops and pastors — everyone responsible for the faith formation of Catholics born since Vatican Council II — will find in this work a reliable account of the traditional Catholic theology of the real liturgical presence of Christ as it has been unfolding in recent decades. All serious readers who are also active worshippers will find themselves drawn further into the mystery, even as they recognize the intelligibility of what they do in worship. Spiritually curious nonbelievers will find in Kubicki's work an introduction to the intellectual horizon of postmodern Catholic belief and thought. —Mary Collins, O.S.B., Professor Emerita, School of Theology and Religious Studies, The Catholic University of America IX

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is with a deep sense of joy and gratitude that I acknowledge the many generous and supportive individuals and organizations that have helped to make the dream of this book a reality. I am grateful, first of all to Fordham University for the Faculty Fellowship that enabled me to begin my research and writing in earnest. A second grant, provided by the E. Rhodes and Leona B. Carpenter Foundation enabled me to continue working an additional semester. Angela Belsole, Associate Director of the Office of Research and Sponsored Programs at Fordham, provided invaluable assistance in securing that grant. The administration of the university has likewise provided me with the support, encouragement, and funding to see this project through to its completion. This includes providing the Ames funding that enabled me to participate in the biennial meeting of Societas Liturgica in Dresden, Germany, and to gather important feedback on my research. Special thanks also to the staff of Walsh Library for their dedicated and expert service. I am also deeply grateful for the support and encouragement I received from my colleagues in the Department of Theology, especially Elizabeth A. Johnson, C.S.J., Mark Massa, S.J., and Leo Lefebure. Special thanks also to John Drummond of the Department of Philosophy for his assistance with the topic of phenomenology. Appreciation also goes to my graduate and research assistants, including Joshua Papsdorf, Betty Yim, John Reardon, C.S.C., and Angela Inglis. For her friendship, encouragement, and invaluable advice, I also thank a dear friend at Fordham University, Monica Kevin, O.S.U. The idea for this book emerged from a summer 2003 seminar at Calvin College in Grand Rapids funded by a generous grant from the Calvin Institute of Christian Worship and the Henry Luce Foundation. Many thanks to the seminar director, Bryan Spinks of Yale XI

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University, and to my colleague participants whose stimulating conversation and spirit of camaraderie encouraged my research in this area. I also owe a debt of gratitude to the Liturgical Theology Seminar of the North American Academy of Liturgy. Their support and critique of my work during annual meetings significantly contributed to the final shape of this project. I likewise acknowledge with appreciation, Theological Studies and Stadia Liturgica, for originally publishing articles that have become part of the fabric of this book. My thanks also go to two former colleagues at Christ the King Seminary, Charles Amico and Daniel Grigassy, O.EM., and to Bruce Morrill, S.J., of Boston College, who offered invaluable critique as my ideas unfolded. In addition to funding and serious scholarly exchange, writing a book also requires moments of quiet, relaxation, and quality time for thinking and musing over ideas. My work on the sacramentality of time developed during wonderful days spent at Cape Cod with my dear friend, Mary Therese Chmura, C.S.S.E The generous hospitality of her brother, James A. Chmura, and his wife, Susan E. Kaczynski, provided a place conducive to thinking, praying, reading, and writing. Both my family and my religious community, the Felician Sisters, have been my moral support throughout this project. I am deeply grateful for their patience, encouragement, and inspiration. They have truly been "the wind beneath my wings/' It is within these two special communities that my love for celebrating the Eucharist as a member of the assembly and as a musician has grown and deepened over the years. My religious community's vision statement includes the challenge to "be Eucharist." May this book be a small contribution to that ongoing vocation shared by all the baptized. I am especially pleased and privileged that Ann Therese Kelly, C.S.S.E, has captured that vision in her cover art. It provides a wonderful visual image of the beauty and the energy of the mystery this book attempts to articulate. Lastly, special thanks to Gaynell Cronin, who once quietly slipped me the C. S. Lewis quote cited in the Introduction. Her insights and gentle ways provided a steadying influence in the midst of this project's many challenges. I give thanks for the gift that so many have been to me and to this book! Deo Gratias! Pax et bonum!

INTRODUCTION

The world is crowded with God The real labour is to remember, to attend. In fact, to come awake. Still more, to remain awake.1 — C. S. Lewis

One of the hallmarks of Catholic faith and worship is belief in the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. But the way that belief has been articulated theologically and the manner in which it has been understood in the lives of the faithful have varied throughout the Church's history. This is the case with many of the mysteries of faith. Because each is profoundly beyond human capacity to fathom or fully appreciate, different aspects of a particular mystery have received greater or lesser attention at different times for very understandable historical reasons.

The Manifold Presence of Christ Article seven of Sacrosanctum Concilium (1963), the Second Vatican Council's Dogmatic Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, reiterates the Church's traditional teaching on the manifold presence of Christ in his Church, especially in liturgical celebrations: in the priest, the sacred species, the sacraments, in his word, and when the Church prays and sings.2 Other church documents and theological writings both before and after the Second Vatican Council have affirmed both the truth and importance of this tenet of the faith. Nevertheless, there continues to exist in both scholarly writing and popular piety an almost exclusive focus on interpreting or understanding the presence of Christ in the sacred species. This is the case, despite the fact that theologians have stressed the importance of understanding Christ's presence in the Eucharist first of all in 1

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light of his presence in the Church and of avoiding the tendency to isolate any one of the modes from the others. The presence of Christ is the subject of this book, not as it is privileged in the consecrated bread and wine, but as it is symbolized within the assembly that gathers for worship. Every weekend hundreds of thousands of Catholics gather to celebrate the Eucharist at their local parishes. Those who attend regularly believe that their participation at Mass enables them in some limited but real way to be touched by the divine. Often, however, their expectation of encountering Christ is limited to their reception of Holy Communion. Even though belief in the presence of Christ in the bread and wine is very important to the life of the Church, it is only a part of a much richer and broader tradition that speaks of the manifold presence of Christ. My purpose in writing is to draw attention to those forgotten or less understood aspects of this belief and to explore the implications of that belief for participating in the liturgy and living the Christian life. While the point of view of this study is the Roman Catholic tradition, many of its concerns and conclusions may prove useful to the broader Christian Church.

The Interdisciplinary Nature of Contemporary Sacramental Theology Doing sacramental theology today necessarily involves using the resources of several contemporary philosophical approaches, including semiotics, phenomenology, personalism, and existentialism. Indeed, the philosophical approach of contemporary sacramental theologians challenges the previously normative approach of scholastic theology. In fact, these philosophical disciplines have been reshaping the way the West views the sacraments since the greater part of the last century. In the area of sacraments, Kenan B. Osborne believes that a multi-methodological approach is a given "since sacramental reality is itself a highly complex issue involving a number of dynamics from various dimensions of both human and divine life."3 Bruce Morriirs assessment of the current situation in sacramental theology also supports the multi-methodological approach to sacramental theology. Morrill rightly observes that a key

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characteristic of sacramental theology in the second half of the twentieth century was the shift from thinking about the sacraments as objects that dispense grace to perceiving them as relational events of encounters between God and humankind.4 It was Edward Schillebeeckx who helped us to begin viewing the Church and its sacraments as genuine, human encounters with God in the Spirit of the Risen Christ. By means of a constructive retrieval of ancient Christian sources and the work of Thomas Aquinas, Schillebeeckx, as well as Karl Rahner and others who followed, opened the field of inquiry concerning sacramental liturgy to the profound range and depth of human experience, including those embodied, symbolic ways in which we meet God through our relating with one another.5 As a result of these developments in contemporary sacramental theology, the former abstract discussions of principles regarding the sacraments have given way to a new focus on the liturgical action itself. That is, liturgy is approached as the theological source. In one sense, this is not innovative. It is the fifth-century writer Prosper of Aquitaine who is generally credited with coining the phrase legem credendi lex statuat supplicandi.6 The catechetical writings of Cyril of Jerusalem, John Chrysostom, and Theodore of Mopsuestia are examples of patristic writers who approached, not only the liturgical texts, but also the ritual as a whole as the location of theological and spiritual disclosure. Today's retrieval of this approach thus follows an illustrious and ancient tradition.

Outline of Chapters By employing some of these contemporary approaches to sacramental theology mentioned above, this book considers how the human experience of gathering for worship provides the liturgical assembly with the possibility of perceiving Christ's presence in its midst. The starting point for this study is a consideration of liturgy as symbolizing activity. Since symbols negotiate identity and relationships, they are the critical building blocks — when celebrated authentically — of the unity within the assembly that is essential to their recognition of Christ's presence in their midst. In other words, if the Church is most fully realized when the assembly gathers for

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worship, then becoming one in Christ is an essential work (leitourgia) of the assembly. It becomes apparent, then, that gathering is not an insignificant pre-ritual activity, but an action that provides direction for getting at the heart of our liturgical enterprise. We are ritualizing our vocation to become one because Christ's presence is embodied, first of all, in the one Body of Christ. Since authentic symbolizing activity mediates the unity of the assembly, a unity that is essential to building up the one Body of Christ, this study critiques current liturgical practice and its regulation as these impact the symbolization of unity in the liturgy. The work is developed over five chapters. Chapter 1 explores the possibility of recognizing the presence of Christ in the gathered assembly within the context of postmodernity. It addresses the following questions: (1) What are the characteristics of postmodernism that might directly influence this religious belief and practice? (2) What role does sacramentality play in the contemporary Catholic imagination? and (3) How can "presence" be understood and "perceived" in a postmodern world? Several frameworks derived from phenomenology, including the significance of horizon and of the body, identity in manifolds, absence and presence, and disclosure and evidence are applied to an analysis of the Eucharist as ritual activity. The chapter proposes that sacramental theology must be performed with a clear understanding of and attention to the context in which the sacraments are celebrated. The postmodern context poses both challenges to and opportunities for retrieving a sense of sacramentality and engaging in liturgical rites that require personal presence and openness to God's presence and absence. Chapter 2 explores the significance of gathering and the sacramentality of the gathered assembly. It addresses four questions: (1) What is the theological meaning of gathering for worship? (2) What is the theological meaning of the assembly thus gathered? (3) What do recent church documents say about the manifold presence of Christ in the liturgy? (4) What are the theological foundations for belief in the presence of the Resurrected Christ in the assembly? The chapter identifies baptism as the foundation for the assembly's responsibility and privilege to do Eucharist and traces the usage of the words "church" and "assembly" from its Jewish and

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early Christian roots. What gradually emerges is the significance of the oneness or unity of the assembly as integral to its identity as Church or the Body of Christ. A survey of twentieth-century church statements reveals a consistent view on the centrality of the belief in the manifold presence of Christ. A look at such prominent theologians as Karl Rahner, Edward Schillebeeckx, Piet Schoonenberg, and Louis-Marie Chauvet provides insight into the theological currents that inspired those official statements. Chapter 3 explores the semiotic frameworks of Charles Sanders Peirce and Michael Polanyi and applies them to an analysis of liturgical symbols. Their principles are used in conjunction with Louis-Marie Chauvet;s and Karl Rahner's theologies of symbol to address the following questions: (1) What is a symbol? (2) How do symbols operate in religious rituals? (3) How might the symbols in the gathering rite — particularly architecture, gestures and postures, and music-making — disclose the presence of Christ to the liturgical assembly? Important insights emerge. These include the significance of embodiment and the radical nature of symbolizing in all of human life. That symbols mediate identity and relationships moves the conversation about the significance of unity forward and underscores the consequences and requirements of communal worship. These insights are applied to an analysis of the symbolizing activity of the gathering rite in light of current praxis and Church legislation. Because it is the high point of the gathered assembly's action, the celebration of the Eucharistic prayer is also considered in light of the issues raised in this chapter. Chapter 4 explores the sacramentality of time as it unfolds in the regular gathering of a faith community for worship. The possibility for understanding time as sacramental is addressed in the following questions: (1) What is the significance of time in human experience? (2) What is the significance of time in the Judeo-Christian tradition? (3) How do the cycles of the week and the day serve to disclose the presence of Christ to a community that gathers at regular intervals for prayer? The chapter considers the eschatological dimension of time as constitutive of Christian worship and an assembly's sense of expectancy of encounter with Christ. Scriptural accounts of the postresurrection appearances and the early Church's adoption of Sunday as the Lord's Day are identified as starting points for interpreting

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Sunday as an event of encounter and as eschatological feast. The role of daily prayer in providing an experience of time as sacramental and its implications for celebrating Eucharist are also explored. These include the significance of gathering regularly, of becoming one as process and mandate, and of interpreting the symbol of light as a point of convergence of the mysteries of creation and redemption. The fifth and final chapter explores practical implications of the way symbols of unity are celebrated in current Roman Catholic worship in the United States. Using quantum theory as a metaphor for interpreting the energy released when symbols are celebrated in the liturgy, the chapter explores how such activity becomes part of the divine energy whereby the three divine persons engage in a loving relationship that spills over and includes humanity and all of creation. This is the ultimate goal — the communion of the Body of Christ with the community of the three divine persons. Our liturgical symbolizing activity is meant to bring about the fusion of these two interrelated movements of love into one cosmic flow of energy. All of reality is caught up in the perichoresis of the Trinity — the ultimate cosmic dance. Three strategies are proposed to enhance the assembly's realization of its unity as the Body of Christ when it gathers for worship: (1) embracing diversity as a means to unity; (2) celebrating mindfully the symbols of the unity that are constitutive of the liturgy,- and (3) cultivating an expectation of encounter that acknowledges God's absence. The chapter concludes by inviting worship assemblies to set their sights on the eschatological banquet and to take up their mission of being the Body of Christ for others.

The Importance of This Topic for Today's Church A theological articulation for belief in the presence of the Christ in the gathered assembly is critical for today's Church for several reasons. The first relates to the laity's place in the Church and how that is ritualized in the celebration of the Eucharist. With the promulgation of the revised General Instruction of the Roman Missal (2002), the significance of the laity's role has once again come under scrutiny. Many theologians interpret the renewed and repeated emphasis on the role of the ordained priest as leader of the gathered assembly as an effort to diminish the significance of the role of the

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laity. Ironically, this state of affairs coincides with a contrary development in lay circles. In many dioceses of the United States, lay groups are expressing a renewed interest in claiming their place in the Church through such organizations as "Call to Action/; and "Voice of the Faithful." Regardless of differing perspectives regarding their status or goals, it is important that their desire to participate fully in all aspects of the life of the Church be supported by a theological articulation of the role of the baptized and their identity as the presence of the Resurrected Christ in the world. This role is "regularly rehearsed"7 each week by the laity through the ritualizing activity we call Eucharist. The second reason relates to the Church's responsibility to celebrate the liturgy well. Liturgy is a ritual composed of a complex set of symbols. How those symbols are celebrated impacts the possibility of effectively mediating theological meaning and enabling the activity of the Holy Spirit to be perceived within the assembly. Attentiveness to the symbols of the liturgy is essential to the assembly's ability to both express their faith and grow in it. At a time when such documents as Liturgiam authenticam* place an increased emphasis on the role of text in the celebration of the liturgy, the critical role of non-verbal symbols needs to be reiterated again and again. In the celebration of the Eucharist, a primary role for these symbols is mediating the unity of the assembly and its self-awareness as the Body of Christ. The third reason relates to the necessity that theology engage in dialogue. In this case, the need for dialogue is evident in at least two areas. The first is dialogue with contemporary culture. If traditional beliefs at the heart of the Church's faith and practice are to be embraced in a postmodern world, sustained dialogue with the cultural milieu is absolutely essential. The second area is ongoing ecumenical dialogue. Articulating a theology of the manifold presence of Christ and understanding that presence to be rooted in the action of the gathered assembly "doing" Eucharist provides a theological base for ongoing ecumenical dialogue regarding belief in the sacramental presence of the Risen Christ. The book makes clear, however, that while unity may well be the goal of ecumenical dialogue, it is also the goal of each assembly's weekly gathering to celebrate the Eucharist as the one Body of Christ. In fact, the book argues, unity is

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an essential characteristic of an assembly that gathers in expectation of an encounter with Christ in their midst.

Sources of Inspiration, Reasons for Writing At least four sources have served as the inspiration for delving into this subject. The first is my own experience of having been nurtured in faith communities that have a deep Eucharistic spirituality. These include the ethnic parish I grew up in as a child, the Felician Congregation of which I am a member, and the many local communities with whom I have worshiped since the reforms of Vatican II. The second is my experience as a scholar whose main areas of interest are liturgical theology, sacramental theology, and liturgical music. Both my teaching and my research have brought me to the realization that there are still significant insights in the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy that have not received adequate reflection and study. One of these areas is the real presence of the Resurrected Christ in the gathered assembly. The third source of inspiration for this book comes from the experience of being a member of the gathered assembly and a minister of music, and sharing, in these capacities, conversations with others who are deeply committed to living the faith and worshiping well. Finally, the fourth source for the impetus to write this book is the current situation in the Roman Catholic Church, particularly in the United States. This includes the mixed reception of recent church documents on liturgical matters, issues of liturgical praxis of the local level, renewal of devotion to the Eucharist outside Mass — especially among the young, and the emergence of the laity's new voice in light of a growing awareness of its role in the Church precipitated by the upheaval of the clergy sexual abuse scandal. The unity for which Christ prayed at the Last Supper may seem more elusive than ever in our fragmented and individualistic culture. But every worshiping assembly has available to it the means to regularly rehearse the bonds of unity that can fashion it, over time and in the Spirit, into the one Body of Christ. As baptism is the source of the privilege and the responsibility of each member of the Church to gather to do Eucharist, so the Eucharist is the source of the Church's unity and mission to be the presence of Christ for the world.

Chapter One

PERCEPTION, PRESENCE, AND SACRAMENTALITY IN A POSTMODERN CONTEXT

Introduction In a crowded subway deep in the belly of Manhattan, harried straphangers1 huddle together. Jerky stops and starts of the train force contact between total strangers — in many cases people who don't even understand each other's language. In the corner, a young man listens to tunes on his iPod, totally oblivious of the people or activity around him. As the train emerges above ground, several people reach for their cell phones to make or receive a call. When the doors open, passengers jockey for a position that allows for quick exit. How was presence to other human beings perceived or experienced in this setting? How do daily experiences of life in the twenty-first century influence our ability to speak about — let alone understand — the meaning of presence in a human or religious sense? Doing theology does not have an option when it comes to paying attention to context. Rather, doing Christian theology is, by its very nature, a process of ongoing dialogue with context. In other words, theology requires dialogue with each place where faith would be alive and active so that the received tradition might flourish in communities of diverse time, place, and culture. This chapter offers a modest contribution to that dialogue by exploring how the unfolding of Christ's presence in the gathered assembly can be expressed and perceived in a postmodern world. Several frameworks from phenomenology will be engaged as critical conversation partners in this process. This chapter will address three questions: (1) What are the

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characteristics of postmodernism that might directly impact this religious belief and experience? (2) What role does sacramentality play in the contemporary Catholic imagination? and (3) How can "presence" be understood and "perceived" in a postmodern world. The bishops of the Second Vatican Council eloquently expressed the contextual nature of theology in article four of Gaudium et Spes (1965), the Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World: [I]n every age, the church carries the responsibility of reading the signs of the times and of interpreting them in the light of the Gospel, if it is to carry out its task. In language intelligible to every generation, it should be able to answer the ever recurring questions which people ask about the meaning of this present life and of the life to come, and how one is related to the other. We must be aware of and understand the aspirations, the yearnings, and the often dramatic features of the world in which we live.2 The work of the Second Vatican Council was a monumental effort to put theology in dialogue with culture. However, even as the documents were being promulgated, the world from which and to which it was speaking was already evolving from what is usually termed a "modern" perspective to one that today is generally designated "postmodern."3 The theological investigations, the biblical research, and the pastoral reflections that constituted the work of the council were the fruits of a modern world. The challenge of the present time—a brief forty years later—is to bring the theology and pastoral insights of Vatican II into dialogue with the postmodern context.

Liturgical Renewal In many ways, the response to Sacrosanctum Concilium (1963), Vatican IFs Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy,4 can be described as both positive and negative. On the one hand, the worship life of many has been reinvigorated with new life and energy. Most Roman Catholics are at home worshiping in the vernacular and have welcomed the reformed rites. On the other hand, some are bitterly disappointed. They rue what they see as the loss of a sense of awe and mystery in the liturgy. In addition, local churches are dealing

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with the reception of new directives in recent documents published by Rome and the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops regarding particular aspects of celebrating Mass and devotion to the Eucharist outside Mass. Many directives contained in these documents have re-ignited public debate on the role of the laity in the liturgy and placement of the reserved eucharistic species. Some view these developments as attempts to reverse the reforms initiated by the Council. Others regard them as a response to grass roots appeals to rescue Catholic worship from laxity or wrongheaded or irreverent innovation. A potentially fruitful starting point for interpreting the current tensions and gaining insights for promoting authentic worship is to take another look at the guiding principles of the liturgical reform from the perspective of postmodernity. This chapter makes a small step in that direction by exploring how a postmodern experience of both human perception and presence might affect an appropriation of belief in the presence of Christ. Article seven of Sacrosanctum Concilium states: To accomplish so great a work Christ is always present in his church, especially in liturgical celebrations. He is present in the sacrifice of the Mass both in the person of his minister, "the same now offering, through the ministry of priests, who formerly offered himself on the cross/' and most of all in the eucharistic species. By his power he is present in the sacraments so that when anybody baptizes it is really Christ himself who baptizes. He is present in his word since it is he himself who speaks when the holy scriptures are read in church. Lastly, he is present when the church prays and sings, for he has promised "where two or three are gathered together in my name there am I in the midst of them/; (Mt 18:20). The observations that follow are offered as introductory considerations. (A more detailed analysis of this article will be taken up in the next chapter.) Within the celebration of the Eucharist, four modes of Christ's presence are identified by article seven: in the word (sacred scripture), the presider (priest as leader of prayer), the gathered assembly, and the bread and wine. A fifth mode refers to other sacramental celebrations. Such an enumeration of modes may be news to the average believer. For the last several centuries, the focus of the average worshiper has been on the presence of Christ in

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the sacred species. Since Vatican II published Sacrosanctum Concilium, there has been an increased awareness and appreciation for the presence of Christ in the word and, to a lesser extent, the presider. Scholarly work on the presence of Christ in the eucharistic elements (bread and wine) continues to be significant and extensive. Developing a theology that promotes an understanding of Christ's presence in the assembly gathered for worship is receiving some increased attention. However, much more work is required to provide a theological framework for understanding this belief and articulating it effectively. But before the theological implications of this teaching on the manifold presence of Christ are examined, we need to ask how ''presence'' is actually understood in a postmodern context. Let us begin by exploring what is meant by the designation "postmodern."

Characteristics of Postmodernity Scholars generally agree that the label "postmodern" originated in the 1930s to designate certain developments in the arts. Its usage gained more widespread attention when it was applied to certain forms of architecture in the 1970s.5 Postmodernism rejects the modern mind-set that views the human person as an autonomous rational subject. This attitude originated with the Enlightenment and culminated in the twentieth-century view that human existence could be brought under rational management through technology.6 Modernity believed that knowledge is certain, objective, and good. As a result, reality in many of its varied aspects was put under the regular scrutiny of reason. In addition to elevating the importance of reason, modernity likewise elevated the importance of the freedom of the individual, understood to be an autonomous self existing outside the constraints of any tradition or community.7 Postmodernism also rejects modernity's sanguine assessment of human knowing. Instead, the postmodern perspective challenges the assumption that knowledge is inherently good. It likewise rejects the notion of the dispassionate autonomous knower and belief in the inevitability of progress. The events of September 11, 2001, have affirmed these postmodern convictions in undeniable ways.

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Mounting threats of terrorism, despite the escalation of strategies for war and homeland defense, highlight the fragility of security, peace, and freedom. Rational management of the planet appears to be a colossal failure. Even spending billions of dollars has failed to bring order and certainty to a time of chaos and unspeakable human suffering. On the positive side, however, the failure of the intellect to serve as sole determiner of belief has resulted in the reemergence of appreciation for the emotions and intuition as valid avenues for arriving at truth. Integration is favored over analysis and the universe is viewed, not as mechanistic and dualistic, but as historical, relational, and personal. Reality is thus characterized as relative, indeterminate, and participatory.8 Deconstructionists operating from within a postmodern perspective propose that meaning occurs when the interpreter enters into dialogue with a given text. However, because each interpreter reads reality differently, the possibility of arriving at a universal worldview significantly diminishes. In other words, all is difference.9 Pluralism becomes the hallmark of postmodern culture; contradictory styles are juxtaposed as in a collage.10 This is readily evident in such venues as art, fashion, and entertainment. Even so, the postmodern perspective is sensitive to the social dimension of reality and keenly conscious of the significance of the local community for providing interpretations of it. In fact, it is within the framework of particular communities that postmodernism allows for the possibility of truth claims. But since meaning can occur only when the interpreter enters into dialogue with a given text, interpretation replaces knowledge. Another characteristic of postmodernism is the frequent blurring of reality and fiction, presence and absence. Technology, particularly in the form of the screen—movie, television, computer, or cell phone — has contributed to this phenomenon. In the first place, the television screen provides a collage of images that juxtapose the irreconcilable, e.g., atrocities of war reported in news bites interrupted by commercials for luxury automobiles. Secondly, technology eliminates spatial and temporal distinctions, merges past and present, the distant and the local. This blurring of boundaries is only heightened by the experience of surfing the web on the personal computer.

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The traditional contrast between the subjective self and the objective world recedes as the screen becomes an extension of us and we an extension of it.11 Another form of technology to incorporate the screen is the cell phone. In many ways similar to the television and computer (but in some ways more insidious because its picturetaking capability easily violates privacy), the cell phone serves to overcome spatial and temporal distinctions and merge the distant with the local. However, even without the screen, the cell phone disrupts the ordinary experience of personal presence and absence. Persons can be available twenty-four/seven to those who are absent. Conversations with those who are absent intrude in public spaces. Finally, the postmodern age can be identified as the period that has witnessed the demise of the meta-narrative. Criticized for displaying absolute, universal, and cognitive pretensions, master narratives have been abandoned and exchanged for the radical particularity and contextuality of individual or local narratives.12 In such an intellectual climate, it becomes difficult, perhaps even impossible, to appeal to a central legitimating myth. In fact, not only have all reigning master narratives lost their credibility, but even the idea of a grand narrative is no longer considered tenable. This contemporary awareness of the hegemonic assumptions of the master narrative seems to expose the arrogance of the Western perspective. It might actually be more accurate to say that the postmodern age has witnessed, not the demise of the meta-narrative, but the demise of the belief that there was or is one universal grand narrative. What are the implications of these developments for the Christian narrative? The fundamental plurality of the postmodern situation highlights the particular and contingent nature of all discourses and narratives, including "founding" narratives. Does this lack of universal perspective signal the end of narratives that negotiate both individual and collective identity? The Belgian theologian Lieven Boeve, in his work on sacramental presence in a postmodern context, argues that it does not. Rather, he suggests that it requires an acknowledgment that plausibility now must mean contextual plausibility.13 This need not mean the demise of the Christian narrative as such. A shift in context may imply a loss of plausibility, but as

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Boeve observes, it also "represents a challenge to renew the effort of recontextualisation, to look for a new relation between the received tradition and the changed context."14 Such an insight has serious ramifications for the Church's task of inculturation, especially in regard to the celebration of the liturgical rites. In a postmodern world, the decision to ignore issues of context may actually render the Christian narrative unintelligible or incomprehensible to a world far removed from the influence of the originating culture of Western Christendom. Acknowledging that the context has changed requires a reexamination of old assumptions. If the contemporary context exhibits postmodern characteristics that reject the superiority of reason, the possibility of a universal worldview, and the intelligibility and legitimacy of master narratives, we need to reflect on how this perspective might open up new avenues for exploring the intuitive and the relational dimensions of the sacramental imagination. Further, if postmodern technology has helped to create the blurring of distinctions between reality and fiction, presence and absence, the subjective self and the objective world, we need to reflect on how such a lack of boundaries specifically influences our understanding of the local and participatory dimensions of Christian faith and rituals. Might some of these developments be welcomed opportunities for promoting authentic worship? Since the integration favored in the postmodern approach promotes a worldview that is relational, personal, and participatory, worship may once again be acknowledged as an important locus for religious insight and the expression of religious belief. The type of knowing that occurs within worship can be described as neither rational nor scientific. Rather, because it is symbolic activity, it is primarily non-discursive and exhibitive. That is, meaning is not asserted by means of propositional content in worship, but exhibited or manifested in the interplay of symbolic activity.15 By means of such simple elements of creation as water, fire, oil, bread, and wine, human beings are drawn into ritual behaviors that enable then to engage in "sacred commerce" with God. It is this fundamental belief that God can be experienced in this way that provides the foundation for the notion of sacramentality.

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The Notion of Sacramentality Simply stated, sacramentality can be described as having one's eyes and ears attuned to the intimations of a benevolent God inviting us into a transforming relationship. It requires an openness of the imagination to being surprised by the presence of God in the mundane. In this way, ordinary created realities serve as symbols or windows into the divine. A sacramental perspective enables us to view the world as the locus where God reveals Godself to us and where we respond to that revelation. It can be difficult to perceive the presence and action of God in human life without this ability to see the fundamental structures of sacramentality within ordinary human existence. The notion of sacramentality was expressed in the New Testament with the Greek word mysterion, meaning "hidden" or "secret." St. Paul uses the word to speak about the hidden wisdom of God revealed through Christ's death and resurrection (1 Cor. 2:7). The early Christian Church used mysterion to speak about a variety of rites, symbols, liturgical objects, blessings, and celebrations. But by the Middle Ages, the Latin translation for mysterion, sacramentum, was restricted to official sacramental rites of the Church.16

The Sacramental Imagination As Kevin Irwin asserts, the notion of sacramentality must be retrieved if liturgy and sacraments are to survive as meaningful events in the contemporary world. Since sacramentality is a particular way of seeing the world and looking at life, it provides the framework not only for the way we live in the world and with each other, but also for the celebration of sacred rituals. A sacramental imagination involves a profound awareness that the invisible divine presence is disclosed through visible created realities. Furthermore, it takes seriously those everyday experiences the church appropriates to celebrate its life in God through the liturgy.17 This includes bearing light, washing, eating, drinking, and anointing. Built on a sacramental worldview, liturgy and sacraments mediate the action of the divine in the human. The sacred is manifested in the secular; God is perceived as present and active within the world.

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The notion of sacramentality, however, is not limited to an experience of God's presence. No matter how much the sacred becomes present through the mediation of symbolic activity, no revelation of God can ever be complete or total. So there is, alongside the experience of God's presence, the experience of God's absence. This revelation of God's hiddenness is also a dimension of sacramentality. By emphasizing how God is discoverable in the here and now, sacramentality also invites us to yearn for the fullness of God's presence, a fullness that can only be attained in eternity.18 This is part of the eschatological19 dimension of sacramentality. In other words, while the created world offers glimpses of God's loving presence to those who have the eyes to see, this experience is balanced by a longing for what can only be realized when God is encountered face to face. The experience of God's absence, however, is nonetheless a positive rather than a negative experience in that it serves as a promise that what is glimpsed dimly in the present time is but a shadow of what will be revealed when the need for sacraments shall cease.20 The postmodern imagination is more comfortable than the modern with the juxtapositioning of opposites (e.g., presence and absence). As a result, an openness to the experience of the "already/not yet" of God's presence, may be more readily perceived as authentic in a postmodern context.

The Sacramentality of the Universe In his work on Christian sacraments in the postmodern world, Kenan B. Osborne employs a methodology that is built on belief in the sacramentality of the universe. Indeed, Osborne views the sacramentality of the universe as the key to understanding the church's sacraments in a postmodern context.21 He cautions, however, that we not forget that sacramentality is not a thing, not even a human action. Rather, sacramentality is basically "an action of God, a blessing, and a subsequent human response."22 Furthermore, since God's action is always a "unique blessing/action that occurs at a unique time and in a unique space for unique people," Osborne points out that there can be no "essential" general sacramentality. In other words, both God's action and the human response are "profoundly temporal, profoundly spatial, and profoundly relative."23 This necessity of specificity is particularly congenial to the postmodern

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imagination. In this regard, then, Osborne's descriptions of sacramentality are consonant with the postmodern perspective because they focus on the importance of the here-and-now and the local. However, this does not mean that we can think of God as occupying a localized position or site. Even when God communicates to human beings in a sacramental event, God is experienced as hidden and ungraspable.24 Nevertheless, it is only in the particularity of time, place, and persons that the event of God's self-communication can be experienced. However, it was actually the writings of Karl Rahner, several decades earlier than Osborne's, that articulated the traditional Catholic belief in sacramentality in a way that captured the contemporary imagination. Rahner speaks of sacrament within the larger context of "the infinitude of the world as permeated by God."25 For him, the fact that the world is permeated with the grace of God makes possible a belief in the grace of the sacraments. This is in fact what Rahner means when he speaks of "the liturgy of the world."26 Working from within a postmodern milieu, Louis-Marie Chauvet offers a more tentative description of the world we live in and experience through human perception as possibly a sacramental place of sacred history. Yet while the possibility exists that the world may be perceived in this way, there is no guarantee that such an experience will be either automatic or universal. Nevertheless, there are moments in life in which a person can experience sacramentality, and it is only because there are these moments that it is possible to speak meaningfully about a person, a church, or a ritual as sacramental.27 This, in fact, is what post-Vatican II liturgists have attempted to promote: a viewpoint that perceives and celebrates the diffuse sacramentality of a life lived in faith.28 According to Chauvet, whether or not the sacramentality of the world is perceived depends to a great extent on how human beings receive the world as creation, that is, as gift. Receiving the world as gift implies the necessity of returngift. Thus, for Chauvet confessing the doctrine of creation is itself charged with sacramentality.29 An appreciation for the sacramental structure of all created reality is rooted in a perspective that views all creation as integral to the history of salvation. This view, which prevailed throughout the Patristic and Medieval periods, locates the beginning of salvation with

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the creation of the world. Such thinking finds its roots in the New Testament whose creation theology is basically a reflection on the meaning of Christ. According to Anne Clifford, "its purpose is to provide an interpretation of salvation in Jesus that is closely linked with creation, so closely linked that salvation is looked upon as a renewal of the original creation through the saving presence of God in Jesus (see 1 Cor. 15:45-49; 2 Cor. 5:17; and Rom. 8:18-23)."30 The sacramental theology of twentieth-century theologian Edward Kilmartin builds on this perspective when he speaks of God's presence in creation in Trinitarian terms: The Father creates all things through the Word, his Son. Therefore, all creation bears the mark of God's love for humanity, the crown of creation. Even to the lowest level of materiality, creation manifests God's saving presence. To be sure, the chief liturgical rites of the Church were valued as particular concentrations of the sacramental nature of all creation. They were interpreted as the highest manifestations of God's presence in the whole of the cosmos.31 In this passage Kilmartin makes an explicit connection between God's creative act and enduring presence in the world. Furthermore, a Trinitarian perspective underlies his thinking even though Kilmartin does not explicitly mention the Spirit by name. In general, Kilmartin's work in sacramental theology, and especially the Eucharist, is characterized by a strong Trinitarian dimension and an explicit focus on the Holy Spirit.32 His success in providing sacramental theology with this strong Trinitarian dimension is acknowledged by the Austrian theologian, H. B. Meyers, in his assessment of Kilmartin's Christian Liturgy: "To our knowledge, there has been no other book before this one which, on the basis of an extensive appropriation of the theological traditions of the East and West, offers such a systematic and consistently Trinitarian theology of Christian worship and sacraments."33 A brief excerpt from Christian Liturgy demonstrates Kilmartin's explication of the role of the Spirit, and by extension, of the Trinity, in the mystery of creation: Creation is also "in the Spirit of God/' that is, in accord with the Spirit of God. This means that the Holy Spirit is communicated in creation and is active in creation. In the Spirit, the Father creates, orders, guides and animates created being. As the Spirit of love of the

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Perception, Presence, and Sacramentality Father for the Son, and of the Son for the Father, the Holy Spirit is the source of harmony and personal communion. Consequently, the Spirit establishes and maintains personal relations between God and creatures, and of creatures among themselves.34

This excerpt identifies the Spirit as the link between God's creative activity and creation's role in the celebration of God;s presence in the sacraments. It also highlights the Spirit's role in mediating relationships, a role that is essential in the liturgical event. Kilmartin's work reminds us that when we speak of the presence of Christ as it is expressed in any of its modes, it is fundamentally the presence of the Trinity about which we speak. This integral relationship between creation and salvation as the work of the Trinity has important implications for the Christian narrative in a postmodern context. For not only does it identify creation as an essential aspect of salvation history, but it also acknowledges the essential dynamism of the salvation of humankind within a created universe that is still in the process of unfolding.35 In reflecting on the postmodern challenge to belief in the sacramentality of existence, Lieven Boeve identifies two requirements of the Christian narrative. The first requirement is that it open itself up to the transcendent in a contemplative way so that the transcendent as "interruptive event" can enter. The second is that it bear witness to the transcendent, not in a hegemonic way, but by means of its own, always fragmentary rituals, symbols, words, and stories. In this way, belief in the sacramentality of existence is not used to legitimate the Christian narrative or offer redemption to an unredeemed world. Rather, sacramentality opens up that very unredeemedness of human existence that undermines the possibility of depending on human constructions.36 Boeve explains: The sacramentality of life, clarified and celebrated in the sacraments, is no longer considered as participation in a divine being, nor anticipation of a self-fulfilling development, but as being involved in the tension arising from the irruption of the divine Other into our human narratives, to which the Christian narrative testifies from of old. Sacramental living and acting thus presuppose the cultivation of a contemplative openness, and testify in word and deed to that which reveals itself in this openness as a trace of God.37

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Boeve thus identifies a posture of contemplative openness as an essential criterion for perceiving the sacramentality of life. Such openness to transcendence apprehends all of life's dimensions as dynamically interrelated.38 Boeve's use of the word "trace," like Chauvet's, acknowledges how a "coming-to-presence" involves also a trace of something that is already absent. This manner of speaking reflects the influence not only of Martin Heidegger, but also of E. Levinas, who speak of the human person holding him or herself "in the trace of the Absent/'39 Godfried Cardinal Danneels acknowledges the challenges of maintaining a posture of contemplative openness in this postmodern age in his comments on worship in the contemporary milieu. To highlight the fundamental quality of liturgical activity, Danneels refers to participants in the liturgy, both individually and collectively, as homo liturgicus. The fundamental attitude is one of receptivity, readiness to listen, self-giving and self-relativizing.40 Danneels describes this fundamental attitude as an "orientation towards God, readiness to listen, obedience, grateful reception, wonder, adoration, and praise. It is an attitude of listening and seeing, of what Guardini called 'contemplating', an attitude so alien to the 'homo faber' [worker] in many of us."41 This openness or receptivity is intimately dependent on the experience of the senses, especially, as Danneels points out, listening and seeing.

Bodiliness and Sacramental Theology Godfried Cardinal Danneels's reflections on the importance of listening and seeing for promoting a contemplative attitude highlight the fact that it is the body — both individually and collectively — that is the location for the experience of the presence of God. The sacramental theologian Louis-Marie Chauvet highlights the importance of bodiliness when he explains that "the human being does not have a body, but is body."42 This "I-body," Chauvet argues, exists only as woven, inhabited and spoken by the triple body of culture, tradition, and nature. The human being as corporeal is the place where the triple body—social, ancestral, and cosmic—is symbolically joined.43 Furthermore, the liturgy is for Chauvet "the powerful pedagogy where we learn to consent to the presence of the absence of God, who obliges us to give him a body in the world."44

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Thus the notion of sacramentality involves an appreciation of the significance of creation, particularly of bodiliness, in communicating God's presence in the world. This aspect, after all, is the basis of the mystery of the Incarnation and Christian faith in Jesus Christ as the Word made flesh. Thus the privileged event of the Incarnation, as well as every other sacramental event, is an occasion of disclosure that can be interpersonal and revelatory because it assumes bodiliness. Furthermore, it is an event in the concrete, not the abstract. As Osborne reminds us, 45 sacramentality always involves a particular or unique moment, place, and person or group of persons. Furthermore, for us today the possibility or manner of being receptive or open to a unique event of disclosure is necessarily affected by the postmodern context in which the event is experienced. In other words, our perception, our receptivity, our openness to God's presence in our own bodies and in the bodiliness of our postmodern world is influenced by a mind-set that has lost confidence in the rational and prefers, once again, non-rational ways of knowing. Today the sacramental imagination faces the challenge of a pluralistic environment that denies the possibility of a shared story, even as technology claims to provide universal access to potentially limitless information. Yet, the blurring of spatial and temporal distinctions may actually promote an openness to experiences of both presence and absence that require reconfigurations of the imagination, specifically the sacramental imagination. It is this imaginative capacity to perceive the "interruption" of the divine within human life that is operative in the church's sacramental celebrations of God's activity in the world. With this general understanding of postmodernism and of sacramentality as a foundation, it is possible to proceed to the final section of this chapter. Two points will be considered: (1) potential frameworks that phenomenology offers for understanding "presence" and "perception" and (2) suggestions for how these phenomenological frameworks can be used to further interpret how the gathered assembly perceives the presence of Christ in a liturgical context.

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Engaging the Insights of Phenomenology Although phenomenology is often considered a modern rather than postmodern philosophy, its potential for providing resources for addressing the third question raised at the beginning of this chapter are significant.46 How might "presence" be understood and "perceived" in a postmodern world? It was the phenomenologist Edmund Husserl who first took seriously the role of absence in human experience. Because of his work, presence can no longer be discussed without taking into account the corresponding experience of absence. In fact, phenomenology offers several useful frameworks for exploring perception and presence within the sacramental event: (1) the significance of horizon,- (2) the significance of the body,- (3) identity in manifolds,- (4) absence and presence; and (5) disclosure and evidence. Each framework will be briefly summarized and considered in terms of its potential to provide insights into the question of perceiving the presence of Christ in the gathered assembly.

The Significance of Horizon One of the key affirmations of phenomenology is that every object of perception is given in a horizon of other objects and/or meanings that contribute to its significance. Husserl argues that an individual object can only be perceived within afieldof other objects.47 In other words, context is critical for the act of perception. For example, a chair can only be perceived as related to the floor on which it is resting or the room in which it is placed. Phenomenology calls this the outer horizon. The inner horizon of an object would include those aspects that are present, yet absent to us. So the fact that the chair has a fourth leg which is not visible from the doorway in which I am standing is part of the chair's inner horizon. Maurice Merleau-Ponty takes an approach similar to Husserl's in Phenomenology of Perception. In this book Merleau-Ponty deals with the basic structures of living- in-the-world that take into account perception, as well as the body, space, time, and other persons. He explains: [Perception is not a science of the world, it is not even an act, a deliberate taking up of a position; it is the background from which

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Perception, Presence, and Sacramentality all acts stand out, and is presupposed by them. The world is not an object such that I have in my possession the law of its making; it is the natural setting of, andfieldfor, all my thoughts and all my explicit perceptions.48

Merleau-Ponty uses the words "background" and "field" in this passage to speak about context. In other words, for Merleau-Ponty, perception is the context within which human beings gain access to truth.49 Phenomenology's notion of horizon sheds light on the process by which an assembly both perceives what is happening when they gather for worship and who they become in the act of gathering. The symbolic network of images, music, color, space, silence, scent, architecture, and text that comprise the liturgy is the outer horizon against which the assembly both perceives what is happening when they gather and who they become in the act of gathering. Their perception of themselves as the locus of the presence of the Risen Christ is therefore perceived within a field of objects that includes the building in which they gather, the arrangement of the furniture that positions them, sacred objects and their relationship to each other and to the assembly, and the history of meanings that have attended this type of gathering for them locally and for the larger Church. The potential aspects of the outer horizon enable the assembly to gain access to the truth about who they are and what they are doing. However, depending on the arrangement of the worship space and the assembly within it, any one of the aspects of the outer horizon could become part of some participants' inner horizon if visibility or some other aspect of perception is at any time impeded. Twentieth-century theologians, including, among others, Bernard Lonergan, Karl Rahner, and Louis-Marie Chauvet, have given increased attention to the impact of horizon in the mediation of theological meaning. Bernard Lonergan makes frequent references to the notion of horizon in his book Method and Theology. His discussion of dialectic includes an extended discussion of horizon or context that reflects a phenomenological viewpoint on the topic.50 Karl Rahner, who is often described as a theologian whose method incorporates the insights of transcendental phenomenology, speaks

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of the unlimitedness of the horizon of human knowing and willing.51 Using a somewhat different approach, Chauvet focuses on both language and the body as the horizon within which human beings perceive meaning.

The Significance of the Body Since perception involves the senses, existential phenomenology highlights the significance of the body as the source of the intentionalities that structure our experience of daily life in the world [das Lebenswelt).52 Note that phenomenologists use the word "intentionality" rather differently from ordinary usage of the word "intention/7 For them, intentionality refers to the conscious relationship we have to an object.53 A group of experiences that can be characterized as being conscious of something possesses an ob)GCt'directedness. This is what phenomenology means by intentionality.54 An example of this object-directedness would be the dependence a person experiences in relation to a wheelchair or the fear one experiences of high places. Perception necessarily involves not only attending to a particular object, but also attending to accompanying objects and actions, as well as to their perceived meanings. Intentionality is the attending that a person or persons exercise regarding their experience of those objects or actions. The notion of intentionality has important ramifications for analyzing ritual and doing liturgical theology. Contemporary approaches to liturgical theology begin with the ritual event in order to discover theological meaning. In the case of an awareness of the presence of Christ, that presence is perceived through the network of symbolic actions that constitute the sacramental event. Recall that this symbolic network is the horizon against which the assembly perceives the liturgy. When the assembly attends to this liturgical horizon, they are attending to their world — the world of ritual — in a particular way. This is an exercise of what phenomenologists call intentionality. Furthermore, we can say that intentionality concerns not only attending to the symbols, but also attending to the relationships that are set up between the symbols and the symbol users. The bodies of those participating thus become the point of convergence for the interpersonal relationships set up by means of this ritual activity. Our perception of Christ's

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presence in the gathered assembly is thus constructed from within sacramental rituals that mediate multi-dimensional relationships. Phenomenology's understanding of the body as the source of the intentionalities that structure our experience can be a particularly fruitful framework for interpreting Sacrosanctum Concilium's emphasis on the active participation of the assembly in the liturgical event. Certainly the liturgy constitution is referring to a "way of being" that surpasses the somewhat superficial behavior of speaking the prayers aloud or singing at the appropriate times. These behaviors may promote intentionality, that is, a conscious relationship to the various symbolizing activities of worship. However, they cannot be identified with the intentionality required for full, conscious, and active participation. In the case of the liturgy, active participation is realized when the body (both individually and communally) stands in conscious affirmative relationship to the meanings being generated by the symbolizing activity. In other words, participation not only requires a particular posture or vocal expression, it demands the investment of our lives as a confirmation of the truth of our ritual behavior.

Identity in Manifolds The third element of phenomenology is "identity in manifolds." Robert Sokolowski uses the example of the cube to explain the concept. A cube can be shown from different perspectives and yet presented through all of them. That is, the identity of the cube can be expressed in a "manifold" of ways. This structure operates in the perception of anything that can be presented to us.55 Three additional ideas are important. The first is that there is a distinction between an object's identity and its manifold appearances. The second is that the identity is not simply the sum of its appearances, but rather transcends them all. Finally, while identities in manifolds can be related to a single perceiver or knower, a much richer array of manifolds comes into play when the presence of other persons is introduced. The inter-subjectivity achieved within a group provides the potential for deeper objectivity and a richer transcendence when multiple manifolds are shared.56 This dimension emerges in a particularly important way in communal rituals.

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Theologians have used this phenomenological language to speak of the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. Michael G. Witczak refers to article seven of Sacrosanctum Concilium as an articulation of the "manifold" presence of Christ in the liturgy.57 He employs the phenomenological framework of identity in manifolds to illumine the theological meaning of the various modes of Christ's presence in the Eucharist. Peter E. Fink's analysis of the four modes of Christ's presence in the Eucharist also reflects a phenomenological perspective. The starting point for discussing an encounter with the Christ who is present, Fink points out, is not any one particular mode (food/drink, word, minister, assembly), but the total eucharistic action as an expression of the Christ who is present.58 Yet a phenomenological perspective would caution against equating the identity of Christ's presence, given through the manifold expressions of his presence, as simply the sum total of all the modes. Certainly a theological perspective would assert that the experience of Christ's presence transcends each mode individually and together. The phenomenological notion of identity in manifolds assists theological inquiry by providing an important framework for understanding the experience of perceiving Christ's manifold presence and for plumbing its various levels of theological meaning. This framework also supports the theological view that the various modes best communicate an awareness of Christ's presence when they are perceived in relation to each other. This framework also has the potential to offer reasons why, when a certain mode of Christ's presence is emphasized or isolated from the others, the fullness of the mystery of Christ's presence is obscured rather than highlighted.

Absence and Presence The notion of presence and absence is another formal structure that is useful for our consideration. Phenomenology distinguishes between filled intentions (those that target something that is present) and empty intentions (those that target something that is absent).59 Its approach to the experience of absence as an aspect of memory is particularly useful for a discussion of Eucharist since memorial is integral to its nature. Since both filled and empty intending are directed toward the same object, there is an identity "behind" and

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"in" presence and absence. That is, presence and absence are "of" one and the same object or person.60 In reflecting on the interplay between presence and absence, phenomenology focuses on absence to a degree that makes its approach unique. Things may be absent because they are future, far away, forgotten, concealed, or beyond comprehension.61 From the point of view of phenomenology, the identity of an object or person is given across the difference of presence and absence, not exclusively in presence. Whether an object or person is absent or present, we always intend it in its identity. That identity is the same regardless of whether it is present or absent.62 Contemporary sacramental theologians, for example, Louis-Marie Chauvet, have been significantly influenced by phenomenology's treatment of the questions of presence and absence. In fact, Chauvet's proposal to overcome the hegemony of metaphysics in sacramental theology includes a discussion of Heidegger's concept of "holding ourselves in a mature proximity to absence" and E. Levinas's description of holding "ourselves in the trace of the Absent."63 This is a departure from the usual perspective of sacramental theology, one that has traditionally focused almost exclusively on questions of presence. In fact, it has been what can perhaps be characterized as an exaggerated and narrow focus on exploring the how, when, and why of Christ's sacramental presence that has led to a diminishment of the eschatological dimension of Christ's presence, one that is "not yet" fully realized. In the liturgical context, phenomenology's treatment of presence and absence can be successfully applied to analyzing the relationship of perception to both remembrance and anticipation. In this case, the object that is presented to us through perception is always given in a mixture of presences and absences. When an object is remembered, it is perceived as absent. In this case, remembering is a particular manifold by which the object is presented to our perception.64 So when we say that the Eucharist is a memorial, we are acknowledging an absence. The Christ who shared table fellowship with his disciples, died on the cross, and rose from the dead, has also ascended to the right hand of the Father. His physical presence in that sense is absent. Similarly, when an object is anticipated, we also experience it as absent. However, because we can imagine it as

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present, we can live in the future.65 This ability to intend toward what is absent is particularly critical in dealing with the nature of Eucharist both as memorial and as eschatological celebration. There is a constant tug in the life of faith between experiencing the presence and absence of God. This state of affairs is particularly evident in the Eucharist where the Church proclaims belief in Christ's presence even as it anticipates the future consummation of all things in Christ. Remembering Christ's promise to come again underscores the fluid boundaries between absence and presence.66

Disclosure and Evidence Finally, the phenomenological understanding of disclosure and evidencing can provide further insights into our consideration of the presence of Christ in the liturgical assembly. In Introduction to Phenomenology, Robert Sokolowski repeatedly describes human beings as ''datives of manifestation."67 In one place he defines the "I" as "the entity to whom the world and all the things in it can be given, the one who can receive the world in knowledge." In another he asserts the importance of allowing "a thing to manifest itself to us.//68 When we operate from within the phenomenological attitude, we begin to look at things as they are manifested or disclosed to us. That is, we begin to look at things in their truth and in their evidencing. At the same time, we experience the self as the dative to whom beings are disclosed.69 What is the nature of the truth of disclosure? It is the simple presencing to us of an intelligible object, the manifestation of what is real or actual. In other words, something is presented to us or a state of affairs simply unfolds.70 In phenomenology, the word "evidence" functions more as a verb — evidencing — than as a noun. Evidencing means to bring about the truth or bring forth a presence. It is both performance and articulation of a state of affairs. It is a veritable event in the life of human beings. This "eventing" achieves not only the perfection of the subject who gets the point or sees what is going on. It also achieves a perfection in the object that is manifested and known. The word "evidence" or "evidencing" is appropriate to the phenomenological enterprise and significant to the study of the sacramental event because it aptly expresses that we are active when

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things present themselves. That is, we do something when intelligible objects present themselves to us ; we are not merely passive recipients. In other words, while we are datives of disclosure, we are also nominatives of manifestation. Such a claim captures the state of affairs when the assembly gathers for worship. The assembly both evidences the presence of Christ and receives a disclosure of that presence. This occurs as an ongoing process, one that is not accomplished once and for all, but that continues and reinforces itself beyond the initial moment. The presence of Christ that is brought to light, however, always emerges out of absence and vagueness.71 This is the mystery of active participation. Christ uses the body of the assembly, of fragile and weak human beings, to disclose his presence. It doesn't happen automatically, however. Sometimes the limited horizon of the community, the careless handling of the symbolic network of images, the skewed intentionality of some members, or an undue emphasis on one of the modes to the neglect of the others can diminish the assembly's perception of or manifestation of Christ's presence in their midst. Nevertheless, the assembly's role is to act as nominatives72 of manifestation of Christ's presence, even as they are also datives (receivers) of the disclosure of that presence.

Implications, Applications, and Further Questions This chapter has argued that much can be learned from taking a contextual approach to theology. In the first place, an examination of cultural and philosophical developments within the postmodern context discloses several potentially favorable conditions for enabling meaningful experiences of the sacramental rites in our contemporary situation. On the one hand, heightened respect and interest in non-rational ways of knowing and a worldview that is historical, relational, and personal provides fertile ground for a renewed appreciation for all types of symbolic activity. On the other hand, the effects of technology on our experience of spatial and temporal boundaries challenge our understanding of presence and absence, as well as perception. Rather than denying or ignoring a culture

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that poses hurdles to liturgical activity and/or rejects the notion of a meta-narrative, Christians need to dialogue with the culture in order to discover new ways of expressing the received tradition in a changed cultural context. Fostering a sacramental imagination or sacramental worldview in our worship assemblies is essential to a deepening appreciation of the presence of Christ, not only in worship, but also in our contemporary world. This sacramental imagination is broader and deeper than simple faith in the efficacy of the sacramental rites and has the potential to resonate with the postmodern perspective with its penchant for the here-and-now and the local. Belief in the sacramentality of existence is nurtured by a posture of contemplative openness or receptivity to transcendence that is glimpsed in human experience that is local because it is inherently bodily. Lastly, phenomenology provides useful frameworks for contemplating the human experience of perception and presence. In its articulation of the importance of context, particularly the body, this philosophical approach can assist in identifying how we experience absence and presence, disclosure and evidence. Phenomenology provides a way of understanding human persons as both datives and nominatives, as objects and subjects, as receivers and actors, of manifestation. A deeper understanding of the dynamic involved in evidencing as a way of bringing forth presence can provide new ways to express and experience the unfolding of Christ's presence in the assembly gathered for formal worship and in the liturgy of daily life in the world. When an assembly gathers for worship, one of its tasks is to bring to a kind of presence that which is experienced as absent — the resurrected Christ. This does not happen automatically. Phenomenology helps us understand that this requires work, the work of the people as a community (leitourgia) and of each individual in the assembly. Things disclose themselves to us, but human beings are the agents. And in the liturgy, human beings are agents of God. This, after all, is what active participation is all about. So what is it that enables or inspires the gathered assembly to take up this communal task? Why do so many opt instead for a privatized piety even in a communal setting? The issue is larger than what happens within a

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liturgical rite. It includes the relationship between politics and epistemology. When baptized members of the Church are made to feel like abject subjects who are not allowed to raise questions or offer alternate viewpoints, they cannot see themselves as either moral agents or agents of truth. Certainly they cannot see themselves as datives of manifestation, as persons having the power of disclosure. The result is a retreat into subjectivism, the cancellation of public truth in favor of private relativism.73 Ironically, efforts to protect public truth with a strong arm may result in more widespread privatization of religious belief and a weakened appreciation of the gathered assembly as the locus of the resurrected Christ. The euphoric excitement of the early postVatican II years encouraged the assembly to imagine their place in the Church in new ways. Their sense of being vital, responsible members of the Church resulted in increased involvement in all aspects that were open to them, but particularly in the liturgy. In many ways, the current ecclesial climate discourages that kind of enthusiasm, commitment, and self-understanding. The gathered assembly's awareness of itself as the locus of the presence of the resurrected Christ is critical to their appreciation of the fullness of the eucharistic mystery, their self-understanding as baptized Christians, and their active participation in the liturgy of the Church. Attention to the cultural context may provide insights into the dynamics that may promote or diminish that awareness. Thus far, then, we have attended to the impact of cultural context on the Church's ability to celebrate the liturgy and continue the ongoing reform of its rite. In addition, we have explored the significance of the sacramental imagination to full and meaningful celebrations of the formal rites of the Church. Lastly, with the assistance of the philosophical perspectives of phenomenology, we have discovered useful frameworks for approaching an understanding of perception and presence as these realities unfold in the liturgy. The next chapter will build on this work as it explores the sacramentality of the gathered assembly.

Chapter Two

THE SACRAMENTALITY OF THE GATHERED ASSEMBLY

Bells ringing high in the belfry fill the neighborhood with an expectant urgency as people on foot scurry to reach one of several entrances to the church and families in cars and vans search for the few remaining parking spaces. The elderly and infirm carefully negotiate ramps while children and youth are shepherded by parents and others who hope to arrive in their places before the entrance procession begins. Small groups of young people linger on the steps still engrossed in stories of a record-breaking upset and other admirable feats at last night's high school football game. At each doorway, hospitality ministers distribute hymnals and express warm hellos to both familiar and unfamiliar faces. As the last members of the assembly take their places, the organ intones the gathering song and the assembly rises to its feet. This scene — or others similar to it—is part of the weekly ritual that precedes the celebration of Sunday Eucharist in parish churches in dioceses throughout the United States and in many other places throughout the world. As a type of "pre-ritual," it both prepares and constitutes the faith community that gathers regularly to fulfill the Lord's mandate to "do this in memory of me." How many of those who enter the church building realize the full import of their presence at this time and in this place? How many realize that by their very act of gathering they have assented once again to being a sign of the presence of Christ in the world? Chapter 1 began our exploration of the meaning of Christ's presence in the gathered assembly by considering the nature of our postmodern context and how that context can promote or inhibit 33

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the flourishing of a sacramental worldview. It also introduced a brief discussion of the manifold presences of Christ in the celebration of the Eucharist and the other sacraments. One of those modes of presence is in the assembly gathered for worship. It is this belief that provides the basis for referring to the sacramentality of the gathered assembly. This chapter will explore the theological foundations for the claim that when the assembly gathers for worship, Christ is present in its midst. The chapter consists of four sections. The first considers the theological meaning of "gathering" for worship. The second considers the theological meaning of the "assembly" thus gathered. The third reviews twentieth-century Church documents that speak of belief in the manifold presence of Christ. The fourth and final section examines the Church's belief in the Risen Christ's presence in the Church from the perspective of twentieth-century theologians who have contributed significantly to the development of sacramental theology both before and after the Second Vatican Council.

The Theological Meaning of Gathering The opening scene of this chapter describes the efforts of a faith community to gather for Sunday worship. Everyone knows that there are many more behind-the-scene skirmishes — especially in households with children — that need to be maneuvered before anyone arrives at the threshold of the church door. To some these very human challenges may appear to have nothing to do with the sacramental ritual that follows. Nevertheless, these mundane efforts to "get-me-to-the-church-on-time" are part of a much larger picture that does embody theological meaning. Section III of the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (2002; hereafter GIRM),1 entitled "The Individual Parts of the Mass," refers to the first ritual actions of the Mass as "The Introductory Rites" and describes them as having "the character of a beginning, introduction, and preparation" (art. 46). Their purpose is to ensure "that the faithful who come together as one (emphasis added), establish communion and dispose themselves to listen properly to God's word and to celebrate the Eucharist worthily" (art. 46). Article 47, labeled "The Entrance" speaks about the opening chant which begins,

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"after the people have gathered" and whose purpose is to "foster the unity of those who have been gathered." These opening rites are not specifically referred to as "gathering" rites in GIRM although this expression has become a common alternate designation for either "introductory" or "entrance" rite. It is important to note, however, GIRM's emphasis on unity, a notion naturally akin to the action of gathering. Article 46 speaks of "coming together as one" and "establishing communion." Both of these phrases underscore the necessity that the assembly achieve some measure of unity before they begin the celebration of the sacred mysteries. GIRM's comments appear to presume that the people are already gathered before the first note of the entrance chant has even been intoned.2 This presumption does not lessen the importance of the act of the gathering, but rather acknowledges that it is an essential prerequisite. When and where, then, does "gathering" actually take place and what is its theological significance? GIRM's comment (art. 47) that locates the act of gathering before the intonation of the opening hymn or the first step of the entrance procession has important implications about the nature of the assembly and its role in the Eucharist. Before we begin to unpack those implications, let us look at an earlier article, no. 27 of GIRM, which asserts that at Mass the people of God are called together into unity to celebrate the memorial of the Lord. "For this reason," the article continues, "Christ's promise applies in a special way to such gatherings of the Church: 'Where two or three come together in my name, there am I in their midst'" (Matt. 18:20). Thus the Church believes that at the celebration of Mass, Christ is really present in the assembly gathered in his name. But what exactly does it mean to "be gathered?" Understanding significant post-Vatican II shifts regarding the nature of worship and the assembly can assist us in answering this question.

The Nature of Worship as Action of Christ and Response of the Church According to Edward Kilmartin, the Second Vatican Council's description of liturgy made two important theological changes. The first had to do with the very notion of worship itself, the second with the role of the assembly. From the time of the Reformation

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down through Pius XIFs encyclical Mediator Dei, Catholic teaching portrayed worship primarily as an exercise of religion. Phrases that describe the sacred liturgy as "the public worship.. .which the society of Christ's faithful renders to its Founder and through Him, to the eternal Father"3 encouraged a perspective that understood worship as something we do for God. Sacrosanctum Concilium [Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, 1963), on the other hand, emphasizes that Christian worship begins with God's action, not ours. This is signaled by the very first sentence of article seven which asserts: "To accomplish so great a work Christ is always present in his church, especially in liturgical celebrations."4 The notion that it is God's gift of faith whereby we are so grasped by Christ that we become one with him and he with us, informs the Council's notion of worship. Worship only happens because Christ is actively present in the worshipers in the Spirit.5 Kilmartin traces Vatican IFs emphasis on the primacy of the divine action to the writings of Odo Casel who made it clear that "it is Christ, not the Church, who makes the redemptive work present in the Church's liturgy. Through the sacramental rite the Church cooperates with Christ's action, entering into his redeeming work by faith and responding to God's initiative. The mystery of salvation, however, is present through Christ's action, not through that of the Church.'76

Baptismal Roots of Gathering Another way of expressing this principle is to say that the Second Vatican Council views worship as dialogical.7 This does not simply mean that the structure of our worship rites is set up dialogically (although it certainly is). It means, on a much more profound level, that our impulse to gather for worship is itself a response to an invitation that God gestures to humankind through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Baptism enables us to respond to God's invitation by plunging us into the Paschal Mystery. By entering into the dying and rising of Christ, we respond to Christ's self gift with our own self gift. Baptism authorizes us to do Eucharist since it is through baptism that we receive Christ's mandate to "do this in remembrance of me." It is ultimately baptism, therefore, that gathers us to do Eucharist as the one body of Christ. So the "beginning" of

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the Eucharistic liturgy is not the entrance hymn, but the baptismal font. And our gathering for worship is a response to what God in Christ through the Spirit has already done for our salvation. Once we understand that "gathering" has its roots in baptism, we can examine the more immediate experience of gathering for Eucharist in greater depth. Robert Hurd likens the decision to respond to God's invitation to a decision to go on pilgrimage or to cross a threshold.8 By gathering we signal our intention to exercise our priestly function of making intercession to the Father, through Christ, and in the Spirit, on behalf of all of humankind. With St. Paul we can say that "it is no longer [we] who live, but it is Christ who lives in [us] (Gal. 2:20). Thus we enter into a sacramental event of the reign of God that anticipates and imitates the life of the Trinity. Indeed, as Hurd asserts, the act of gathering is not simply a preliminary to Eucharist. Rather, it is in itself a eucharistic act.9 That is, our act of gathering enables us to "become mindful again of who we really are: the body of Christ, the Church, gathered in the Word to give thanks and praise and share the bread of life and the cup of salvation/'10 The next section will explore the theological foundations of this claim as it relates to the identity of the assembly.

The Theological Meaning of Assembly This focus on "who we are" when we gather leads to our second topic — the theological meaning of assembly — and to the second shift Kilmartin identifies in Vatican IPs understanding of the liturgy. The specific issue is the identity of the subject of the liturgy. Scholastic theology identified the ordained minister, officially deputed to represent the whole Church, as the active subject of the liturgy.11 Participation of the laity was considered indirect at best. The laity's task was to be prayerfully attentive to the work performed by the ordained minister. While Sacrosanctum Concilium does not explicitly use the phrase "assembly as subject," it does make several statements that support this interpretation. The Liturgy Constitution proposes full, conscious, and active participation of the assembly as the primary goal of the liturgical reform. Such

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participation by the assembly is rooted in baptism (art. 12). Furthermore, when liturgy is identified as an exercise of Christ the priest and his body (the Church) (art. 7) and further identified as celebrations of the Church (art. 26.1), the fact that the entire liturgical assembly is the direct subject of the liturgical action becomes even more apparent.12 According to Sacrosanctum Concilium's approach, ordained priests do not serve as mediators between the people and God as some scholastic theologies might imply. Rather, God's selfcommunication is achieved through the active interrelationship of the entire assembly.13 That is why we can refer to the assembly as the subject of the liturgical action. So the gathering rite is our response to an invitation and a mandate rooted in baptism. Because of baptism and our participation in the Paschal Mystery, we celebrate Eucharist as a priestly people. When we gather, or more accurately, when by the power of the Spirit, we are gathered, Christ is present in the Church in order to incorporate us more fully into his Paschal Mystery. This is what makes us "assembly."

Scriptural Sources The word "assembly" has roots in the ancient worlds of Israel and Greece. Its theological usage can be traced to the Hebrew Scriptures where the term qahal is translated either as a summons to an assembly or the act of assembling. More specifically, this assembly of persons was gathered by the Lord in order to live in his presence.14 This sense of the assembly of Israel convoked by God and expressed by the word qahal, appears in Deuteronomy 5:19, 23:2-9, 1 Chronicles 28:8, Numbers 16:3, 20:4, and Micah 2:5.15 Not only do these passages focus on the divine initiative of the call and how that divine initiative constitutes the assembly, but they also portray the divine call as the people's source of unity. We shall return later to the significance of a focus on unity. The Greek term for the Hebrew qahal is ekklesia, the term that the Septuagint uses for "assembly." The fact that the New Testament chose the word ekklesia to designate the gathered assembly was probably influenced not only by its Jewish roots, but also by secular Greek usage. As an official term of the Athenian democracy, ekklesia referred to the citizens' assembly summoned for decisionmaking. In fact, Acts 19:32, 39, and 41 use this word in its secular

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sense in its account of the events in Ephesus.16 Using the word ekklesia appears to be an effort both to distinguish the Christian communities from Jewish worship assemblies while still reaping the benefits of the word's heritage in its Greek rendering.17 Nevertheless, parallels with the Jewish usage of qahal are clear. One such instance is when the word ekklesia is used to describe the primitive Christian community, particularly on Pentecost, as the eschatological continuation of the Sinai desert community. In this case, the Christian community describes itself as persons united in prayer and in expectation that God will manifest Godself as he did on Sinai. This time, however, the manifestation will be effected through Christ and in the Spirit.18 The description in Acts of common prayer before the event of Pentecost emphasizes two elements: the community's act of gathering and the community's attitude of expectation. Key phrases in the first part of Acts demonstrate this clearly. One is the phrase "with one mind" or "with one accord" [homothymadon). Another is the phrase "in one place" [epi to auto). Both expressions focus on the unity experienced within the Christian community, a unity of hearts and minds that was particularly evident when they gathered for communal worship in obedience to the Master's instructions. Furthermore, this gathering was characterized by an attitude of waiting and expectation.19 The disciples remained in one place because they were told not to leave Jerusalem, but to "wait for the promise of the Father" (pehmenein ten epaggelain tou patios) (Acts 1:4). Although the word ekklesia appears in Matthew and Acts, it is Paul's epistles that incorporate widespread usage of the term to describe local churches. In Corinthians, the assembly is so important that even the exercise of charisms is to be determined by its specific needs (1 Cor. 13:3). Furthermore, Paul views these charisms or gifts of the Spirit as a significant manifestation of Christ's presence in the assembly.20 In Colossians, Christ is named head of his body that is the Church (1:18). In Ephesians, the Church is described as the fullness [pleroma) of him who fills all in all and as the body of Christ (1:22-23). This understanding of the Church as fullness and as the body of Christ is further developed in other Pauline epistles and in the writings of John. Although the Johannine gospel does

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not use the word ekklesia, it is found several times in the third letter of John. The evidence thus suggests that one of the key images for understanding the nature of the Church in the New Testament is that of an assembly called by God through Christ. Clearly, the word "assembly" is used to designate "Church/'21 and more specifically, local Church. In the New Testament, the primary reference of ekklesia is to the assembly gathering for worship, as it is used in 1 Corinthians 11:18, 14:19, 35. However, the application of the word was eventually extended to include the local Church in any given place.22 The Greek word koinonia also expresses the idea of an assembly gathered in Christ in the writings of the New Testament. It is an important term because it expresses the relationship that gives the assembly their identity. Actually the word embodies a web of relationships that includes the unity of the assembly gathered in and by Christ. Koinonia means "a common share" or "participation in." Paul's use of the word in 1 Corinthians 1:9 captures the reality whereby Christians participate in or share in the life of Jesus Christ: "God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord." By sharing in Christ's life, members of the assembly are thereby in communion with God and one another through the one Spirit.23 While the letters of Paul suggest that the gift of koinonia could be realized in a variety of settings, the most complete expression of koinonia, established in baptism, takes place when the assembly celebrates the Eucharist.24 Paul's emphasis on koinonia as "sharing" comes out clearly in his classic text on the Eucharist: "The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a sharing in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a sharing in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread (1 Cor. 10:16-17). Thus the word koinonia complements the word ekklesia by providing another lens for examining more clearly the unity of the assembly that participates in the Eucharist in response to the Lord's summons.

Early Church Evidence The document commonly referred to as the Didache25 represents the preserved oral tradition of the practices of house Churches in

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the generation immediately following the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.26 In the judgment of Aaron Milavec, the Didache "reveals more about how Christians saw themselves and how they lived their everyday lives than any book in the Christian Scriptures." His argument is based on his assessment that since it does not attempt, like the Gospels, to offer guidance by narrating the life of Christ and because it is not a response to occasional situations, like the letters of Paul, it provides a more comprehensive picture of Christian life and practice in the mid-first-century Church.27 Part of that picture includes significant evidence of the importance placed on gathering or coming together for Eucharist. What does that picture look like? There are four references to the gathering of the community for Eucharist in the Didache. Since the first (9:4) and second (10:5) are similar — the second often considered a variant of the first — the first two excerpts will be cited and discussed together. The first reference is part of a prayer spoken at a communal gathering. Scholars are not in agreement as to whether the meals referred to in these first two excerpts describe the Eucharist or the pre-eucharist meal:28 Just as this broken [loaf] was scattered over the hills [as grain] and, having_been_gathered_together, became one; in_like_fashion, may your church be_gathered_together from the ends of the earth into your kingdom. Because yours is the glory and the power through Jesus Christ forever. (9:4)29 The second reference is part of a prayer for the unity of the Church: Remember, Lord, your church, to save [her] from every evil and to perfect [her] in your love and to gather [her] together from the four winds [as] the sanctified into your kingdom which you have prepared for her, because yours is the power and the glory forever. (10:5)30 The 9:4 reference is perhaps one of the more familiar passages in the Didache because it is quoted in several hymns that are in current usage. The primary image of being "gathered together" is the main focus of the agrarian image for the Church. Milavec suggests that the word "church" (ekklesia) in this segment and also in 10:5 needs to be interpreted not as a place of worship, nor as a local community or

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religious organization. Rather, "church" here refers to what he calls "the global ingathering of the elect." In other words, in this context "church" is actually the event by which the Father summons and gathers together the elect from the far corners of the world.31 The symbolism of scattering to the ends of the earth and the gathering together from the four winds ties these two excerpts together, as does the future vision of the final unity of the Kingdom achieved in the end times. The gathering is thus an eschatological event and the future of the church thus gathered is the reign of God.32 The third reference to gathering exhorts the community to observe the Lord's Day by gathering for Eucharist: (And) according to [the] divinely-instituted [day/rule] of [the] Lord, having_been_gathered_together, break a loaf. And eucharistize, having_beforehand.confessed your failings, so_that your sacrifice may be pure. (14:1)33 This passage is related to the two previously cited excerpts. Gathering is once again highlighted, this time with the specification that it be done on the Lord's Day. Verse 14:1 concludes with an exhortation to confess failings in order to ensure a "pure sacrifice." The comment raises the issue of conflict resolution within the community and its relationship to the community's responsibility to celebrate the Eucharist. By confessing one's failings, the unity of the assembly is thereby ensured, not just by the physical action of gathering, but also by the unity of heart and mind that is achieved through reconciliation. The importance of regular or frequent gatherings of the assembly as a source of support is the focus of the fourth excerpt: (And) frequently be_gathered_together, seeking the things pertaining to your souls; for the whole time of your faith will not be of use to you in the end time you should not have been perfected. (16:2)34

The verse that opens chapter 16 sets a strong eschatological tone with imperatives such as "be watchful" and "be prepared." The third imperative, "frequently be gathered" follows this pattern. In other words, "gathering frequently" is one of the community's practices that will ensure each member's perseverance until the end.35

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There are several elements in these excerpts from the Didache that are worth noting. The first is the breadth of its vision, both in terms of embracing the world and looking to the parousia. Those who practiced their faith during this early period imagined their actions in communal and cosmic terms. They understood that the very act of gathering and the unity that it promoted had consequences for the Kingdom. In their view, the Church thus gathered is, in fact, the reign of God. The writings of the early Church Fathers likewise include rich references to the gathering of the assembly as an important characteristic of the Christian life. One particularly significant source is a collection of letters written by Ignatius of Antioch. These letters contain exhortations to the young Christian communities of Asia to remain closely united to Christ and to the Church. Ignatius encourages them to maintain the bonds of faith through their celebration of the Eucharist where, under the leadership of the bishop, they gather around the altar to share the one bread. For Ignatius, this bread, which is the body of the Lord Jesus Christ, is the sacrament of unity par excellence.36 Using the formula employed in Acts, Ignatius of Antioch stresses the community's obligation to "gather in one place" (epi to auto) in his letter to the Ephesians (13:1). A similar exhortation is contained in his letter to the Philadelphians, where he urges them to appreciate the Eucharist as the sacrament of unity: Be eager, then, to celebrate one eucharist; for one is the flesh of our Lord Jesus Christ, and one the cup for union through his blood, one the altar, just as one the bishop along with the presbytery and deacons, my fellow slaves; that whatever you do, you may do it in a godly way. (Phil 4:1)37 Scholars have interpreted the repetition of the word "one" as a design to combat divisiveness in the Philadelphian community. Most likely the term "union" refers, as it usually does in these letters, to the unity of the congregation. Thus "union through his blood" should not be translated as "union with his blood," but rather "resulting from" or "through." In other words, Ignatius is asserting that the ground of Christian unity — that is the unity of the community— is the passion (blood) of Christ. Furthermore, his reference

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to "one altar" can also be interpreted to symbolize the oneness of the Christian community, even as it was also understood in the Patristic period to symbolize Christ himself.38 This strong focus on unity is also evident in the letter to the Magnesians. Ignatius exhorts the community: As, then, the Lord did nothing without the Father — being united (with him) — neither by himself nor through the apostles, so you too do nothing without the bishop and presbyters, nor try to have anything appear right by yourselves,- but (let there be) one prayer in common, one petition, one mind, one hope in love, in blameless joy, which is Jesus Christ, than whom nothing is better. All of you, hurry together as to one temple of God, as to one altar, to one Jesus Christ, who proceeded from the one Father and was with the one and returned (to him) (Mag 7:l-2).39 The word "one" appears nine times in this passage. Its frequency reflects the central concern of Ignatius' letters. The division he fears is not that caused by maverick individuals but by groups that go their own way. The opposite of this division is a unity linked with love and joy.40 In all of these exhortations, Ignatius of Antioch characterizes the event of gathering as a source of joy, as when he instructs the Philadelphians "to rejoice with those who are assembled and to glorify the name" (10:1) or when he advises the Magnesians to gather "in irreproachable joy" [7:1).41 Furthermore, this gathering in joy to celebrate the Lord's resurrection was viewed by the assemblies of the early Church as a celebration of their own victory over death and their anticipation of the Lord's victorious return. This eschatological insight is succinctly expressed in the cry of the assembly that may well be the Church's oldest prayer: "Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!" (Rev. 22:20, 1 Cor. 16:22, Didache 10:6).42 This cry expresses the longing and the expectation of a community who believes that when they gather, Christ will indeed come into their midst.

Liturgical Reforms Since the reforms of Vatican II, the word "assembly" has been restored according to its usage in the New Testament and the writings of the early Church communities. Applied in a liturgical context, the word designates the gathered liturgical community. Furthermore,

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this gathered liturgical community is recognized, in its local particularity, as the Body of Christ and therefore, as an instance of the Church. This designation reflects an understanding expressed in Sacrosanctum Concilium that a liturgical event is the preeminent place where the reality of the Church is manifestly realized. Article two states that the liturgy enables "the faithful to express in their lives and portray to others the mystery of Christ and the real nature of the true church." Thus while article 48 of the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church (Lumen Gentium, 1964) describes the Church as the universal sacrament of salvation, article two of the Liturgy Constitution even more strongly affirms that the sacramental church is most completely expressed in the liturgical assembly.43 John Gallen captures the significant connection between the assembly's identity and its active role in worship when he asserts: Liturgical action, in fact, is defined as what the members of the assembly do in their graced mystical unity with Christ and with each other in the celebration of the paschal mystery. By their mutual presence to each other, the grace of Christ's real presence is sacramentalized and delivered by and in the community members (emphasis added) in a variety of specific liturgical events each of which is shaped in a particular symbolic expression ranging from eucharist and the other sacraments to the liturgy of the hours and the sacramentals.44 In this comment, Gallen speaks directly to the question of how the gathered assembly embodies the presence of Christ. Christ's real presence is sacramentalized by the mutual presence which the assembly offers to each other. This stipulation of mutual presence requires that each member of the assembly take seriously their participative role in worship. Furthermore, Gallen's comment acknowledges the assembly's role in mediating the presence of Christ not only in the Eucharist, but in other worship settings as well. Louis-Marie Chauvet treats several of these themes in his own work in sacramental theology. He highlights the primacy of the assembly's role in relation to Christ's presence when he asserts: Therefore, if... the agent of the [liturgical] celebration is the church as church understood in the primary meaning of assembly, it is not (or it is not first of all) due to a democratic idealogy but to a properly theological reason. The priest who presides (for if all celebrate,

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one presides) manifests "sacramentally" or "ministerially" that it is Christ himself who presides and exercises his unique priesthood in the midst of the assembly and on its behalf; it is precisely because it is Christ who presides that all the members of his body act together with him, on the basis of faith and baptism.45 Note Chauvet's emphasis on the fact that it is Christ himself who acts in the liturgy. In his judgment, the more the role of Christ is understood as central, the more it becomes evident that it is the assembly—which is Christ's present body of humanity—that is the active sacramental mediation of Christ's action.46 This statement provides a strong theological foundation for the role of the assembly and the presider and the relationship of both to each other and to Christ. In this context, the term "assembly" describes the entire Church gathered for worship, priest-presider and laity gathered as one body.47 The centrality of the liturgical assembly as the primary locus of the Church is a key tenet of Chauvet's sacramental theology. In fact, Chauvet asserts that a church without an assembly would be a contradiction in terms. Referring back to the etymology of the word "assembly/7 Chauvet asserts that the gathering, called or convoked by God or Christ, is the major characteristic of Christians.48 That is, Christians are a people who gather as an assembly of brothers and sisters in the name and in memory of the Lord. Such an assembly is the "fundamental sacrament" of the risen Christ.49 Furthermore, Chauvet characterizes this gathered assembly as a "diversified Sunday assembly." While acknowledging that there are necessarily different forms of church assembly and some of these may be rather homogeneous, Chauvet posits the diversified Sunday assembly as "sacramentally" exemplary of the nature of the Church.50 By this he means that if the Sunday assembly is truly to unfold or sacramentally express the "new humanity" inaugurated by Christ and conferred on all who enter the Church through baptism, then this assembly needs to manifest a reality where "there is no longer Jew or Greek," where people of all ages and social conditions are welcomed.51 The human experience of gathering for worship, as well as our reflection on that experience, can assist us in arriving at a mindfulness of the true identity of the liturgical assembly. But what does it

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mean to say that, as Church gathered around the table of the Eucharist, the assembly is the Body of Christ? Is this different from the Catholic belief that when we gather for Eucharist, the sacred species — that is, the bread and wine — become the body and blood of Christ? A brief look at key documents from the last century that deal with this topic can help sort out the issues raised by these questions.

Twentieth-Century Church Documents on the Presence of Christ The conciliar articulation of the manifold presence of Christ, Sacrosanctum Concilium, article seven, is the usual point of reference today for discussions of the various modes of Christ's presence. As the most authoritative version, it deserves careful reading and analysis. We return to it in this chapter in order to explore its potential for illuminating our understanding of the sacramentality of the gathered assembly. The text reads: To accomplish so great a work Christ is always present in his church, especially in liturgical celebrations. He is present in the sacrifice of the Mass both in the person of his minister, "the same now offering, through the ministry of priests, who formerly offered himself on the cross/' and most of all in the eucharistic species. By his power he is present in the sacraments so that when anybody baptizes it is really Christ himself who baptizes. He is present in his word since it is he himself who speaks when the holy scriptures are read in church. Lastly, he is present when the church prays and sings, for he has promised "where two or three are gathered together in my name there am I in the midst of them" (Matt 18:20).

The first paragraph of article seven reaffirms belief in the presence of the resurrected Christ in the Church. It opens by mentioning Christ's presence in the Church and it concludes with Matthew 18:20 in order to support that assertion with Christ's own promise. Between the first and last sentence, the specific modes are enumerated. But it is Christ's presence in the Church, specified as the Church gathered for worship, that forms the basis for the possibility of all the other modes of presence.

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The familiar quote from Matthew is the single scriptural reference for this paragraph. Some biblical scholars consider 18:20 the Christological center of chapter 18, even as the presence of the Risen Lord is the foundation of Matthew's Christology.52 This is the overriding idea that Matthew comes back to in the final verse of Matthew's Gospel when he quotes the Risen Lord promising, "And know that I am with you always,- yes, to the end of time" (Matt. 28:20). Both verses contain the promise of the presence of the resurrected Christ in the Church. The assumption is usually made that Matthew 18:20 refers to a worship context because it mentions members of the Church "gathered" in Christ's name. However, in light of the entire chapter 18, the word "gathered" could also refer to a variety of other church functions, including fraternal correction and forgiveness.53 Indeed, as Ulrich Lutz notes: [E]xpanding the promise of the presence of Jesus to include all of the church's functions that are performed in his name is in keeping with Matthew's Christology, which places so much emphasis on mission, community, love, and suffering as characteristics of the Church. Nevertheless, the history of this verse's interpretation suggests by its ecclesiastical usage that "gathered" is taken to mean the occasion of some type of formal worship as Church. Also important is the condition of gathering "in the Lord's name."54

Thus, in this brief verse Matthew articulates an understanding of the Church that enjoys the presence of the Risen Lord when it comes together or gathers in his name, that is, as Church. Article seven of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy quotes this verse to support the Church's faith in the manifold presence of Christ in its midst specifically when it gathers for worship. Because of the way the paragraph is framed, beginning and concluding with mention of Christ's presence in the Church gathered for liturgy, the document identifies this mode as the basis for all of the others, including the presence of Christ in the consecrated bread and wine. While the Liturgy Constitution may contain the most familiar articulation of belief in the manifold presence of Christ today, it was neither the first nor the last church document to speak about this mystery. In fact, the conciliar drafters of Sacrosanctum Concilium used Pius XII's encyclical Mediator Dei (1948) as their model. Article 24 of that encyclical reads in part:

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Therefore, in every liturgical action its divine founder is present with the Church: Christ is present in the sublime Sacrifice of the Altar, both in the person of His minister and especially under the Eucharistic species; He is present in the Sacraments by His power which pours into them that they may be efficacious instruments of sanctity; He is present in the praises and in the petitions directed to God, as it is written, "For where two or three are gathered together for My sake, there am I in the midst of them (Matt 18:20)."55 Pius XII's articulation of the manifold presence of Christ in Me-

diator Dei is finally reordered in the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy after several drafts. But a significant point that can easily be overlooked is that in Mediator Dei the introduction to the listing of the modes clearly asserts that in every liturgical action Christ is present. This includes such non-sacramental celebrations as the Liturgy of the Hours, even when it is celebrated in a space without the reserved sacrament. Furthermore, Mediator Dei needs to be interpreted in light of Pius XIFs earlier encyclical, Mystid Corpohs (The Mystical Body of Christ, 1943). In that encyclical, the ecclesiological foundations for Mediator Dei are clearly laid out: the Church is the Body of Christ.56 Of course, this is not a new theological idea. Rather, Pius XII is expounding a theological principle whose source is the Pauline doctrine put forth in the letters to the Colossians and the Romans. In two verses of the first chapter of the letter to the Colossians, Paul identifies the Church as the Body of Christ: "He is head of the body, the church'7 (1:18); and "in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the Church" (1:24). Romans 12 expresses the same idea: "For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another" (12:4-5). Together these passages not only speak of the Church as the body of Christ, but also emphasize the significance of unity. This unity is not only of Christ with his members, but also of the members with one another. Therefore, these passages also provide the theological foundation for the claim that the unity of the assembly, that is the local Church, is essential to an experience of the presence of Christ in that community.

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Just two years after the promulgation of Sacrosanctum Concilium, Paul VI wrote the encyclical Mysterium Fidei (The Mystery of Faith, 1965) in which he responds to scholarly theological studies looking for alternative articulations of the doctrine of transubstantiation. In this encyclical, Paul VI returns to Pius XIFs ordering of the modes of Christ's presence and expands on article seven of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy. He devotes five articles (no. 35-39) to his explication of the manifold presence of Christ. These articles are significant for three reasons. The first is that, once again, Paul VI identifies Christ's presence in the Church as the basis for the other modes of presence. By echoing the strong first statement of Sacrosanctum Concilium, Paul VI affirms the intent of the Council to posit this priority: "Christ is present in his Church when it prays " Another reason for the significance of this section is the eschatological dimension Paul VI provides when he explains that Christ "is present in his pilgrim Church longing to reach the harbor of eternal life, since it is he who through faith dwells in our hearts and through the Holy Spirit whom he gives us pours forth his love in the Church."57 This eschatological dimension highlights the liturgy as an event that celebrates the "already/not yet" of Christ's presence in our earthly existence. It thus serves to acknowledge the experience of both the presence and the absence of Christ. Finally, Paul VFs amplification of the comments of article seven of Sacrosanctum Concilium provides a helpful clarification of the Council's characterization of Christ's presence "most of all" in the eucharistic species. Many commentaries on the encyclical point out that a strong motivation for writing was Paul VFs intention to protect the teaching on transubstantiation from being lost to new articulations of the mystery of Christ's presence in the bread and wine. Nevertheless, his comments about the real presence also serve to strengthen the claim about the other modes of Christ presence. Paul VI explains: "This presence is called the real presence not to exclude the other kinds as though they were not real, but because it is real par //58 In the final analysis, it might be more accurate to excellence say that the issue is not so much whether some modes of Christ's presence may be called "real" while others may not, but that agreement on the meaning of the designation "real" has been elusive, at

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least since the medieval period, especially when discussed in the context of symbol and sacrament. Subsequent Church documents, including Eucharisticum Mysterium (Instruction on Eucharistic Worship, 1967)59 and the GIRM (1973) follow Paul VTs ordering. The Instruction60 of 1967 reiterates and amplifies key elements in Mysterium Fidei. Several statements directly address concerns of this chapter. For example, article 3.a describes the Mass as the sacred banquet, highlighting anticipation of the eschatological banquet in the Father's kingdom. Article 3.c asserts that the "celebration of the eucharist at Mass is the action not only of Christ but also of the Church." In this context the word "Church" refers to the local church and hence the assembly gathered at worship. Thus the instruction not only affirms that the assembly is the subject of the liturgical celebration, but it also highlights the identity of the assembly as the Body of Christ. Article seven of Mysterium Fidei focuses on the Eucharist as center of the local Church and source of unity. Quoting Lumen Gentium 26, the text reads: Any community of the altar, under the sacred ministry of the bishop ... stands out clearly as a symbol of that charity and "unity of the Mystical Body without which there can be no salvation/' In these communities... Christ is present and the power of his presence gathers together the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. For "the sharing of the body and blood of Christ does nothing less than transform us into what we receive/' This brief statement is rich in theological themes. By calling the assembly a "community of the altar" under the leadership of the bishop, article seven identifies the diocesan church at worship as a symbol of the Church's unity as the Mystical Body of Christ. Christ's presence in the community is asserted and identified as the power that gathers the Church together. Furthermore, since parish celebrations are extensions of diocesan worship,61 parochial celebrations are likewise esteemed as occasions when Christ is present in the gathered assembly. To bring all of these insights together, the article concludes with a quote from one of Augustine's sermons that identifies the assembly as the body and blood of Christ, albeit one that is on a journey to becoming, with each celebration of the Eucharist, more the body of Christ.62

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Finally, article nine of Eucharisticum Mysterium enumerates the various modes of Christ's presence, beginning with his presence in the assembly. The article concludes with Paul VI's clarification in Mysterium Fidei that calling the presence of Christ in the eucharistic species "real" is not intended to exclude the other modes of presence as if they were not real. Article 55 returns briefly to the topic of the manifold presences of Christ by explaining that the various modes emerge clearly one after the other in the eucharistic rite. This comment serves as a rationale for the order of listing the modes. It also explains the necessity to prohibit the reservation of the Eucharist on the altar during the celebration of Mass in order to preserve the sign value of the eucharistic bread and wine confected on the altar. The latest edition of GIRM (2002) introduces a discussion of the general structure of the Mass by identifying the various modes of Christ's presence in article 27. It mentions the presence of Christ in the assembly first and in the eucharistic elements last as did GIRM (1973). One could argue that the frequent reordering of the listing of the modes indicates some ambivalence regarding their interrelationship and possible hierarchy of importance. Nevertheless, nothing is either added or deleted from previous statements. Perhaps the more important point is the fact that in the twentieth century there have been several official church statements that have reiterated the teaching on the multiple modes of Christ's presence. Such reiteration is, first of all, a clear assertion of the importance and centrality of this theological claim regarding belief in the presence of Christ. Secondly, its several appearances in a variety of documents assist in providing a hermeneutical framework for the ongoing interpretation of the meaning of article 7 of Sacrosanctum Concilium for the faith of the Church and for liturgical practice.63

The Risen Christ's Presence in the Church: Twentieth-Century Theological Perspectives Understanding the presence of Christ in the worshiping assembly derives from belief in the presence of the Risen Lord in his Church. Twentieth-century theologians, particularly Karl Rahner, Edward

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Schillebeeckx, Piet Schoonenberg, and Louis-Marie Chauvet, have all contributed to an understanding of the Church as sacrament and therefore as the primary location of Christ's presence in the world. Their work has provided the basis for contemporary approaches to sacramental theology that have included the notion of Jesus Christ as primordial sacrament and the Church as foundational sacrament, as well as a renewed appreciation for the role of symbol and the significance of the concepts of encounter and presence. Karl Rahner's theology of church and sacraments is built on a strong Christological foundation. He begins by describing Christ as "the historically real and actual presence of the eschatologically victorious mercy of God."64 From this perspective, the Church as the people of God65 becomes the continuation and perpetual presence of the task and function of Christ in the economy of salvation.66 Rahner captures the essence of sacramentality when he describes the Church as Christ's presence in the world in this way: The Church is the abiding presence of that primal sacramental word of definitive grace, which Christ is in the world, effecting what is uttered by uttering it in sign. By the very fact of being in that way the enduring presence of Christ in the world, the Church is truly the fundamental sacrament, the well-spring of the sacraments in the In this passage Rahner provides a clear argument for describing the Church as the primordial sacrament, that is, as Ursakrament. Christ's presence as God's mercy and grace is found in all the other sacraments because of this presence first in the Church. For Rahner, this applies also to the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. In other words, the presence of Christ in the Church necessarily precedes the possibility of the presence of Christ in the eucharistic species. The notion of "encounter" is the framework on which Schillebeeckx builds his sacramental theology. Within that framework, he understands the basis of the entire eucharistic event to be Christ's personal gift of himself to all humankind and, within this gesture, to the Father. The Eucharist is the sacramental form of this event.68 Further on Schillebeeckx states even more explicitly: "I should like to place much greater emphasis than most modern authors have done on this essential bond between the real presence

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of Christ in the Eucharist and his real presence as Lord living in the Church. After all, there is ultimately only one real presence of Christ, although this can come about in various ways."69 Schillebeeckx underscores the fact that the real presence of Christ in the eucharistic species is not an end in itself. That is, Christ's gift of himself is not ultimately directed toward the bread and wine, but toward the community.70 Similarly, for Schoonenberg, the starting point for a discussion of Christ's presence in the Eucharist is not the presence of Christ's Body and Blood in the consecrated bread and wine, but his presence in the community, particularly the community in the act of celebrating the Eucharist.71 Like Schillebeeckx, Schoonenberg stresses the importance of seeing the presence of Christ in the sacred species in relation to his presence both in the proclamation of the Word and in the community.72 He also understands the eucharistic presence as derived from Christ's personal presence in the Church.73 In developing his theology of presence, Schoonenberg explains that "the whole presence of the Lord in his Church — in the celebration of the Eucharist — is important, even more important than his presence in the sacred species alone. Only when we try to plumb the depths of the riches of this presence in community do we find therein the meaning of the real presence under the sacred species "74 In Louis-Marie Chauvet's sacramental theology, the Holy Spirit is understood to be the agent of God's embodiment. This embodiment involves the threefold body of Christ: the historical Jesus, the eucharistic Lord, and ecclesial body of Christ, that is, the Church.75 The Spirit's role is "to write the very difference of God in the body of humanity, and first of all in the body of the church, which was its first visible work after the resurrection "76 In fact, it is only possible for humanity to become the sacramental locus of God's embodiment through the power of the Spirit. Chauvet explains: This sacramental locus where in some way the risen One withdraws through the Spirit in order to be "rising," that is, to raise for himself a body of new humanity, is the church, "body of Christ" in the process of growth "to the measure of the full stature of Christ" (Eph 4:13). In its historical visibility, the church is the promise and pledge of the transfiguration to which humankind and, in connection with it, the

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whole cosmos are called (Rom 8 and theme of "new heaven and new earth").77 In his explication, Chauvet leaves no doubt that this Church, even as the embodiment of Christ, is an imperfect body straining to grow into the fullness of Christ. Nevertheless, the scandal [perhaps even more surprising than the scandal of the cross] is that the weak and sinful Church is the body that God has chosen to continue his presence in the world. This brief review of some of the best theological thinking of the last century and the present time provides a strong basis for the claim that Christ's presence is located in a privileged way in his Church. This is traditional theology in the best sense of the word. Contemporary emphasis on the presence of Christ in the Church is a retrieval of a belief held by the early Church and gradually obscured by the late medieval period. In fact, it may well be that this loss of the community's consciousness of itself as the Body of Christ contributed to the controversies regarding the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist.78 How did this happen? In the course of the Middle Ages there occurred a gradual separation between the community, on the one hand, and the gifts of bread and wine, on the other. The community's earlier consciousness of itself as the Body of Christ diminished as its consciousness of the presence of Christ as an object on the altar increased. This development was accompanied by a loss of symbolic consciousness. The controversies over whether Christ is truly present in the elements resulted from both a loss of consciousness of the community as the locus of the presence of Christ and also of the symbolic consciousness that had understood the presence of Christ in the elements as sacramental. Such a dichotomy did not exist in the patristic period, as is clear from the writings of Augustine on this topic, especially his sermons 229 and 272.79 In sermon 272, Augustine makes some clear connections between the reality of the Body and Blood of Christ in the sacred species and in the assembled worshipers to whom he is preaching. Referring to Christ's presence in the sacred species, Augustine poses the question: "How can bread be his body? And the cup, or what the cup contains, how can it be his blood?"80 His answer to

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these questions involves an explication, not only of the bread and wine as sacramental, but also of the Pauline teaching on the Church as Body of Christ. Augustine explains: The reason these things, brothers and sisters, are called sacraments is that in them one thing is seen, another is to be understood. What can be seen has a bodily appearance, what is to be understood provides spiritual fruit. So if you want to understand the body of Christ, listen to the apostle telling the faithful, You, though are the body of Christ and its members (1 Cor 12:27). So if it's you that are the body of Christ and its members, it's the mystery that is you that has been placed on the Lord's table,- what you receive is the mystery that means you. It is to what you are that you reply Am en, and by so replying you express your assent. What you hear, you see, is The body of Christ, and you answer, Amen. So be a member of the body of Christ, in order to make that Amen true.81 In other words, Augustine reasons that if his listeners want to understand the Eucharist as sacrament, they must begin by understanding themselves as the Body of Christ. The mystery which they receive is the mystery that sums up their own identity as Christ. Augustine's understanding of Eucharist is directly related to his understanding of Church. Later in the sermon, he sums up his theology with the often quoted exhortation: "Be what you can see, and receive what you are."82 Sermon 229 similarly focuses on the Church as the Body of Christ, but it includes the more specific emphasis on unity. Quoting from the tenth chapter of Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, Augustine says, "One loaf, one body, is what we, being many are" (1 Cor. 10:17).83 He interprets the verse by explaining: However many loaves may be placed there, it's one loaf, however many loaves there may be on Christ's altars throughout the world it's one loaf But what does it mean, one loafl He [Paul] explained very briefly: one body is what we, being many, are. This is the body of Christ, about which the apostle says, while addressing the Church, But you are the body of Christ and his members (1 Cor 12:27). What you receive is what you yourselves are, thanks to the grace by which you have been redeemed; you add your signature to this, when you answer Amen. What you see here is the sacrament of unity.84 Augustine is highlighting the unity of the Church as the res sacrarnenti. Scholasticism gradually moved away from emphasizing res

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sacramenti, that is, the communio ecclesiastica. This res sacramenti or unity of the Mystical Body is another way of describing the life of the community and the individual in Christ. Instead Scholasticism began to emphasize res et sacramentum, that is, the real presence of Christ under the form of consecrated bread and wine. In the patristic period, the primary emphasis was not on the eucharistic presence per se, but on the purpose of that presence — the presence of Christ in the community. Although Thomas Aquinas does identify the res sacramenti as the unity of the Church,85 his treatment of the Eucharist does not situate his sacramental theology within ecclesiology. In fact, the Church gathered for worship, which had played such a central role in patristic theology, has no apparent role in Aquinas's theological system. For Aquinas, it is the ordained minister who is the complete subject of the liturgical action.86 All of these factors served to build momentum for the various eucharistic controversies. The subsequent focus on the many issues related to the question of Christ's presence in the elements of the bread and wine finally resulted in a post-Tridentine theological preoccupation with res et sacramentum to the neglect of res sacramenti}7 This development is particularly significant because, in the perception of popular piety, it helped to dislodge the celebration of the Eucharist from its ecclesial context. In practice, the sacrament came to be adored, but not eaten.88 The gathered assembly came to perceive Christ's presence solely in the consecrated bread and wine. Eventually, the sacrament of unity of the Church became more narrowly conceived as the sacrament of union of the believer with Christ.89 Schillebeeckx offers a perspective that clearly ties the primitive Church's understanding of the meaning of the eucharistic meal to its self understanding as Church. Originally, the disciples experienced their personal relationship with Jesus by sharing table fellowship with him. After the Resurrection, the eucharistic meal became an experience of their personal relationship with the resurrected Christ. More specifically, Schillebeeckx explains, liturgical words over the bread and wine expressed what the personal relationship — the community at table — with Jesus meant to the primitive Church and continued to mean after his departure — namely, his real presence in the assembled community. Jesus had died, but his followers had the visible

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The Sacramentality of the Gathered Assembly experience of his continued life and active presence among them, because they, the believers, formed one community by virtue of his death "for our sins" and his resurrection.90

In this way, the sharing of the Eucharist after the Ascension became the occasion for recognizing, once again, his continued presence among them. This is quite different from the eventual shift to perceiving the presence of Christ almost solely in the sacred species, quite distinct from the community's gathering to celebrate the Eucharist. Later generations of Christians have not had the personal experience of table fellowship with Jesus to inform their celebration of the subsequent ritual of the Eucharist. Lacking that personal memory, the Church relies, not only on Scripture and tradition, but also on the power of ritual symbols (rooted, of course, in Scripture and tradition) to make the necessary connections.

Summary The Church is the presence of the Resurrected Christ in the world. An examination of the New Testament, the writings of the early Church, twentieth-century Church documents and the works of contemporary theologians reveals that this belief has been part of the constant tradition of the Church. Furthermore, this belief in the presence of Christ in the Church has consistently been associated with a clear focus on unity. This unity includes the union of the Church with Christ as body is united to head, but also the unity of members among themselves. In fact, the documentary evidence unquestionably holds up the ideal of unity as both an expression and requisite for an experience of Christ's presence in the gathered community. Even more, the authenticity of the Church's celebration of the sacraments, especially the Eucharist is measured by this gospel mandate ''to be one." This is what it means to be Church. Recognizing ourselves as Church, then, is an essential starting point for considering the possibility of the assembly's recognizing the presence of Christ in its midst. That is, a sense of Church is a prerequisite for a sense of presence — Christ's presence to us, our presence to Christ and to each other. This is necessarily the case because worship as ritual activity is about relationships and

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presence. The weaving and reweaving of those relationships and expressions of presence occur over time in the ritual activity that we call liturgy. That ritual activity begins with the action of gathering, a symbolic activity that can provide a sense of community, belonging, and hospitality. Successfully gathering as one—so as to have these human experiences of community, belonging, and hospitality — is one of the first steps toward promoting active participation, personal presence, and unity in the assembly. Because it involves the first efforts of the community to embrace its role as gathered assembly, the gathering rite is a logical first place to begin an examination of how this portion of the Eucharist operates as symbolic activity. The purpose of the gathering rite is to provide the possibility for individuals to experience a sense of belonging to the group gathered in a significant way, one that includes not only feeling welcomed, but also belonging as an integral participant. What is at stake is the successful negotiation of identity and mediation of relationships within the assembly. These are achieved through the symbolic activity that constitutes the entire eucharistic rite. However, the gathering rite is the entree into that symbolic activity which reaches its climax in the eucharistic prayer. Therefore the next chapter will examine the nature of symbolic activity in order to apply principles of semiotics and theologies of symbol to an interpretation of pertinent elements of the gathering rite and of the eucharistic prayer. These will be used to discover how the manner of celebrating these two ritual moments can either promote or hinder the community's sense of itself as the one Body of Christ.

Chapter Three

WORSHIP AS SYMBOLIZING ACTIVITY

A group of people gather in the church courtyard in the waning light of a brisk April evening. As darkness descends, a kindling fire is lit and blessed. With dramatic gesture, a large candle is raised high in the center of the gathering as the presider proclaims: "Christ yesterday and today, the beginning and the end, Alpha and Omega, all time belongs to him " After the blessings and prayers are concluded, the solemn procession begins to move slowly into the church. The fire is passed throughout the assembly until everyone's candle is lit. As the Easter candle crosses the threshold of the darkened church, the deacon's song resounds in the empty church: "Christ our Light!" The gathered assembly sings out: "Thanks be to God!" Thus begins the holiest night of the church year, a night rich in symbol, ceremony, and story-telling. It is the Passover of the Lord. In the last chapter, we observed that one of the developments that led to the medieval eucharistic controversies was the gradual loss of symbolic consciousness. In the patristic period, a strong sense of the symbolic had been alive and well in the Church and in the culture in general. Symbols were understood to participate in and to make present the reality they symbolized. Gradually, however, an unfortunate dichotomy was set up between symbol and reality that impoverished medieval appreciation of the power of symbols to mediate reality. The result was that something was considered either real or symbolic. Such a development had particularly negative implications for liturgical and sacramental practice since, as ritual activity, worship is built of a complexus of symbols that interact in 60

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order to communicate meaning. How symbols do that is the subject of this chapter. The insights of the semioticians Charles Peirce and Michael Polanyi and the theologians Louis-Marie Chauvet and Karl Rahner will be explored so that an interpretive framework can be proposed for exploring the generation of meaning that occurs when the Church gathers to celebrate the Eucharist.1

Insights of Semiotics When Christians gather around the eucharistic table, they engage in ritual behavior that involves interaction with a variety of symbols within a particular cultural context. One of the results of this engagement is building a sense of identity and a network of relationships, not only within and between individuals, but also between persons and God. In other words, the symbolic activity of celebrating the Eucharist helps to build the Church.2 Semiotics can provide helpful frameworks for understanding how this occurs. The discipline of semiotics has its roots in ancient Greece. However, Charles Sanders Peirce (1839-1914) and Ferdinand de Saussure (1857-1913) are usually considered the founders of contemporary semiotics. Charles Morris, who built on the foundations laid by Peirce, has defined "semiosis" as the process by which something functions as a sign.3 John Locke adapted the related term "semiotic" from the Greek Stoics.4 In contemporary usage, the terms "semiosis," "semiotics/' and "semiology" have been employed to describe both the signifying process and the study of the process. Those who follow in the footsteps of Charles Peirce usually use the term ''semiotic" to describe their elaboration of his conceptual framework, while those who follow after Ferdinand de Saussure usually prefer the term semiologie. Today, however, the term "semiotics" has generally been used to describe the discipline that concerns itself with both verbal and non-verbal signs.5 Peirce identifies three dimensions to the semiotic approach to analyzing signs: the semantic, the pragmatic, and the syntactic. Wilson Coker, who synthesized the work of Charles Peirce and Charles Morris, provides helpful definitions of these terms. According to Coker, the dimension of semantics concerns the relation of signs to their

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contexts and to what they signify. The kinds of signs, their ordering, and their relations to one another are dimensions of syntactics. And finally, Coker explains, the dimension of pragmatics treats the relations of signs to their users or interpreters.6 Because the building blocks of ritual are symbols and symbolizing activity, semiotics is an appropriate place to begin studying the meaning of liturgical symbols. In this chapter, semiotics will assist in interpreting the architecture, gestures, postures, and musicmaking that contribute to the generation of theological meaning in the gathering rite and the Eucharistic prayer. The semiologist Gino Stefani argues for the appropriateness of applying semiotics to an analysis of the liturgy since the liturgy is a complexus of symbols performed according to the laws of Christian worship and those that regulate the action and expression of human groups. He explains: The liturgy is an ensemble of signs, that is to say, of actions in which the dominant value is situated in the order of signification That is why it is correct to consider liturgical science as a branch of semiology, the general science of signs It is thus normal for semiological reflection to devolve upon the liturgy insofar as it is human communication, just as it is normal to appeal to theology to clarify the purpose and content of the liturgy insofar as it is a sacred action and to psycho-sociology to analyze the celebration insofar as it is a human The approach of semiotics is particularly useful in the analysis of liturgical action because it pays as much attention to the nonverbal as it does to the verbal. Thus it provides the conceptual apparatus for approaching the analysis of such ritual components as gestures, movement in space, the space itself, sacred objects, images, vestments, color, music, and silence.8 Although semiotics speaks of both signs and symbols, there are important distinctions that need to be made between them, especially when speaking of liturgical symbols. The semiotician Michael Polanyi provides a useful schema for distinguishing sign and symbol that clarifies how it is that a symbol participates in the reality that it symbolizes. According to Polanyi, there is an important distinction between indicators — his term for signs — and symbols. Indicators, or signs, point in a subsidiary way to that focal integration upon

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which they bear. Of themselves, these indicators possess little interest. Rather, the interest lies in the object to which they point. To elucidate his argument, Polanyi uses the example of the name of a building (S) and the building itself (F). The name functions as the subsidiary (S) pointing to the building. But the true object of interest or focal attention (F) is not the name, but the building.9 In the case of signs, the subsidiary (S), or name of the building, lacks interest. The building itself (F), that is, the focal point, possesses interest. Polanyi explains that the integration resulting from this dynamic movement is self-centered, since it is made from the self as center to the object of our focal attention.10 This is how signs function, that is, those indicators that do not participate in the reality to which they point. On the other hand, Polanyi presents symbols as those phenomena in which the subsidiary clues (S) are of intrinsic interest to us because they enter into meanings in such a way that we are "carried away" by these meanings. That is, in the case of symbols our involvement is such that the relation of "bearing upon" and the location of intrinsic interest are much more complex.11 In the case of symbols, the locus of interest is reversed. That is, in the case of symbols, the subsidiary clues are of more interest to us than the focal point itself. Polanyi's example of the American flag clarifies his point. What gives any flag meaning is not the color and shape of its design, but the fact that a people put their whole existence as citizens of their homeland into it. Without the surrender of ourselves into that piece of cloth, the flag would remain only a piece of cloth. It would not be a symbol of our country. It is, rather, our many diffuse and boundless memories of our country and of our life in it that give the flag meaning by being embodied and fused in it. Nevertheless, because of the diversity of memories and experience, aflagwill naturally have different meanings for different people. This is what gives symbols their polyvalent character. In the case of the American flag, for example, it can mean one thing to a young child, quite another to a Vietnam veteran, something else to an American citizen of Iraqi ancestry, yet another thing to the widow of a man killed in military action or an illegal Mexican immigrant. Furthermore, over time, the meaning of the flag may broaden and deepen for the same person because of new layers of memories and experience that become embodied and fused in it.

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The symbol's complex dynamic does not operate, however, in a straight line from subsidiary clues to perceiver. Rather, our perception of the focal object, in the process of symbolization, "carries us back toward (and so provides us with a perceptual embodiment of) those diffuse memories of our lives (i.e., of ourselves) which bore upon the focal object to begin with."12 Thus we can say that the symbol "carries us away" since in surrendering ourselves we are drawn into the symbol's meaning. What is significant about Polanyi's schema is that it illustrates the vital importance of the participation of the subject in the coming to meaning of the symbol. By surrendering to the symbol, we accomplish the integration of those diffuse parts of ourselves that are related to the symbol. That is, in surrendering to the symbol, we are carried away by it.13 This happens with symbols generally, including such familiar Christian symbols as the Easter fire, crucifix, Christmas tree, wedding ring, music-making, and gathering for Eucharist. In each case, our surrender to the symbol is at the same time our being carried away by it. Polanyi's distinction between signs and symbols highlights two points: (1) signs function on the level of cognition, providing us with information,- (2) symbols function on the level of recognition, providing us, not with information, but with integration. Furthermore, this integration occurs both on the personal and the interpersonal level, that is, both within a subject and between subjects. This schema further highlights how meaning comes to subjects through their past experiences and within the particular cultural and social milieu that involves relationships with other subjects. Thus, Polanyi's analysis of the apprehension of meaning can provide us with an interpretive tool for investigating how the Eucharist as ritual activity, using a particular array of cultural symbols, enables the gathered assembly to recognize the presence of Christ in their midst, indeed to recognize themselves as members of the Body of Christ.

Louis-Marie Chauvet's Theology of Symbol Michael Polanyi's semiotics is particularly compatible with LouisMarie Chauvet's theology of symbol. This is the case because Chauvet places the critical thrust of his theology in the direction

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of believing subjects themselves and locates his theology of symbol at the heart of mediation by language, by culture, and desire.14 Chauvet's project is to replace the notion of symbol as instrument with the notion of symbol as mediation. He captures the radical nature of symbolizing in all of human life when he states: Reality is never present to us except in a mediated way, which is to say, constructed out of the symbolic network of the culture that fashions us. This symbolic order designates the system of connections between the different elements and levels of a culture (economic, social, political, idealogical—ethics, philosophy, religion...), a system forming a coherent whole that allows the social group and individuals to orient themselves in space, find their place in time, and in general situate themselves in the world in a significant way — in short, to find their identity in a world that makes "sense," even if, as C. Levi-Strauss says, there always remains an inexpungible residue of signifiers to which we can never give adequate meanings.15

This assertion identifies the foundational principle of Chauvet's sacramental reinterpretation of Christian existence: all reality is mediated. Two points in Chauvet's thinking are particularly helpful for interpreting the presence of Christ in the gathered assembly. The first is that symbols mediate reality by negotiating connections. The second is that these connections allow subjects both as members of a social group and as individuals to make sense of their world and to find their identity by discovering relationships. Furthermore, according to Chauvet, symbolizing is a dynamic that involves the active participation of subjects in mediating connections and in discovering their identity and their place in their social world. Both of these foci — active participation and a consideration of the subject within a social group — make Chauvet's approach appropriate for examining symbolizing — that is sacramental activity — within a liturgical framework. The notions of identity and relationship are integral to Chauvet's approach to symbolizing activity. In fact, his approach corresponds to the ancient understanding of symbol, derived from the Greek word symballein, which literally means "to throw together." Partners in a contract would each retain one part of the symbol that separately possessed no value. The two halves joined, however, "symbolized" or confirmed the original agreement established by

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the symbol. Thus the symbol functioned as an expression of a social pact based on mutual recognition in the rejoining of the two halves. In this way the symbol functioned as a mediator of identity.16 In the case of the eucharistic assembly, there are "many parts/' that is, each individual member of the assembly, who by gathering for Eucharist somehow mediate their identity, not only as assembly (and therefore a concrete instance of Church), but also as the presence of Christ in a particular time and place. The aspect of gathering is key here. For just as the individual pieces of the symballein do not have the ability to confirm the contract until joined together, so too the individual members of the assembly do not have separately the same power to symbolize the presence of Christ which is theirs when they are gathered together as Church. This is certainly in keeping with the promise of Christ recorded in Matthew 18:20. Such a promise, however, does not guarantee that gathering together in the same space will necessarily constitute a group of individuals as a community that we could call Church or Body of Christ. Much more than coming together is required. Persons sharing the same space on the subway or in line at the supermarket will not normally experience a sense of being in meaningful relationship with the other persons with whom they have been "thrown together." There is no mutual contract or agreement that such a gathering confirms. On the other hand, when Christians gather "in Christ's name/' their gathering to celebrate the Eucharist is in fulfillment of a "contract" signed or sealed at baptism, a covenant that identifies them as followers of Christ and as people who are "qualified" to come to the table to celebrate in the Lord's name. A common element in both Polanyi's semiotics and Chauvet's theology is that both approaches view symbols as mediations of recognition within a community or social world. Furthermore, that recognition evokes participation and allows an individual or a group to orient themselves, that is, to discover their identity and their place in their world. This is especially true in a ritual setting, Chauvet points out, since ritual is able to provide, because of its very nature, those most contingent and culturally determined aspects that are the very epitome of mediation.17

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Chauvet understands the nature of symbol and sacrament as contingent on the nature of human life as embodied. Accordingly, the body is, for Chauvet, the primordial and arch-symbolic form of mediation and the basis for the identification of the human person as subject.18 In other words, the body is "the primordial place of every symbolic joining of the 'inside' and the 'outside/ "19 It is the body that locates the human person in the world and it is the body that serves as the entry point where the entire symbolic order takes root in us as human beings.20 To support this claim, Chauvet cites D. Dubarle who asserts that the living body is indeed, "the archsymbol of the whole symbolic order."21 Such a premise is important to Chauvet's theology of the sacraments since the ritual symbolism which constitutes them has the body for its setting. For the same reason, such a premise is particularly important to an analysis of the gestures and postures of the gathering rite and the Eucharistic prayer. Indeed, the Christian tradition has always held that the most "spiritual" communication of God, even that of the Holy Spirit, takes place through a process of symbolizing that is eminently "sensory and bodily."22 Thus, Chauvet develops a theology of sacrament by using his theology of symbol and of the body as the foundation. In this respect, his theology of sacrament builds on the work of Karl Rahner who constructed his theology of sacrament on his understanding of the symbolic relationship of the body to the soul. A brief look at Rahner ;s thinking can further elucidate Chauvet's.

Karl Rahner's Theology of Symbol To begin his enquiry into the notion of symbol, Rahner looks at the ontology of symbolic reality in general. His first axiom is that "all beings are by their nature symbolic, because they necessarily 'express' themselves in order to attain their own nature."23 With this as his starting point, Rahner sets out "to look for the highest and most primordial manner in which one reality can represent another.... "24 Rahner calls this supreme and primal representation, in which one reality renders another present, a symbol.25 Further, Rahner explains that the symbol, strictly speaking, "is the self-realization of a being in another, which is constitutive of its essence."26 In this way, Rahner 's understanding of symbol is not conceived primarily in terms

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of a relationship between two different beings that indicate one another by a third. Rather, for Rahner, a being is symbolic because the expression which it retains while constituting itself as the "other" is the way in which it communicates itself to itself.27 The human subject is the paradigmatic symbol in Rahner's theology. He comes to this conclusion by following Thomistic doctrine that views the soul as the substantial form of the body. Rahner explains that the soul exists insofar as it embodies itself, that is, expresses itself in the body. However, the body, though distinct from the soul, is not a separate entity. Rather, the body is the phenomenon, that is, the mode of the soul's presence and appearance.28 Thus the body as symbol is the self-realization of the soul that "renders itself present and makes its 'appearance' in the body which is distinct from it.//29 In other words, "the body is the manifestation of the soul, through which and in which the soul realizes its own essence."30 According to Rahner, therefore, the body is truly the symbol of the self. Since the body so completely emerges from and expresses the self, it is indeed the way in which the human person is present to self and to others. This insight leads Rahner to conclude that it would be impossible to be ourselves or to be present to one another without being embodied.31 Chauvet's focus on embodiment is consonant with Rahner's thinking about the human body as symbol. To highlight the centrality of corporality to human "beingness," Chauvet explains that "the human being does not have a body, but is body."32 He uses the term "I-body" to designate each person's physical body. This "I-body" is, for Chauvet, irreducible to any one else's body and yet similar to each one. Furthermore, Chauvet asserts, this "I-body," can only come into existence as woven, inhabited and spoken by the triple body of culture, tradition, and nature. In other words, the human body is the place where the triple body—social, ancestral, and cosmic — is symbolically joined.33 Thus Chauvet concludes that the human body is in its essence symbolic since human subjects come to be through the mediation of their bodies. Thus far it is possible to say that Eucharist as liturgical action is an ensemble of signs or symbols and that it is an action whose dominant value is situated in the order of signification. Because that is the case, recognition rather than cognition is the primary

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dynamic involved. That is, according to both Polanyi and Chauvet, the purpose of symbolic activity is not to provide information but integration that results from recognition. Furthermore, if, as Chauvet insists, all reality is mediated, the symbolic network set up by the ritual is the very place where members of the gathered assembly orient themselves in space and time and discover their identity in relationship to Christ and to each other. The next section of this chapter will examine a representative sampling of symbols in the Eucharist in order to determine how celebrating them might enable the gathered assembly to recognize the presence of Christ in its midst. Special attention will be given to the gathering rite since this first part of the ritual sets the stage for everything that follows. Additionally, the Eucharistic prayer will be considered, not only because the posture of the assembly has been the subject of much debate in recent time, particularly in the United States, but also because it is a crucial moment in the Eucharist for symbolizing the nature and role of the gathered assembly. Each of the various categories of symbols will be considered in the light of both semiotics and Chauvet's and Rahner's theologies of symbol.

The Symbolizing Activity of the Gathering Rite Once again, our starting point is the belief that when the Christian community gathers for worship, the Risen Christ is present in their midst. This assertion does not require that the gathering space houses the reserved sacrament.34 Rather, this mode of Christ's presence is directly related to the gathering of the assembly as local Church. What, then, are the symbols that interplay with the assembly as they gather to worship and that enable them to recognize Christ in their midst? In other words, to use the language of Robert Sokolowski,35 how is the presence of Christ in the assembly disclosed to the assembly? Key symbols to consider include, among others: (1) the architectural space; (2) gestures and postures; (3) music-making.

Architectural Space The first set of symbols to be considered is the architectural space, including the arrangement of seating, the placement of the altar,

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and the placement of the tabernacle (if it is located in the primary worship area). Regarding the architectural space, the GIRM (2002)36 states that ''the general ordering of the sacred building must be such that in some way it conveys the image of the gathered assembly..." (art. 294). Visual and structural lines of a church building focus attention and give prominence to specific symbols. Peirce's three dimensions of signs/symbols provide a useful analytical framework here. The first issue raised by semantics is context. At least two interpretations may be valid. On one hand, it is possible to consider the architecture itself the context for worship. On the other hand, it is likewise possible to consider the worship event the context that infuses the architectural space with meaning. However, semiotics' second dimension, syntactics, would suggest that it is the interplay between the architecture and the act of gathering for worship that generates theological meaning. The assembly, that is, all those who inhabit the space and participate in the worship activity, respond to the space from their own horizons of meaning. Their interpretation of the architectural symbol comprises the third dimension of semiotics, pragmatics. How the assembly, or individuals within it, responds to various styles or arrangements of worship space, e.g., formal/informal or traditional/contemporary, will be determined by such elements as familiarity, comfort, and aesthetic sensibility. In addition, cultural codes provide a common framework for interpreting objects with sacred meaning, e.g., the table as an altar and the cup and plate as chalice and paten. How does this first set of symbols that comprise the architectural space speak? What kind of seating allows for a balanced interplay between the various modes of Christ's presence? Does seating in the round sufficiently enable the assembly to focus on altar, ambo, presider and assembly at the appropriate times? Does seating in the round enable worshipers to experience a sense of belonging to a group rather than being anonymous attendees? Does seating in straight rows draw worshipers to fix their attention on the altar or tabernacle? If the visual sight of the tabernacle draws worshipers into an immediate awareness of Christ's presence in the reserved sacrament, does this focus distract from an awareness of Christ's presence in the local church community gathered in that space?

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In several articles of the document Built of Living Stones: Art, Architecture, and Worship, the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) addresses these issues, but a close reading uncovers some inconsistencies. On the one hand, for example, article 22 reads: In building a house for the Church that is also the house of God

on earth all the expressions of Christ's presence have prominence of place that reflects their proper nature. Among these, the eucharistic species is accorded supreme prominence. From the beginning of the planning and design process, parishes will want to reflect upon the relationship of the altar, the ambo, the tabernacle, the chair of the priest celebrant, and the space for congregation.37

One cannot be certain whether the comment "the eucharistic species is accorded supreme prominence'' is limited to the reserved sacrament or includes also the species confected within the framework of the eucharistic action that takes place at the altar. The document acknowledges the importance of the relationship of all of these symbols in mediating "expressions of Christ's presence." However, although the article mentions first the presence of Christ "in all the baptized who gather in his name," it specifies that the eucharistic species is to be accorded "supreme prominence." Mention of the tabernacle in the sentence which follows suggests that it is the reserved species that is to be given prominence. In the context of discussing the sacred species for celebrating the Eucharist, the expression "supreme prominence" poses at least two problems. If "prominence of place" should reflect their "proper nature," it seems that the Church as primordial sacrament should be given supreme prominence, at least within the context of the eucharistic action. Chapter 2 of this book discusses the Second Vatican Council's insight that the Church is realized in each local church.38 Hence, each gathered assembly, as an instance of the Church, is the location of the presence of Christ. The very title of the document Built of Living Stones, is an insightful play on the relationship of church as building to church as the ecclesia or people of God that it houses. If the primary action that takes place in the church building is the Church's "doing Eucharist," then the phrase "supreme prominence" in the reserved sacrament skews that understanding, at least when speaking of the celebration of the Mass.

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On the other hand, elsewhere in the document, Built of Living Stones does acknowledge the need to maintain a balance between the assembly's perception of the presence of Christ in the reserved sacrament and in the eucharistic action. Two statements regarding the placement of the tabernacle in relationship to the altar are mentioned twice in the course of the document. The first statement is found in articles 79 and 250: "In these instances, a balance must be sought so that the placement of the tabernacle does not draw the attention of the faithful away from the eucharistic celebration and its components." The second statement is found in articles 70 and 271: "Ordinarily, there should be a sufficient distance to separate the tabernacle and the altar. When a tabernacle is located directly behind the altar, consideration should be given to using distance, lighting, or some other architectural device that separates the tabernacle and reservation area during Mass but that allows the tabernacle to be fully visible to the entire worship area when the eucharistic liturgy is not being celebrated." Both statements acknowledge the tension that can result when the tabernacle is perceived as holding the position of "supreme prominence" within an architectural space in which the primary activity is celebrating the Eucharist. In addition, both statements make clear recommendations that the reserved sacrament not be given "supreme prominence" within the space assigned for celebrating the Eucharist, especially when that ritual action is actually taking place. The tabernacle certainly is, in the words of Chauvet, "part of the symbolic network of the culture" that has fashioned Catholic identity for centuries. This symbol negotiates strong relationships among the community and between the individual and Christ by means of the cult of eucharistic adoration. Its very power as symbol, however, can potentially detract from the gathered assembly's ability to experience or express an awareness of Christ's presence in their midst as they gather to celebrate the Eucharist. There is general agreement both in church documents and among theologians that all modes of Christ's presence need to be perceived in a balanced relationship to each other.39 This requires that the focus will shift, depending on the action that is taking place. In the case of gathering for Eucharist, this particular action requires that Christ's presence

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in the gathered assembly be given prominence so that the assembly's status as Church and therefore as the one Body of Christ, be brought to the fore. This kind of "attending to" the assembly may be difficult to achieve in the presence of a tabernacle on a strong architectural axis. The growing number of instances of communities worshiping on Sundays in the absence of a priest further threatens to undermine the gathered assembly's grasp of the distinction between their role in celebrating the Eucharist versus their reception of communion in a liturgy of the Word. If the gathered assembly does not comprehend the radical difference between the eucharistic liturgy and Sunday celebrations in the absence of a priest, that failure might well be at least partially attributed to the manner in which the symbols of the liturgy are handled during ordinary celebrations of the Eucharist. This includes the prominence of the tabernacle during the eucharistic action of the assembly and the practice of distributing Holy Communion from the tabernacle during Mass. What is at stake is our understanding of Church, the role of the assembly in the Eucharist, and the relationship of the Church to the Eucharist. GIRM also addresses the location of the tabernacle in a church building. Article 314 states: "In accordance with the structure of each church and legitimate local customs, the Most Blessed Sacrament should be reserved in a tabernacle in a part of the church that is truly noble, prominent, readily visible, beautifully decorated, and suitable for prayer." For the most part, this statement simply reiterates guidelines mentioned in several earlier documents.40 The description of the placement of the tabernacle in a "prominent" part of the church is qualified to some extent by the following article (315) that states that the tabernacle should "not be on an altar on which Mass is celebrated." This has, of course, been common practice since the reforms of Vatican II, at least in the United States. However, placing the tabernacle in a prominent part of the church, even if it is not on the altar on which Mass is celebrated, can provide the tabernacle with heightened visibility during the celebration of the Eucharist. After stipulating that the tabernacle cannot be placed on the altar on which Mass is celebrated, article 315 offers two alternative locations. The first to be listed is "in the sanctuary, apart

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from the altar of celebration, in a form and place more appropriate, not excluding on an old altar no longer used for celebration." The alternative placement is "even in some chapel suitable for the faithful's private adoration and prayer and organically connected to the church and readily visible to the Christian faithful" (art. 315).41 The order in which the two suggestions are mentioned would seem to suggest a preference for locating the tabernacle in the sanctuary. Certainly such a location could be described as "prominent." Having a chapel of reservation, "organically connected to the church" could also provide appropriate prominence, but without the same effect as the visual prominence of the tabernacle in the sanctuary. Which option is exercised depends on the judgment of the diocesan bishop (art. 315). The theological implications of choosing one option over the other, however, are too significant to allow aesthetics or convenience to be the primary deciding factors. As Environment and Art in Catholic Worship so pointedly asserted, it is difficult, if not impossible, for active and static aspects of the Eucharist to claim the same human attention at the same time.42 In other words, the symbolic meaning mediated by the Eucharist on the altar during Mass and expressed through the actions of eating and drinking is quite different from the symbolic meaning mediated by the Eucharist in the reserved sacrament with its emphasis on adoration. This difference can make it difficult for the human imagination to respond appropriately to both simultaneously. This very difficulty was clearly evident during the medieval period when the assembly stopped receiving Holy Communion (eating and drinking the body and blood of Christ) and instead worshiped the Eucharistic elements during extended periods of elevation immediately following the institution narrative. What is often forgotten when a church features the tabernacle prominently is that the altar itself is a primary symbol within the architectural space. In fact, the Rite of Dedication of a Church and of an Altar asserts that "the altar is Christ."43 Article 303 of GIRM (both 1973 and 2002) explains this bold statement more fully by stating that the altar signifies "the one Christ and the one Eucharist of the Church." Article 73 of GIRM describes the altar as "the center

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of the whole Liturgy of the Eucharist " in a similar way to the description of the ambo in article 309 as the place "toward which the attention of the whole congregation of the faithful naturally turns during the Liturgy of the Word." Both comments highlight the importance of situating the ambo and the altar in such a way that the assembly can "attend to" the action that is taking place alternately at what should be the two main axis of the church building. When the two are situated in such a way that this movement from ambo to altar can occur with ease and grace, the assembly can more likely perceive the complementarity of these two modes of Christ's presence as they are expressed within the eucharistic liturgy. Finally, following Peirce's schema, the architecture of the church building, as well as the location of altar, ambo, tabernacle, and seating arrangement for the assembly, needs to be critiqued as symbols in terms of three things: (1) Do these various elements of architecture and appointments provide a context that clearly communicates the theological reality of Christ's presence in the gathered assembly? (2) Is this theological meaning communicated clearly by the interplay of the various symbolic elements? and (3) Does the assembly clearly apprehend that Christ is present in their midst when they gather in the space?

Gestures and Postures Chapter 1 explored the importance of cultivating a sacramental world view that recognizes the body as the location for the experience of the presence of God. Both Chauvet's and Rahner's theology of symbol provide a strong theological rationale for the importance of attending to this aspect of sacramentality. A deep appreciation for embodiment enables an assembly to gesture forth their faith through ritual actions enacted in the liturgical setting. In speaking of the embodied nature of liturgical prayer, John Baldovin asserts that "it is simply naive to imagine that only interior dispositions count or to think that any religious group can do without communal actions that embody their beliefs in ways that reasoned discourse cannot accomplish."44 An array of symbolic gestures accompanies the gathering of the community. These include crossing the threshold of the church

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door, assembling in the narthex or gathering space, blessing oneself with holy water, and genuflecting if the reserved sacrament is present or bowing to the altar if it is not. For some, kneeling and bowing one's head in private prayer in preparation for the liturgy may be part of gathering. Others may greet those around them and engage in brief conversation. Still others may be occupied with preparing to serve in a variety of ministries. How do these gestures and postures speak as symbols? How does the act of entering a sacred space communicate an awareness of Christ's presence in the sacred space? Does entering the sacred space remind worshipers of their own dignity as members of the Body of Christ? Gestures such as blessing oneself with holy water, genuflecting to the reserved sacrament, and kneeling in private prayer are, like the tabernacle, "part of the symbolic network of the culture" that has fashioned Catholic identity for centuries. Do these symbolic gestures enable worshipers to recognize Christ's presence in the reserved sacrament? In the gathered community? In both? What happens when compelling symbolic gestures focus on the reserved sacrament at the very moment when the assembly is gathering to perform a communal action that constitutes them as Church and as the presence of Christ? Is it possible that by "attending to" the tabernacle, the level of recognition of the assembly as a mode of Christ's presence is significantly diminished? In the section entitled "Movements and Posture," GIRM states that the "gestures and postures of the priest, the deacon, and the ministers, as well as those of the people, ought to contribute to making the entire celebration resplendent with beauty and noble simplicity, so that the true and full meaning (emphasis added) of the different parts of the celebration is evident and that the participation of all is fostered" (art. 42). The statement is making an important point. Gestures do matter and, in fact, contribute to the perception of theological meaning. This point is reiterated by the American bishops when, in article 23 of Built of Living Stones they acknowledge the power of symbolic gestures to affect the community's relationship with God in these words: Gestures, language, and actions are the physical, visible, and public expressions by which human beings understand and manifest their

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inner life. Since human beings on this earth are always made of flesh and blood, they not only will and think, but also speak and sing, move and celebrate. These human actions as well as physical objects are also the signs by which Christians express and deepen their relationship to God. Chauvet's explanation of the radical nature of symbolizing comes into play here again. The gestures and postures that engage the community when they gather for Eucharist orient them in space and situate them in their world (a world of faith and commitment) in a significant way. That is, performing the various gestures is meant to enable them to find their identity as members of the assembly and followers of Christ. Recall that Chauvet describes the body as "the primordial place of every symbolic joining of the 'inside' and the 'outside.' "45 Embodied expression (gestures and postures) is therefore clearly at the heart of communal symbolic activity. Furthermore, this activity can rightly be described as exhibitive. What does that mean? Worship functions in the exhibitive mode when the process of shaping and the product as shaped is of primary importance. This mode of expression is characteristic of activities that provide an experience of knowing that is neither rational nor scientific. By its very nature as symbolic, worship is such a non-discursive and exhibitive activity. Activity is exhibitive when it does not explain what something means, but expresses it or exhibits it. So, for example, a man could (conceivably) read a treatise on love to the woman who is the object of his affection. Or, he could simply kiss the woman. The first behavior — reading the treatise—would be communicating in a discursive, assertive, or propositional manner. The second option — the kiss — is exhibitive. So it is by means of gestures and postures that faith is both expressed and shaped in a non-discursive and yet articulate way. What is at issue in the liturgy is how standing, kneeling, processing, bowing, proclaiming, listening, eating, drinking, speaking, and singing—and doing it together—promote an awareness of Christ's presence within the community and an integrated experience of Christ's presence in the various modes that are constitutive of the ritual. The tabernacle that houses the reserved sacrament may be a deeply treasured part of the symbolic network of Catholic faith and

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practice. However, neither the tabernacle nor adoration is a constitutive part of the liturgy of the Mass. Rather, their place, traditionally, has been part of devotion to the Eucharist outside of Mass.46 In the section subtitled "Gestures and Bows," GIRM sets out norms for genuflecting and bowing. Article 274 states that if the tabernacle is present in the sanctuary, the priest, deacon, and other ministers genuflect at the beginning and end, but not during the Mass. All others, that is, the assembly, genuflect, unless they are moving in procession. Kneeling and genuflecting are postures that ordinarily focus the Catholic imagination on the presence of Christ in the reserved Blessed Sacrament. By discouraging genuflections to the tabernacle during the actual celebration of the Eucharist, GIRM is at least tacitly acknowledging the difficulties involved in drawing attention to the reserved sacrament when the assembly gathers to do Eucharist. The insights of phenomenology would suggest that it is the action of the assembly, gathered at ambo and altar under the leadership of the presider, and in concert with other ministers, that requires "attending to." This is the dynamic that will enable the unfolding of the presence of Christ in the gathered assembly. As the eucharistic action unfolds, of course, the initial "attending to" the gathered assembly will alternate with "attending to /; the leadership of the presider, the proclamation of the word, and the bread and wine on the altar. The sprinkling rite, an optional ritual element in the introductory rite, also has great potential for highlighting the presence of Christ in the assembly. GIRM describes it as an occasional alternative to the penitential rite especially appropriate during Easter time. Article 51 explains that the sprinkling rite is performed to recall baptism. The use of the symbol, water, makes the sprinkling rite a particularly significant gesture since recalling each person's baptism ritualizes the basis for the assembly's coming together for worship as members of the Church. It is by reason of their baptism, after all, that the assembly is commissioned to celebrate the Eucharist and to be the presence of Christ in the world. Therefore, giving the sprinkling rite greater prominence — perhaps even making it the preferred alternative — could contribute significantly to promoting the assembly's perception of itself as the presence of Christ. In addition, this ritual gesture brings to fuller realization the theological

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connection between baptism and the gesture of blessing with holy water performed by each person who enters the worship space.

Liturgical Music-Making The third symbol for analysis in the gathering rite is liturgical music-making, especially the assembly's singing of the gathering hymn. As symbolizing activity, this first action of the assembly — as gathered and gathering—can provide the assembly with a sense of itself as a communal body. Recall that Chauvet's theology asserts that symbols negotiate connections that allow subjects to find their identity by discovering relationships. The assembly's singing of the gathering song can achieve this goal in a unique way because of the manner in which it structures each participant in relation to the entire assembly and to the rite. In addition, music-making possesses an obvious aspect of bodiliness. This aspect makes it especially appropriate to consider music-making's sacramentality, that is, its ability to mediate God's presence. Christ's Presence in the Singing Assembly. Of all the musical elements that may be employed in the gathering rite, it is the gathering hymn sung by the assembly that has the greatest potential for mediating the presence of Christ in an assembly that gathers for worship. This is the case because it is the first corporate action of the assembly, once gathered, and the one musical element, if properly executed, that can both embody and exhibit an experience of unity. Recall that article 47 of GIRM identifies the opening chant as the first action after the people have gathered. The purpose of this chant or other appropriate hymn is described as fourfold: "to open the celebration, foster the unity of those who have been gathered, introduce their thoughts to the mystery of the liturgical season or festivity, and accompany the procession of the priest and ministers." Of the four purposes, it is the second — fostering the unity of those who have been gathered — that relates most closely to our focus on liturgical symbols as mediators of the presence of Christ. How does singing do this? Sacrosanctum Concilium's enumeration of the manifold presence of Christ in the liturgy describes a singing Church when it asserts that Christ "is present when the church prays and sings ... (art. 7)." Article 27 of GIRM does not explicitly mention singing

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when enumerating the modes of Christ's presence. However, articles 39 and 40 do speak of the importance of singing. While one's attention might at first be drawn to the often quoted proverb, "One who sings well prays twice/' 47 it is actually the first sentence of article 39 that is more noteworthy. The article reads: "The Christian faithful who gather together as one to await the Lord's coming are instructed by the Apostle Paul to sing together psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs (cf. Col. 3:16)." This statement locates singing within an eschatological context. That is, the assembly is described as those who gather to await the Lord's coming and it is as such that they are encouraged to sing together. This juxtapositioning of singing and eschatological expectation highlights the power of music making to mediate both a sense of the assembly's identity and their purpose in gathering: to wait for the Lord. There is a strong tradition in the Church, rooted in the New Testament, of associating singing with the eschatological banquet. The Instruction Musicam Sacram makes that connection when it praises singing for making "the whole celebration a more striking symbol of the celebration to come in the heavenly Jerusalem.48 Several passages in the Book of Revelation make a clear association between singing and the fullness of God's presence and the parousia: Rev. 4:8; 4:9-11; 14:1-3; 15:1-4. These passages culminate in the vision of the eschatological banquet: "Write this down: Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb" (Rev. 19:9) and "Come, gather for the great supper of God..." (Rev. 19:17b). In addition to the eschatological focus, the quotation about singing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs is situated within a broader context of other important motifs in Colossians 3. This chapter portrays the community at Colossae as people who have rejected their old life and ways and have become transformed by their new life in Christ. Such phrases as "raised with Christ," "your life is hidden with Christ in God," "when Christ who is your life," and "Christ is all in all!" reiterate the theological reality of a community in the process of becoming Christ. Furthermore, Paul reminds them that it is specifically their experience of becoming one with Christ and one with each other that should inspire them to break out in song: "And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body" (Col. 3:15). The singing of "psalms, hymns,

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and spiritual songs" structures49 the community so that there is an actual bodily experience of unity that can be felt and heard or perceived. Singing thus serves as a vehicle for promoting the unity that is the goal of their new life in Christ. This experience negotiates relationships within the group as each member works to contribute to the singing. It is not that the perfection of singing is the final goal. Rather, as symbolic activity, communal singing enacts, on the level of signification, what is hoped for in the present lives of the Colossians and in future eschatological fulfillment. Asserting that music assists the assembly in expressing an eschatological posture before God or that music can unify an assembly so that it knows itself as the Body of Christ is asserting music's ministerial role in regard to both the rite and the assembly. It identifies an ideal toward which to strive, even if it does not always describe what actually occurs when the ritual is set in motion. Once again, semiotics can be of assistance here. The semiotic framework for interpreting symbols mapped out earlier in this chapter provides at least one way for exploring how the music-making of the gathering song can indeed mediate the theological meanings identified in Sacrosanctum Concilium and in the GIRM. Recall that semiotics, which concerns itself with both verbal and non-verbal signs and symbols, looks at their contexts (semantics), their relation to one another (syntactics), and their relation to their users or interpreters (pragmatics).50 In the case of music-making, attending to the dimension of semantics requires that the worship context be taken into account in examining the power of the gathering song to mediate theological meaning. Context includes the type of ritual, historical setting, cultural milieu, as well as political and economic contexts. Consider the impact of context in the following example. Singing a hymn that includes the Galatians 3:28 text declaring that there is no longer slave or free, male nor female may communicate one meaning to an all black congregation in nineteenth-century America and quite another meaning in a racially diverse twenty-first-century congregation led by a woman presbyter. Singing such a text as a gathering hymn can either serve to unite an assembly or to highlight the divisions and inequalities that still exist within the community and/or with the larger community beyond the ritual experience.

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The dimension of syntactics guides the analysis of the way in which the gathering song interacts with other symbols and symbolizing activities within the liturgy. The interplay of such elements as architecture, acoustics, musical styles, language, texts, and color communicates theological meaning as the various symbols interact to either support or contradict each other. This includes the hymn's connection with the scripture readings of the day, as well as the season or feast. It also involves who is actually singing the hymn — assembly, choir, presider, ministers — and whether the hymn is within the knowledge and capabilities of the assembly. So, for example, a modern building with good acoustics will enable the assembly to hear themselves sing in a way that can encourage and support their efforts to perform the song. A competent proclamation of the Scriptures — for example, a reading from Isaiah, can interact with the color purple, the familiar chanting of a traditional Advent hymn such as "O Come, O Come Emmanuel/' and diminishing daylight through stained glass windows on a Saturday evening in December. All of these symbols interact to communicate a spirit of anticipation expressed during the celebration of the Advent season. The pragmatic dimension takes seriously the interpretations of those who participate in the liturgical event. It is not sufficient to assert that the theological meaning of a certain gesture or action (such as singing the gathering song) symbolizes the unity of the assembly. What is more critical is how those who perform or witness that gesture experience its meaning or significance. Sometimes the manner in which a symbol is celebrated actually communicates a meaning that contradicts what is intended. Singing a gathering song whose text speaks of welcome and unity will not achieve these goals if the language and the musical setting exclude — because of unfamiliarity or difficulty or some other reason — rather than include a portion of those assembled. The Exhibitive Nature of Communal Song. Thus far we have explored pertinent theories of symbol and semiotics of music in order to discover philosophical frameworks for understanding how music functions symbolically in liturgy. Our final step is to examine more specifically communal or congregational song51 as that genre of music most often associated with the gathering rite. The type of music-making that occurs when the assembly sings the

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gathering song is a good example of worship functioning in the exhibitive mode. Like the gestures and postures discussed earlier in this chapter, ritual's meaning is not asserted, but exhibited by means of liturgical singing. It is important to keep in mind that music-making is not propositional but confessional. By singing the gathering hymn, the glory of God, the faith of the assembly, the unity of the assembly, the yearning of the assembly for the presence of Christ are confessed and manifested or exhibited.52 Another example may further elucidate the point. We exhibit the meaning of Easter through fire, water, gesture, color, music, proclamation, story-telling, etc. The purpose of the Easter Vigil is not to tell the story of the Resurrection to people who don't already know it, but to allow those who do believe it to express or manifest or exhibit that belief. So the Paschal Mystery is "danced out, sung out, sat out in silence, or lined out liturgically,"53 with ideas playing a secondary role. In this way, ritual singing operates in the exhibitive mode. Victor Zuckerkandl's study of singing provides further insights into the dynamic that occurs in congregational song. Zuckerkandl examined a variety of different activities and settings in which people sang. He concluded that the common element in all of the situations is that people sing when they abandon themselves wholly to whatever they are doing. This abandonment is an enlargement, an enhancement of the self that results in the breaking down of barriers: it is a transcendence of separation that is transformed into a "togetherness."54 In other words, it promotes unity—one of the primary goals of the gathering rite. Thus we can say that participation in ritual singing corresponds to that dynamic described by Polanyi: by drawing us into the activity of music-making, singing carries us out of ourselves. In this way liturgical song as symbol puts us in touch with the power to which it points and opens up to us levels of reality that might otherwise be closed to us. Communal singing enables participation as it engages our imagination and memory so that we (both individually and communally) might apprehend the song's meaning from within our own horizons of experience. This dynamic provides the possibility for transformation. By shifting our center of awareness, symbols can change our values55 as they offer new opportunities for human subjects to make sense of their world and find their identity within

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it.56 This is especially true of art symbols, such as liturgical song, since in their innermost nature, they reveal both who we are and who we might become within a Christian faith context. Therefore, as we are assimilated or integrated into the world of the liturgical song, we open up to the possibility of intentional self-transcendence: we become different persons if we allow ourselves to be carried away by new faith meanings and orient ourselves in new ways within our faith world.57 All this leads to an appreciation of the gathering song's ability to enable an assembly to recognize Christ in their midst because— as communal music-making — it requires the active participation of the whole person. This participation engages the imagination so that the event of gathering may negotiate both identity and relationships: as baptized members of the Church commissioned to do Eucharist, we begin to recognize ourselves as the Body of Christ, the presence of the resurrected Christ in the world. With this recognition, of course, corresponding responsibilities to live out this call to be Christ for each other and for the world necessarily follow. But if the gathering rite is truly about "gathering," that is, becoming one in Christ, then an experience of disunity or isolation could fail to mediate an encounter with the Risen Lord and diminish the Church's ability to witness to his presence in the world. Gathering songs that include, that speak to people's horizons of experience, that engage the imagination and the body, will enable participants to know themselves as members of that local community, members of the Church, members of Christ. Through participation in the singing, the gathered assembly experiences a oneness whereby distinctions of wealth, class, gender, and race are suspended in favor of unity and harmony.58 In this way, a state of affairs is indeed exhibited in the liturgical singing: a disparate group of persons are gathered up into the one Body of Christ.

The Posture of the Eucharistic Prayer While the primary focus of this chapter has been on the symbolic activity of the gathering rite, some consideration of the Eucharistic Prayer is appropriate, since it is not only the high point of the

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Eucharistic celebration, but also that ritual moment that should express most clearly the gathered assembly's identity as the subject of the liturgy and the one Body of Christ. Therefore, some comments on the symbolic role of posture in the Eucharistic prayer will be made here with additional observations on contemporary implications reserved for chapter 5. The recent (American) controversy over the appropriate posture of the assembly for the Eucharistic Prayer conjflrms the insights of church documents cited above that posture is important for mediating theological meaning. While article 21 of GIRM (1973) indicates that the normative posture for the Eucharistic prayer is standing, the Appendix for the Dioceses of the United States calls for kneeling instead. This American exemption to the practice of the universal Church is repeated in the recent revision (2002). If one of the contributions of posture is enabling the "true and full meaning" of the Eucharistic prayer to become more evident (art. 43), at least two questions can be raised in evaluating the suitability or appropriateness of the American practice: (1) What is the "true and full meaning" of the Eucharist prayer? And (2) How do the postures of standing or kneeling affect the communication of that meaning? The Eucharistic Prayer is the heart of the Eucharistic liturgy. As such it deserves the greatest reverence and the fullest "attending to" on the part of the entire assembly. GIRM describes this prayer with such phrases as "center and summit" and "high point," as the great prayer of thanksgiving and offering that the priest addresses to God in the name of the Church and of the gathered community (art. 33 and 78). This fact is highlighted in the consistent use of the first person plural form of the pronoun: "We come to you, Father," "we offer," "we thank you," "remember our brothers and sisters," "have mercy on us all." The language makes it clear that this is truly the prayer of the assembly spoken on their behalf by the presider. It is also the prayer that makes explicit the purpose of the eucharistic bread and wine when it petitions: "Grant that we, who are nourished by his body and blood, may befilledwith his Holy Spirit, and become one body, one spirit in Christ" (Eucharistic Prayer III).59 How can the gestures and posture of all participants communicate that this is not only the high point of the Eucharist but also the prayer of the entire assembly—that is, the congregation under the leadership of

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the presider? The writings of the Church Fathers provide important testimony regarding the practice and thinking of the early Church on this question. By the time of Tertullian (d. ca. 220), standing for prayer was observed on Sundays and Eastertide since these days were observances of the feast of the resurrection. Thus the association of standing with commemoration of the resurrection quickly acquired a Christian significance.60 There is evidence that early Christians certainly did kneel for prayer, but there seems to have been a general consensus that kneeling was inappropriate for prayer on Sundays and during the fifty days of Easter. On this point Tertullian writes: "We count fasting or kneeling on the Lord's Day to be unlawful. We rejoice in the same privilege as well from Easter to Pentecost/'61 Augustine's letter to Januarius expresses similar sentiments, making a specific connection between standing and the resurrection: "And fifty days are now celebrated after the resurrection of the Lord not as symbolic of toil, but of rest and joy. On this account we stop our fasting, and we pray standing up, which is a sign of the resurrection/' 62 This quote has led liturgical scholars to conclude that, in the Patristic era, standing was the norm for the Eucharistic prayer because it was considered the more solemn or festive posture. Kneeling was assigned to expressions of penitence, supplication, adoration, and other forms of non-festive prayer.63 However, during the high point of the week and the high points of the liturgical year, standing was the norm, and it was the norm for both the presider and the assembly. Thus the "true and full meaning" of the Eucharistic prayer includes, among other things, the fact that this prayer of thanksgiving and offering is the high point of the Eucharistic liturgy. Furthermore, it is the prayer of the Church spoken by the presider on behalf of the Church and, most particularly, on behalf of all those present at the liturgy. In the judgment of the early Church, the posture that best expressed the meaning of this prayer was standing, especially during the Easter season and on the Lord's Day. While the decision of the American bishops has been rigorously debated in several other venues, the issue is raised here in order to consider the symbolic impact of posture in relation to the theological meaning intended and/or communicated. The gestures and postures

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that are enacted in the liturgy are powerful symbols that interact with other liturgical symbols to generate that meaning. Semiotics reminds us of the importance of respecting and heeding the interpretations of symbol users. In theological and phenomenological terms this means attending to how posture is interpreted by the assembly. What do the postures of kneeling and standing during the Eucharistic Prayer say to the people who are actually assembled and engaged in the liturgical action? How does the assembly understand its role in the single most important prayer of the Eucharistic liturgy? What postures and gestures can best assist the assembly in "attending to" the Eucharistic prayer in a manner consonant with their dignity as baptized members of the Church and as subjects of the eucharistic action? These questions are not easily answered. In fact, responses to these questions would probably vary widely, not only from one worshiping assembly to another, but even within the same assembly. This lack of consensus regarding what is the appropriate posture for the Eucharistic prayer may point to deeper theological issues regarding the assembly's perception of the complementarity of the various modes of Christ's presence and its role in the prayer. Could it also be that, because of long-standing custom, kneeling at this ritual moment has become part of the "symbolic network of the (Catholic) culture" that has fashioned us? Is that symbolic network shifting as the assembly grows in understanding more fully the meaning of the eucharistic action? Difficult though these questions may be, they can be useful guides for exploring how the posture of the assembly assists in communicating theological meaning and what that meaning is. Chapter 5 will further explore potential strategies for celebrating mindfully the liturgical symbols that mediate both the unity of the assembly and their role as subject of the liturgical action.

The Power of Symbols The insights of both theologies and philosophies (semiotics) of symbol provide us with the tools to appreciate and understand more fully the power of ritual symbols to mediate theological meaning. And if, as Chauvet asserts, all reality is mediated, then attending to the primary symbols of the gathering rite can be a significant

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step toward enhancing the assembly's ability to become engaged as subjects of the liturgical action. Because symbols function on the level of recognition rather than cognition, their ability to negotiate both identity and relationships is especially pertinent to questions regarding the assembly's experience of themselves as gathered and as the presence of Christ. This recognition, however, does not normally occur instantaneously. Rather, through faithful and authentic repetition over time, the symbolizing activity of the liturgy can enable the assembly to build their identity by building their world, a world of faith and commitment to each other and to God. A consideration of the role of repetition in symbolizing activity brings us to the topic of time. In fact, the cycle of the day, the week, and the year is an integral component of both faith and worship in the Judaic-Christian tradition. The Sabbath and the Exodus event characterize Jewish observance. For Christians, the day, the week, and the year are the framework for celebrating the saving works of God through Jesus Christ in daily prayer, Sunday Eucharist, and the liturgical year. This intersection between the human experience of time and of God's saving work provides the basis for understanding time as sacramental. That topic is the subject of the next chapter.

Chapter Four

THE SACRAMENTALITY GF TIME

Each morning along the coast of Cape Cod, locals and tourists can be seen at the beaches bracing in the wind, clutching their coffee cups, and waiting in silence. Everyone's attention is fixed on the ocean's horizon in eager expectation of the first glimpse of the rising sun. When it finally appears, a palpable experience of awe and wonder can be read in the faces and bodies of those who — especially in the summer months — have ventured out at a very early hour to witness this daily drama of promise and of hope. Perhaps many of these "dawn seekers'7 rarely darken the threshold of a church. Yet, in this simple ritual of rising early and heading out to the water, they are drawn into an experience that opens them to an awareness of the sacred or the holy. Perhaps we could call it an experience of the sacramentality of time.

Introduction How is it possible to understand time as sacramental? On the one hand, if a sacrament is defined as "a visible sign of an invisible reality/' is not time too intangible to be described as a 'Visible sign"? Surely we can say that we experience the passage of time. But in what way can we say that time is visible} On the other hand, since time is a part of creation and all creation has the potential to manifest the love, mercy, and goodness of God, it seems reasonable to consider time, at least on some level, sacramental. But when Christian Churches speak of the sacraments, they generally tend to mean either the two or seven special events of grace officially recognized 89

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as sacraments. This is not always the case. In the early Church the concept of sacrament was broader, reflecting a keen awareness of the sacramentality of human experience. As a result, the number was much more fluid. St. Augustine, who defined a sacrament broadly as a sacred sign, represents this Patristic viewpoint and, in fact, referred to countless objects and actions as "sacraments." In chapter 1, we explored the critical importance of a sacramental worldview as foundational to an appreciation of the meaning of official sacramental rites. Such a perspective is operative when describing time as sacramental. Church reflections on the value or significance of daily prayer have traditionally cited its unique role of "sanctifying" or "consecrating" time. While these designations highlight a particular view of the relationship of time to daily prayer, they do not adequately describe the sacramental nature of time, nor identify a critical contribution of daily prayer to the life of the Church. As a foundation for a discussion of the sacramental role of time in the worship of the Church, this chapter will briefly consider the human experience of time and its interpretation within the JudeoChristian tradition. This will be followed by an exploration of the meaning and significance of Sunday, particularly as a recurring event within a particular dimension of time. The tradition of gathering, and specifically of gathering in expectation of encountering Christ will be explored from a perspective of Sunday as eschatological feast. The fourth section will explore the sacramentality of daily prayer, focusing specifically on the Divine Office, referred to today as the Liturgy of the Hours. It includes a critique of the traditional notions of this prayer as "sanctifying" or "consecrating" time, using Patricia Rumsey's framework as a starting point. The ancient tradition of associating the rhythm of light and darkness with the Paschal Mystery will be explored as a key to interpreting the sacramentality of the Liturgy of the Hours.

Human Experience of Time Human experience would be incomprehensible without some awareness of the dimension of time. It is a fundamental aspect, not only of human existence, but also of all of life. The rhythm or periodicity of time is evident in the cycle of the seasons, the pulse of a

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heartbeat, the inhalation and exhalation of air, the lapping of the waves on the beach, the cycle of night and day. Far removed from these more primal examples, however, our contemporary experience of time is a modern construct that has only become more influential in the postmodern era. As H. B. Meyer points out, "the clock has become the most important "machine" of the era of technology, and the exact measurement of time has become the indispensable basis for a worldwide system of time without which science, trade, transportation and the economy... would be inconceivable."1 Time has become a commodity, measurable in its own right, something that can be bought and sold. Planned time, filled with an output that must provide a flow of information that needs to constantly increase in magnitude and speed, crowds the appointment book.2 In such a milieu, time is perceived as a force to be tamed or a foe to be overcome. The postmodern person is focused on "beating the clock" yet always bemoaning the lack of time, no matter how many time-saving devices fill the home and work place or how many agedefying products flood the market. As a result, modern technology with its bleeping watches and digital precision has stripped time of its subtle layers and leveled each moment into bland and featureless equal units. The restless activity of both our work and our leisure is computed in hours that blur together into one uninterrupted race. Having lost the ability to live without watching the clock, we have become blind to time's infinitely rich textures.3 Humankind's relationship with time has not always been so adversarial. Ancient civilizations were more in tune with the ways in which the cosmic dimensions of time directly related to human experience. The annual cycle of the seasons as well as the lunar and solar cycles determined festivals and rites of passage. For many indigenous peoples, time is circular and life revolves around the cycles of birth, youth, maturity, and death.4 In ancient Greek culture, the symbol for time was also the circle. Time moved in an eternally recurring course. However, within this framework time was perceived as a problem and redemption was achieved by freeing oneself from the circular course, that is, from time itself.5 There are, however, those rare moments when time is an epiphany of some deeper reality and we sense that time—at least the "clock" time we have become enslaved to — stands still. Experiences of

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human joy and suffering, poetry and drama, awe and wonder can affect our perception of the flow of time. It is in those moments when we are capable of living life more fully that our apprehension of time can change and deepen.6 Facing the reality of death, whether by illness or threat of danger, is one example of this type of change. A young soldier writing home a short time before he died in battle revealed a depth of awareness of the significance of time well beyond his years when he wrote: We make the division between life and death as if it were one of dates—being born at one date and dying some years after. But just as we sleep half our lives, so when we're awake, too, we know that often we're only half alive. Life, in fact, is a quality rather than a quantity, and there are certain moments of real life whose value seems so great that to measure them by the clock, and find them to have lasted so many hours or minutes, must appear trivial and meaningless. Their power, indeed, is such that we cannot properly tell how long they last, for they can colour all the rest of our lives, and remain a source of strength and joy that you know not to be exhausted, even though you cannot trace exactly how it works.7 Such depth of insight into the nature of time is rare in our own technological, efficiency-driven world. However, the possibility of understanding time as sacramental invites us to enter into a different relationship with time. It is one in which the passage of time and our experience of its fixed intervals or rhythms offer glimpses of God's action and presence in the ordinariness of our lives. When this happens, our daily existence measured as chronos intersects on some level with God's time or kairos.

Time in the Judeo-Christian Tradition Both Jews and Christians perceive history as the locus of God's activity. There is, however, one important difference between the Jewish and Christian perspective. While both religions see history as manifesting the eternal in the sequence of temporal moments, Christianity locates the source of that manifestation in the Christevent.8 Oscar Cullmann points out that the Christian conception of time is unique in two aspects. The first is that it sees salvation as bound to a continuous process that embraces past, present and

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future. The primitive Christian view sees revelation and salvation occurring simultaneously along a linear time continuum. Salvation is not understood to be available in some place outside or beyond time, but in the here and now of history. The second element of the Christian conception of time views all moments on this redemptive line as related to the one historical fact at the mid-point — the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. That fact, precisely in its unrepeatable character marks all historical events and is decisive for salvation. However, although each moment on the time line is always determined from that mid-point event, still each moment also possesses its own significance.9 This is the message of the New Testament. Because God's time has been fulfilled in Christ, we now live in the fullness of time. This pleroma or fullness of time inaugurates not a new philosophy of time but a new quality of life. The story of the sequence of historical events thus becomes the story of humanity's encounter with God. The privileged moment of that encounter is the Incarnation, God's taking on human flesh in the person of Jesus Christ. This Christ is the eschatos — the person toward which the entire cosmos is moving, the fulfillment of both faith and history. So Christians believe that God is present in the person of the resurrected Christ and that this God can be encountered at any moment of our lives. In fact, it is the expectation of encountering the resurrected Christ that is the whole point of "gathering to remember" for any of the Church's liturgical events.10 Since the post-resurrection gatherings of the disciples, Christians have assembled at regular or fixed intervals for worship. At the beginning, the familiar rhythm of the Jewish week and day naturally structured their prayer. Gradually Sunday, soon referred to as the "Lord's Day" or the "Eighth Day," emerged as the customary day to gather to celebrate Eucharist although daily prayer remained an integral part of popular piety. Eventually, the rhythm of the day, week, and year structured the Christian community's celebration of the salvation received in Jesus Christ. The fullness of that mystery of faith is referred to as the Paschal Mystery. In the narrower sense, this term refers to the Passion, Death and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. However, in the broader sense this term also includes Christ's life and ministry, his ascension, sending of the Spirit, and

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future return at the end of time. From the Christian perspective, all of history leads to and receives its meaning from the Paschal event. Therefore, the term "Paschal Mystery" encompasses the whole of salvation offered to humankind as an event that transforms human history. Notice that time is integral to an understanding of this great mystery. The Paschal event occurred in time, at a specific moment in history. It continues to exist today through the celebration of the liturgy and the living of the Christian life. Our own history, then, is about participation in a salvific event through which God through the gift of his Son Jesus Christ in the Holy Spirit transformed and continues to transform time and history and therefore human beings who are bound up by time and history. Although the focus of the Paschal Mystery is Christological, its fundamental structure is Trinitarian. Eastern Christian liturgy and spirituality expresses this truth more clearly than does Western Christianity: "J e s u s Christ in his Spirit-filled humanity is revealed as begotten of God, Son of God in power. God is revealed as unique source of life, as Father,- and the Spirit is revealed as life-giving gift of the Father. The paschal event, therefore, is simultaneously revelation of the Trinity and the incorporation of Jesus' humanity into it through the death and resurrection."11 In its original usage, Pasch, from the Hebrew word pesach, means "passing by" and "passing through." It refers to the Jewish Passover commemoration of the Israelites' deliverance from Egypt. This event included the occasion of the angel of death's passing by the Israelite homes marked with the blood of the sacrificed lamb and the Israelite's passing through the Red Sea from slavery into freedom. Jesus Christ's passage through suffering and death won for the People of God participation, through the Spirit, in the life of God. For the Christian, this is the ultimate experience of freedom. The adjective "paschal" modifies mystery, not because there is some deep secret or hidden element that needs to come to light, but because the human heart and mind find God's love as expressed by this saving action unfathomable. All Christian life is a participation in the Paschal Mystery and its communal celebration is structured by the rhythms of the day, week, and year. These temporal structures make evident the fact that time is a constitutive element, not only of daily life, but also of

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the liturgy. Furthermore, these regularly recurring liturgical events celebrate Christ's death and resurrection not only as past event, but also as present event actualized in the life of every member of the gathered assembly. In this way, each liturgical event structures the celebration of the Paschal Mystery as an event that has an integral relationship with time, particularly because it involves the element of memory. This is the case because all liturgy, like the Paschal Mystery itself, is a dialogue in which the entire community is invited to participate by remembering what Christ has accomplished for us. Furthermore, it is the dialogue of "Christ who is the Word of God to humankind and the ultimate and absolutely faithful human response of praise, thanksgiving, self-offering, and petition to God."12 To repeat a point made in chapter 2, every Christian is inaugurated into the Paschal Mystery at baptism. This sacrament plunges a person into the life of the Trinity and thereby into participation in all that the Paschal Mystery involves. It is an initiation into lifetime transformation into Christ. This process of change is necessarily structured by time since it implies movement and passage from the past through the present and toward a new future. The early Christian Church, particularly as it developed in Jerusalem, expressed its understanding of time, of God's action and presence in temporal cycles, in ways that grew naturally out of its Jewish experience. Two biblical narratives infused the rhythm of the week with theological meaning: the story of creation and the story of the Exodus. Celebrating the weekly Sabbath and the annual Passover provided the temporal structures for a faith that associated the rhythm of work and rest with God's primordial creativity and liberating redemption.13 The weekly cycle of Sabbath rest and the annual remembrance of their release from bondage structured their relationship with God and with each other. However, as anamnesis of past history between God and his people and as eschatological hope turned toward the future of God's history with his people, it was specifically the seven-day week that bore deep religious significance for Judaism.14

Gathering in Expectation of Encounter Initially, the Judaic structures for Sabbath remained in place for early Jewish converts to Christianity. Scholars generally agree that

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early Jewish Christians continued to attend synagogue services on Saturday before gathering for Eucharist on either Saturday evening or Sunday. Two distinct theories have been proposed to explain the development of Sunday as the day on which Christians gathered to do Eucharist. The first theory suggests that once the Sabbath was over, Christians gathered on Saturday evenings. By Jewish reckoning, this would mark the beginning of Sunday, the first day of the week. These Saturday evening gatherings most likely lasted until early Sunday morning, the time of Christ's resurrection. The problem with this first hypothesis, however, is that the earliest evidence suggests that Christians met on Sunday evening, not Saturday night or Sunday morning. A shift in the practice of gathering on Sunday evening to gathering on Saturday night or Sunday morning does not seem to have occurred until the second century. In order to explain the Sunday morning observance, attempts have been made to relate the assembly's gathering to Christ's resurrection in the morning of the first day of the week. As a result of this explanation, the tradition has linked the observance of Sunday with the resurrection of Christ. However, it is important to understand that this tradition, valid and ancient though it may be, is not the original understanding of Sunday.15 The second theory, proposed by Willy Rordorf, focuses on Sunday evening. Stories of the disciples' encounters with the Risen Lord on the evening of the first day of the week in both Luke and John suggest that the original time for gathering was probably Sunday evening. These stories include the Emmaus account (Luke 24:1332) and the appearance in Jerusalem that same evening at the gathering where Thomas was absent (John 20:19-25). A week later, the Risen Lord again appears to the disciples on Sunday evening while they are gathered together. This time Thomas is present (John 20:26-29).16 So while the resurrection of Christ is the event of inestimable value and significance in the Christian tradition, no one witnessed its occurrence. Gospel accounts focus instead on the postresurrection appearances, that is, the disciples' encounters with Jesus after his resurrection from the dead. Rordorf draws several parallels between these post-resurrection appearances and the gatherings of the earliest Christian communities to break bread. In both cases, the disciples and the later community were gathered in the

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upper chamber where all were present. Focus is on the communal cultic meal performed in memory of both Jesus' last meal and of the meal on Easter Sunday evening. Rordorf further argues that the eucharistic cry of the community, Maranatha (=our Lord comes), which derives from the oldest deposit of tradition, is incomprehensible without the picture of the actual table-fellowship with the Lord. Moreover, the whole sequence of the meal — giving of thanks, word of interpretation, distribution of bread and wine at the beginning and end of the meal (1 Cor. 11.25) — exactly resembles the meals taken by the disciples with Jesus before and after his death. It would appear, therefore, that the breaking of bread was a continuation of their actual table-fellowship with the risen Lord.17 Rordorf makes a credible argument for his claim that the foundation of the Christian gathering for Sunday Eucharist is found in the post-resurrection appearances rather than the resurrection event itself. Furthermore, his interpretation highlights the significance of a particular rhythm of time — the weekly Sunday gathering. If the Sunday evening gatherings of the early Church were rooted in the Sunday evening post-resurrection appearances of the risen Lord, then it is likely that the expectation of once again encountering the Risen Lord was a significant motive for gathering. Rordorf's theory holds particular significance for understanding the dynamic involved in a gathered assembly's perception of Christ's presence in their midst. It is the expectation of encounter that makes all the difference. This insight is a striking example of phenomenology's description of the role of intentionality discussed in chapter 1. The expectation of encounter is a particular way of attending to the Risen Lord that allows for the possibility of the manifestation of his presence. The expectation of encounter prepares the assembly for receptivity, for being datives of the manifestation of Christ's presence. Mark Searle corroborates Rordorf's interpretation when he says that "the fact that they [early Church community] gathered regularly on a Sunday evening — the time of encounter, and not on Sunday morning—the putative time of resurrection, suggests that the Sunday evening assembly was understood not as a commemoration of the fact of Jesus' resurrection but as the context and occasion in which they would meet him again."18 In this way "time," in this

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case, the weekly observance of gathering on Sunday, becomes part of the sacramental framework that mediates an encounter with the resurrected Christ. This insight does not diminish the significance of Christ's resurrection to the community's celebration of Sunday Eucharist since the fact of the resurrection cannot be separated from the observance of the commemoration. But the point made by both Rordorf and Searle is that the expectation of encounter was the original motivation for gathering. A closer look at the development of the Christian observance of Sunday and its various titles or names will further elucidate the inherent sacramentality of this weekly gathering. The Lord's Day as Eschatological Feast Each of the four gospel accounts of the resurrection refer to Easter morning as "the first day of the week" (cf. Matt. 28:1; Mark 16:2; Luke 24:1; John 20:1). This designation derives from the Jewish computation of the week. Soon, however, Christians came to refer to this first day of the week as both "the Lord's Day" and "the eighth day." Both designations express particular understandings of time in relation to both the presence and activity of the Risen Christ within the Christian community. Scholars believe that the phrase kyriake hemera found in Revelation 1:10 clearly refers to Sunday as the Lord's Day and is of Christian origin.19 It has been commonly identified with the Christian observance of the day of worship that celebrated the resurrection of Christ. There is also general consensus that a similar phrase in Didache 14, kata kyriake de kyriou, refers to the weekly gatherings of the Christian assembly. Evidence of such early usage indicates that the observance of the first day of the week by Christians most certainly reaches back into the apostolic period and probably as far back as the primitive Jerusalem community itself.20 The designation "Lord's Day" refers not to God as Creator, but specifically to Christ as Kyrios or Lord. Sunday is thus the Day of Christ because it is the day of his resurrection and the day on which he appeared to his disciples and ate and drank with them. The designation also refers to the expectation of the Lord's return, celebrated in hope. The gospel accounts of the post-resurrection appearances

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suggest that Jesus manifested himself on the eighth day of his resurrection, probably because the disciples, now with Thomas present, had gathered again in anticipation of his return. The Lord's Day is thus the day of the actual presence of the Lord among his followers who, in breaking bread as he had commanded, commune with him in love.21 The eucharistic prayer recorded in the first-century text, the Didache, highlights both the unity of the assembly gathered in Christ on the Lord's Day and anticipation for the final gathering at the parousia. The prayer over the broken bread reads: "We give thanks to you, our Father, for the life and knowledge which you have made known to us through your servant Jesus. As this broken bread was once scattered over the mountains and was then brought together to become one, so let your Church be brought together from the ends of the earth into your kingdom."22 The eucharistic bread thus symbolizes the unity of the Church composed of countless individuals assembled in a cosmic gathering. This vision further evokes ardent longing for the anticipated final gathering, received as promise at the moment of communion. Rordorf comments that the dialogue that closes chapter 10 of the Didache probably led immediately into the communion rite. The text reads: "Let grace come and let this world pass! Hosanna to the God of David! If anyone is holy, let him come! If anyone is not, let him repent! Maranatha. Amen."23 This eschatological cry of "Maranatha" highlights the coming together of past, present, and future in the celebration of the Sunday assembly. The events of salvation history are recalled, the presence of the Risen Lord is experienced anew, and the expectation of his final return in glory is renewed.24 W Jardine Grisbrooke sums it up well when he says: One of the fundamental elements of the liturgical spirituality of the early Church was a strong and balanced eschatology, a Hebrew concept which, so far from making time of no account, made time itself eschatological, and this world eschatologically transparent. For the early Christians the eschaton was already present, already realized, in the eucharist: every celebration of the eucharist was the parousia of Christ, affirming his presence here and now in time and space. This eucharistic eschatology was neither time renouncing nor world renouncing, neither was it unqualifiedly time affirming or world affirming: the Church was in the world precisely in order to save it, to redeem it, to transform it — all was under the saving power and

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the judgment of Christ. The Church, then, was not a community for salvation from the world, but a community for the salvation of the world, and this was reflected, and understood to be reflected, in the Church's worship.25 This understanding of the experience of time in the gathering of the assembly for Sunday helps to explain another early designation for Sunday as "the eighth day." The title highlights the prophetic or eschatological aspect of Sunday. Symbolizing a fullness that transcends the ordinary computation of time, the number eight signals the inauguration of the new age.26 It transcends the ordinary weekly round of seven days that encompass both work and rest and opens up the possibility of a new relationship with time — time that is now experienced as qualitatively different.27 Thus the rhythm of the week with its celebration of the Lord's Day as both the first and the eighth day became the fundamental point of reference for the organization of time within Christianity. Within that organization, the Easter event was the center and summit of Christian time. Sunday was the weekly celebration of that Easter event. For this reason, St. Augustine, in his Letter to fanuarius, regards Sunday, in a privileged though not exclusive way, as a sacrament, since it brings Christians into contact with an invisible reality—the Paschal Mystery.28 The prophetic and eschatological nature of Sunday appears even more striking in Mark Searle's comparison of this perspective with our contemporary experience of the weekend: Clearly Sunday differs radically from the three-day weekend. The three-day weekend belongs to the old order, to the system wherein life is defined as earning and spending. Sunday also differs from the Sabbath. Whereas the Sabbath is a day of rest from labor, a momentary participation in the rest of God which preceded creation and will follow history, Sunday represents the altogether more radical idea that the life of the world to come is already here. It lasts, not twenty-four hours, but from the resurrection of Christ unto ages of ages. Sunday is the eighth day, shattering the treadmill of the seven-day week, celebrating the incursion of life-after-death into the lives and history of the human race.29 Our observance of Sunday and our understanding of it as the eighth day express a new relationship with time because of the resurrection

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of Christ. As a result, time in its weekly cycle becomes a window for seeing life in a new way. Life is experienced differently because our experience of time has changed. Eternity is not a reality in some distant future, but has already begun. Thus, the very designation of Sunday as the "eighth day" enables it to become an intersection for both eschatology and sacramentality.

Assembling for Worship For early Christians, the first day of the week was the day to assemble for worship, especially for Eucharist. Several early documents make a particular point of highlighting the action of assembling. By the second century, the resurrection of Christ is given as the primary motive for gathering. Justin Martyr provides this description of the Sunday assembly in mid-second century: On the day named after the sun, all who live in city or countryside assemble in the same place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read The reason why we all assemble on Sunday is that it is the first day: the day on which God transformed darkness and matter and created the world, and the day on which Jesus Christ our Savior rose from the dead.30

This excerpt brings together both creation and redemption as the motives for assembling on Sunday. The reference to the daily cycle of light and darkness highlights an aspect of creation that has been traditionally associated with faith in the redemption won for us by Christ. This intersection of creation and redemption in the human experience of the daily cycle of light and darkness becomes a powerful sacramental sign in the celebration, not only of the Easter mysteries, but also the daily prayer of the Church. This does not mean that the origins of Christian Sunday are rooted in pagan astrological beliefs in the favorable or unfavorable influences of the heavenly bodies on human life. Sunday, the second day of the pagan planetary week, was never a cultic day for pagans. Yet Christians took advantage of the coincidence of the Lord's Day and the day of the sun to highlight Christ as the true sun or the true light of the world.31 Melito of Sardis compares Christ to the sun when he explains: "Now if the Sun washes himself in the sea, why should not Christ also wash himself in the Jordan? He is the king of heaven and the head of creation, the rising sun who appeared

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both to the dead in Hades and to mortal men in the world. He is the unique sun who came from heaven."32 Here, Melito makes a clear association between the sun as source of light, Christ, and Sunday.

The Sacramentality of the Daily Cycle of Prayer A sacramental understanding of time, however, extended beyond Sunday to that of the ordinary day as well. Toward the end of the first century C.E., Clement of Rome speaks of the sacramental power of the daily cycle of light and darkness to express visibly the mystery of Christ's resurrection in his Epistle to the Corinthians when he noted: "Let us look, beloved, at the resurrection which happens regularly. Day and night show us a resurrection; the night goes to sleep, the day rises: the day departs, night comes on" (1 Clem. 24:2-3).33 In this comment, Clement expresses a symbolic understanding of the cycle of the day that forms the basis for an understanding of time as sacramental. In other words, the simple experience of the passage of time is interpreted as a visible sign of an invisible reality.34 Assembling for Daily Prayer The practice of daily prayer, a legacy from Judaism, was also an important part of the worship life of early Christians. This prayer could be prayed privately in the home or in communal gatherings. The third-century document known as the Didascalia (Apostolic Constitutions II) includes a passage that highlights the importance, not only of gathering for Eucharist on Sunday, but also of assembling for daily prayer when it says: When you teach, bishop, command and exhort the people to frequent the church regularly, morning and evening every day, and not to forsake it at all, but to assemble continually, and not diminish the Church by absenting themselves and making the Body of Christ lack a member. For it is not only said for the benefit of the priests, but let each of the laity hear what was said by the Lord as spoken to himself: "He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters7' (Mt. 12:30). Do not scatter yourselves by not gathering together, you who are members of Christ... but assemble each day morning and evening, singing psalms and praying in the Lord's 35 houses

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This passage expresses a deep appreciation for the importance of assembling daily in order that the community might constitute itself as the Body of Christ. It particularly highlights the importance of the laity and of the regularity of the gathering. The absence of any member from the gathering is considered a diminishment of the Church. This includes the laity who are likewise reminded that they are members of Christ. Thus it is clear that the aspect of assembling has traditionally been associated with the fact that it is done at regular, fixed intervals of time. In fact, the gatherings themselves observe the passage of time in that they occur at the rising and the setting of the sun. Since human nature is bound up with time, it seems not only fitting but also necessary that time be taken into account in such an important human activity as worship. Articulating the relationship between time and worship, however, has often focused on time, not as sacramental, but as a dimension of life in need of redemption. W. Jardine Grisbrooke, for example, argues not only for the integration of worship into the temporal process, but also for the importance of redeeming time when he says: In taking upon himself human nature, Christ also took upon himself human time, and was born, lived and died in the same temporal conditions as other men,-... And while, since the resurrection and the ascension (which also took place at particular times) he has passed, so far as his redeeming work is concerned, beyond time itself, for the climax and consummation of that redeeming work, the second coming— at once event in time and the end of time — has yet to take place. Meanwhile his Body the Church on earth joins in the perpetual worship he offers to the Father in time and under the conditions of time, which, like every other aspect of creation, it brings into the sphere of redemption by and through that worship, day by day, week by week, year by year. The redemption of time, moreover, like the redemption of every aspect of creation, consists not in destroying it but in transforming it. And the primary purpose of the divine office is not simply adoration and supplication on behalf of all redeemed creation, but specifically adoration and supplication on behalf of all creation within the context of the transformation of time.36 In this lengthy passage, Grisbrooke highlights the temporal dimension of the mysteries of the Incarnation and Redemption and humankind's corresponding celebration of those mysteries in the

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liturgy. His framework provides a theological foundation for the necessity of taking time seriously in every liturgical event.

Liturgy and Time One of the conclusions that can be drawn from the foregoing reflections is that, in so many ways, the liturgy is more time-centered than space-centered. Such a characterization portrays not only worship, but also the Christian life as a mediation of God's presence and an unfolding of eternity in the present moment. This is necessarily the case since time is an intrinsic mode of becoming and liturgical time is about the assembly's becoming Christ—a life-long process of transformation or sanctification.37 Nevertheless, time-centered prayer has long been relegated to second-class status in relation to the official sacraments of the church. An understanding of the Liturgy of the Hours as possessing a sacramental dimension has rarely been acknowledged, even in light of the broader understanding of sacramentality that is part of the tradition. The scholarly work, The Study of Liturgy,38 defines the divine office as "a pattern of nonsacramental services to be celebrated or recited at intervals during the day (and night)." This definition differentiates the Hours from the official rites that the Christian Churches have designated as sacraments. Its language seriously limits the possibility of appreciating the sacramentality of time or the role of the Liturgy of the Hours in the sanctification of the faithful. Because Christianity believes that God is active in human history, the dimension of time permeates all aspects of the Christian assembly's liturgical prayer. This includes not only the daily celebration of the Liturgy of the Hours, but also the weekly celebration of Eucharist and the annual cycle of the liturgical year. Eucharist, with its anamnetic and eschatological character, is deeply rooted in the temporal dimension. So too, is daily Christian liturgical prayer, specifically the Liturgy of the Hours. In fact, the very existence of the Liturgy of the Hours as a so-called "liturgy of time" not only complements the celebration of the Eucharist (the preferred way for describing its relationship to the Eucharist in much of the literature) and the other sacraments, but more importantly provides the point of intersection for celebrating the mysteries of creation and redemption, of time and eternity that ground all liturgical prayer.

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This temporal aspect is an important dimension of the Church's daily prayer in relation to the entire liturgical life and human experience of its members. In fact, this temporal aspect of daily prayer is perhaps its most significant attribute since it functions as the basis of the Hours' inherent sacramentality. Furthermore, this temporal aspect serves as an important reminder that the temporal dimension of all liturgical prayer is a window through which the activity of God in human life and human history is revealed.

Sanctifying or Consecrating Time} Perceiving time as sacramental has not been part of the typical explanation of the value or significance of daily prayer. For several centuries preceding the reforms of the Second Vatican Council, the Church's official daily liturgical prayer was referred to as the Divine Office. Its designation as "office" highlighted the obligation to pray the various hours of prayer, a responsibility normally carried out by ordained clergy and members of religious communities. Although Sacrosanctum Concilium {Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, 1963)39 continued to use the term "divine office," the reform that followed Vatican II eventually preferred the title "Liturgy of the Hours." This change signals a shift away from a focus on obligation to a focus on the nature of the prayer as a liturgy of time. Part of the impetus for the shift can be attributed to an influential work by Dom Gregory Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy, published in 1945. Dix devotes the chapter entitled "The Sanctification of Time" to a discussion of what was then called the Divine Office. This book influenced the thinking of scholars and church leaders regarding the role of the Divine Office in the prayer life of the Church not only before, but also after the Second Vatican Council. Dix's influence is evident in many of the Church documents published at the time of the Council and in the reform of the liturgical books. His basic presupposition is that praying the Liturgy of the Hours "sanctifies time." A look at three official Church statements will indicate how widespread that understanding was and perhaps still is. Article 84 of Sacrosanctum Concilium states that "The Divine Office, in keeping with ancient Christian tradition, is so devised that the whole course of the day and night is consecrated (emphasis added) by the praise of God." Article 88 expresses the idea similarly

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when it says that "Since the purpose of the office is to sanctify (emphasis added) the day, the traditional sequence of the hours is to be restored so that, as far as possible, they may again become also in fact what they have been in name." Article 94 reiterates this claim when it affirms: "So that the day may be truly sanctified (emphasis added) and that the hours themselves may be recited with spiritual benefit, it is important that each canonical hour be recited as closely as possible to the time of day for which it is intended." The Second Vatican Council's reform of the Liturgy of the Hours was brought to its conclusion and approved by Pope Paul VI through the Apostolic Constitution Laudis Canticum40 in 1970. The first article of this document states: "Since the liturgy of the hours is the means of sanctifying (emphasis added) the day, the order of this prayer was revised so that in the circumstances of contemporary life the canonical hours could be more easily related to the chronological hours of the day." Article 8 reiterates this idea when it explains: "Intercessions [pieces) have been added to morning prayer to express the consecration (emphasis added) of the day and to offer prayer for the day's work about to begin." The General Instruction of the Liturgy of the Hours41 was published with the editio typica of the reformed prayer in 1971. This document also uses Dix's language of "sanctifying time" when it says in article one that eventually "other hours came to be sanctified (emphasis added) by prayer in common." Article 38 reiterates this notion in this comment: "As is clear from many of the elements that make it up, morning prayer is intended and arranged to sanctify (emphasis added) the morning." Further on in that article, St. Basil the Great is quoted as saying that "It is said in the morning in order that the first stirrings of our mind and will be consecrated (emphasis added) to God...." Finally, article 181 states that "Since traditionally morning prayer puts the whole day in God's hands, there are invocations at morning prayer for the purpose of commending or consecrating (emphasis added) the day to God." All three documents highlight the significance of the temporal dimension in living the Christian life. In describing that significance, the documents appear to use the words "sanctifying" and "consecrating" interchangeably. Acknowledging some important distinctions regarding the two words, however, may provide

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helpful insights into the relationship of prayer to time in the context of these documents and in the actual observance of the canonical hours of prayer. Before we take up that task, however, a brief look at Patricia Rumsey's discussion of possible interpretations on time underlying the Liturgy of the Hours may prove helpful in sorting out the various theological perspectives found in the Church documents. Rumsey organizes these perspectives into four different categories. In the first, time is viewed as intrinsically sacred since it is an aspect of creation declared good and holy, coming as it does from the hand of God. Day followed by night is the basic unit of time within which God's work of creation and its intrinsic goodness are proclaimed in the Book of Genesis. In the second category, time is viewed as needing sanctification since it is an aspect of a fallen world in need of redemption. Several New Testament passages, e.g., John 15:18-19, Romans 12:2, and Ephesians 5:15-16 express a hostile attitude to "the world" as belonging to the Evil One.42 Time, as part of this world, is viewed therefore as tainted. In the third category, time is viewed as neutral, neither good nor bad in itself. Rather, what makes time either one or the other is the activity that takes place during it. According to this perspective, time occupied with good works or prayer could be considered consecrated by the good performed for the duration of a given period. In the fourth, time interfaces with eternity within the celebration of the liturgy. The ritual action itself becomes the location for experiencing the confluence of time and eternity. In this setting, time has the potential to mediate an experience of the sacred, a mediation actualized by the assembly when they gather to celebrate the liturgy.43 Considering Rumsey's framework, we might conclude that when the Church documents refer to the Liturgy of the Hours as "sanctifying" time they are viewing time in the second category, time in need of redemption. On the other hand, when the Church documents refer to the Liturgy of the Hours as "consecrating" time they appear to be operating from the third perspective. That is, time viewed as neutral becomes sanctified because of the activity of prayer that takes place during it. Our first question is whether the second perspective — the need to sanctify the day, the hour, or time — is, in general, theologically tenable. In what sense is it possible to say

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that time can be or needs to be sanctified? The root of the word "sanctify" comes from the Latin words sanctus (holy) and facere (to make). Webster defines "sanctified" as made holy, consecrated, set apart for sacred services. What the Church documents appear to be saying is that time can be sanctified or made holy if it is set apart for sacred services. If certain periods of time are thus set aside for daily prayer — in this case the Liturgy of the Hours — such setting aside could be said to make those specified times holy or sanctified. Would the reverse also be true? That is, would times not set aside for sacred services be considered profane? Those holding the second perspective would argue that time is in need of sanctification while those holding the third perspective would assert that time not so consecrated would be neutral, that is, neither good nor bad.44 Article 88 and 94 of Sacrosanctum Concilium assert that the purpose of the Hours is to sanctify the day. The first article of Laudis Canticum echoes these sentiments. GILOH in articles 1 and 38 uses the same language to explain that the various hours of the day are sanctified by prayer and that morning prayer is intended to sanctify the morning. But article 10 of Sacrosanctum Concilium says that the purpose of the liturgy is the glory of God and human sanctification, not the sanctification of time. Or could it be argued that when the Hours are prayed, the sanctification of time contributes to the sanctification of those human beings who participate in the prayer? The story of the Paschal Mystery is about the redemption and sanctification of humankind. How is creation, in this case specifically time, a part of this story? Paul's letter to the Romans offers a possible answer to that question: For the creation waits with eager longing, for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. (Rom. 8:19-23 NRSV) Paul's description of creation in need of redemption suggests that like humankind, all of creation, including time, is in need of

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salvation and that this redemption is a process that will only finally be completed at the parousia. But is this redemption of time and of all creation accomplished by the praying of the Liturgy of the Hours? And how is this related to the salvation won by the dying and rising of Christ? It is interesting to note that the various perspectives expressed in the three documents do not include Rumsey's first notion of time as intrinsically holy because of God's creative act. Furthermore, this first perspective does not seem to be reconcilable with the view of time in need of sanctification or redemption. Might the word "consecrate" be more apt for describing how daily prayer affects time? The word "consecrate" comes from the Latin consecrare, to dedicate. The components com (together) and sacer (sacred) combined mean to devote to a divinity or to consecrate. So when article 84 of Sacrosanctum Concilium states that the Divine Office is devised so that "the whole course of the day and night is consecrated by the praise of God/' something different is being asserted than the claim that prayer "redeems" time. To consecrate the day and night is to set it aside for the purpose of giving it over to God. This appears to be the sentiment expressed in article 8 of Laudis Canticum when it speaks of the intercessions at Morning Prayer as a means of expressing our consecration of the day to God. Article 181 of GILOH also speaks of consecrating the day to God and article 38 quotes St. Basil who explained that Morning Prayer enables our mind and will to be consecrated to God. The notion of consecrating time, that is, setting it aside for the purpose of glorifying God, reflects Rumsey's third category. Time, neither good nor evil in itself, becomes holy when it is given over to God's praises. This action of "setting aside" consecrates the time. Although humankind may give over some portions of time to God (that is, to the work of praising God since all time already belongs to God) the holiness or sanctity of the time comes from God, not from the activity of human beings. Furthermore, the act of "throwing away" time, of setting it aside for an activity that does not result in measurable productivity, is an action that is significant because it is fundamentally relational in two respects. In the first place, it draws each member of the assembly into participating in a corporate act of the Church. Time becomes

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that vehicle of the "symbolic exchange" of which Chauvet speaks. Gathering at set times to "throw time away" thus unites the assembly in a common task of consecrating time. In the second place, the handing over of time for the praises of God is an acknowledgement that time is, first of all a gift. It is likewise an acknowledgement of the giver of the gift of time as the one to whom it is offered in the act of "setting it aside." Consecrating time is therefore an acknowledgement of a relationship with God, an acknowledgment that contributes to the community's experience of God's presence. Because of the strong Christological character of the Liturgy of the Hours and of its primary symbol of light, Christ's presence is experienced in the commerce of time that is enacted between God and the assembly gathered to celebrate the Hours. Nevertheless, we cannot forget the strong tradition that supports Rumsey's first viewpoint, the notion that the sanctity of time comes from God and not from humankind's activity in time. According to this perspective, time is intrinsically sacred because it is created by God and has been declared intrinsically good by the Creator (Gen. 1-2:3). This theological argument for the intrinsic goodness of all creation and therefore also of time because of God's creative act is found in the writings of Scripture, the Fathers of the Church, official Church teaching, and numerous theologians. Among them is the medieval scholastic, St. Bonaventure, who developed a theology of creation with strong Trinitarian and Christological foundations. Building on the creation spirituality of Francis of Assisi, the founder of the Franciscan Order to which he belonged, Bonaventure portrays creation as a theophany of God's glory manifested in the order of creation. The entire cosmos is an expression of the Word that is Christ. In this way, Bonaventure argues, the entire world is sacramental because it is symbolic and full of signs of God's presence.45 Furthermore, Bonaventure stresses both the dynamism of God and the dynamism of creation. Within his theological perspective, the dynamism of God that exists primarily in the inner life of the Trinity is also diffused in creation. Since time itself is expressive of this dynamism, it possesses an inherent ability to aptly express God's presence both in history and in creation. Ilia Delio captures Bonaventure's theology succinctly when she explains: "This tri-une

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community of persons-in-love is dynamic and expressive. It is a community of personal love marked by fecundity, overflowing goodness, and creativity/'46 Humankind experiences this love, fecundity, goodness, and creativity of God through the various aspects of creation. As one of those aspects of creation, time serves to reveal the God who is its source and who continues to act in history. When Rumsey describes time as mediating an experience of the sacred in her fourth category, she is speaking of time as sacramental. This is, in fact, time's key role in the liturgy. When the assembly gathers for liturgical prayer they are, in one sense, disengaging from measured time (chronos) — the type to which it is easy to become quickly enslaved — and entering into an experience of eternity manifested in the present moment (kairos). Focus is on God's Kingdom, the eternal reign of God glimpsed in time.47 In liturgical prayer, the assembly "makes remembrance of the past a present unfolding of the future."48 In the Eucharist, this act of remembrance or anamnesis is the assembly's response to Jesus' mandate at the Last Supper to "do this in remembrance of me." The Greek word means to call forth the actual presence of the person or action remembered, not as someone or something in the past, but as truly present in the here and now. While this act of remembrance or anamnesis is especially true of the Eucharist, it is also true of all Christian liturgy, including the Liturgy of the Hours.49 Feasts and seasons situate the liturgical assembly through time-oriented texts that provide an ongoing experience of the tension between the "already and not-yet" of God's gift of salvation embodied in the person of Jesus Christ. Even while Christ's presence is celebrated and acknowledged, his absence "until he comes again" is deeply felt. It is this longing and anticipation for the fullness of Christ's presence already glimpsed "as through a glass darkly" that provides the eschatological thrust toward the final coming of the reign of God.

Theme of Light Thus far our reflections on the Liturgy of the Hours and on the sacramentality of time have noted the Church's tradition of gathering at regular intervals of time for prayer. Not only have those gatherings occurred daily, but in the early Church they occurred at least twice daily, and later in the monastic tradition, several times

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throughout the day. The difficulty of gathering with such regularity is perhaps one of the reasons why the Liturgy of the Hours developed almost exclusively into a prayer performed by the clergy and members of religious communities. One of the goals of the reforms of the Second Vatican Council has been to restore the times of prayer to their appropriate hours. In other words, Morning Prayer should be prayed in the morning and Evening Prayer in the evening. In practice, this has not always been the case because the connection between the prayer and the hour of the day all but disappeared in the legalistic concern to get all the prayers in within any twenty-four hour period. However, the Vatican II reform that referred to morning and evening prayer as the two hinges of daily prayer [Sacrosanctum Concilium 89) was making an important statement about the relationship of a particular hour of prayer to the time of day. Actually, it is not so much the time of day that is thus highlighted, but the prayers relationship with the daily rhythm of light and darkness. Hence, the aptness of the image of hinge. Attributing religious significance to the phenomenon of the waxing and waning of the light, however, is not unique to Christianity. Nor is its response limited to that of human beings. Jaroslav Pelikan muses: Behind the imagery of the light and the sun in the religions of the Near East was the attempt tofindmeaning and hope for human life in the daily victory of light over darkness: the dawn was the harbinger of divine rescue and of eternal salvation. Indeed, the power of the light to bring hope is much older and deeper than mere human history. In responding as they did to the power of the light religions of the Near East gave liturgical expression to the yearnings and the stirrings of the protoplasm, the nameless need in the very stuff of life to be sustained by light.50 The symbolic power of the daily rhythm of light and darkness is part of the primordial experience, not only of human life, but also of all life, at least as we know it. This daily phenomenon is an important key to understanding the sacramental power of time and of the daily prayer of the Church. Theologians have argued that it is both theologically and psychologically necessary that the dimension of time and the natural rhythms of life be taken into account when considering questions of

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Christian revelation and Christian worship.51 Indeed this has been the Christian perspective from the very beginning. Given their cultural and religious background, early Christians moved naturally to a perspective that viewed the rhythm of light and darkness as a sacrament of the salvation won for them by Christ. The New Testament and the writings of the early Church Fathers make such connections explicit. The Gospel of John, particularly 1:4-9, 8:12, 9:5, 12:35-36, and 12:46 speaks of Christ and salvation in terms of light vs. darkness. In addition, the subject of enlightenment appears in several of the letters, particularly Colossians 1:12-13, 1 Thessalonians 5:5, and Hebrews 6:4 and 10:32. The communal aspect of this illumination is stressed is 1 John 1:5-7 and 1 John 2:8-11. 52 The fact that Ephesians 5:14 quotes a hymn that appears to have already been familiar to early Christians at the time the letter was penned suggests that such light symbolism was already central to the Christian interpretation of salvation in Christ. The text still appears in Christian hymnals to this day. Clement of Alexandria (d. 215) provides the full text in his Protrepticus (Exhortation to the Greeks): Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ shall give you light, the sun of the resurrection, begotten before the morning star (Ps. 109) who gives life by his own very rays.53 The hymn is appropriately sung at the Easter Vigil and associated with the celebration of the sacraments of Initiation. Christ gives the light that is salvation and this salvation is received in Baptism. In fact, the early Church frequently referred to this sacrament as photisma, that is, illumination and those who were baptized as illuminandi, photizomenoi.54 This image of light as symbol of salvation is also evident in the Christian impulse to interpret the common practice of lamplighting at nightfall as symbolic of Christ, the light of the world. Even before the development of evensong, Christian domestic piety adapted the pagan custom of the lucernarium (lamplighting), of greeting the evening lamp with prayers of praise and thanksgiving.55 Cyprian's

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(d. 258) interpretation of evening prayer is an early example of the prevalence of associating this light imagery with Christ: Likewise at the setting of the sun and the passing of the day it is necessary to pray. For since Christ is the true sun and the true day, when we pray as the sun and the day of the world recede and ask that the light may come upon us again, we are asking for the coming of Christ, which provides us with the grace of eternal light.56

The presence of light reminds the Christian of the presence of Christ. As a visible sign, light and the rhythm of light and darkness serve as sacrament of that presence. St. Basil (d. 379) asserts that the hymn, Phos hilaron, was so ancient that the author of the text was unknown by the fourth century. It is still sung today as the core of the light service in the Byzantine Vespers and as an Evening Prayer hymn option in the reformed Liturgy of the Hours in the Roman Rite: O radiant Light, O Sun divine Of God the Father's deathless face, O Image of the light sublime Thatfillsthe heav'nly dwelling place. Lord Jesus Christ, as daylight fades, As shine the lights of eventide, We praise the Father with the Son, The Spirit blest and with them one. O Son of God, the source of life, Praise is your due by night and day. Unsullied lips must raise the strain Of your proclaimed and splendid name.57 Thus, from as far back as the most ancient Christian writings, there is a tradition of associating the rhythm of light and darkness with the Paschal Mystery, the salvation won for us through the Christ-event. Images of light and darkness are employed to celebrate the presence of that salvation in the daily lives of Christians. If then the key to interpreting the sacramentality of the Hours lies in their connection with the daily rhythm of light and darkness, this insight may provide clues for retrieving its power in the lives of contemporary assemblies.

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The Liturgy of the Hours as Symbolizing Activity Earlier in this chapter we noted that in the history of the Church there have been both broad and narrow definitions of sacrament. Augustine's understanding of sacrament as sign provides the possibility of a broader application of the notion of sacrament to a variety of visible signs of invisible grace. Within this theological framework, time can be understood as sacramental and the Liturgy of the Hours can be described as possessing sacramental characteristics. When we speak in this way, we are not proposing that the Hours be considered an eighth (or third) sacrament. Rather, we are inviting the reader to broaden her/his perspective on the very notion of sacramentality as presented in chapter 1. How then can the Liturgy of the Hours be described as sacramental? Thus far we have proposed the following ideas relating to the sacramentality of time. Starting with the more fluid definition of sacrament proposed by Augustine, we define a sacrament as a sacred sign, that is, a visible sign of invisible grace. Furthermore, since all creation has the potential to serve as sacred signs, we determine that time as an element of creation and light (and darkness) as a measure of the passage of time both serve as signs or symbols of God's action and presence in our lives. The communal celebration of these symbols gives glory to God and promotes the sanctification or transformation of the liturgical assembly (a movement of grace, of course, that is not limited to communal celebrations). In achieving both of these goals, praying the Hours can provide an opportunity for the gathered assembly to encounter Christ in its midst. We are once again focusing on the significance of celebrating symbols. In this instance the primary symbols are time and light. Just as the Eucharist is a ritual and therefore a complex interplay of symbolizing activity, so too, the Liturgy of the Hours is symbolizing activity that mediates theological meaning as it negotiates relationships and identity.58 Attentiveness to symbols, therefore, enables us to uncover the depth of theological meaning generated within this form of liturgical prayer. Recall that the foundational principle of Louis-Marie Chauvet's sacramental reinterpretation of Christian existence is that all reality is mediated. In the case of the Liturgy

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of the Hours, it is the familiar yet powerful symbol of time, expressed through the waxing and waning of the light, that mediates the Christian experience of God's action in human life and Christ's presence in the community. The symbols of time and light speak to many levels of human existence. Their elemental character easily lures us into situating ourselves within the universe of meaning and values that they open up to us.59 When this happens to an assembly gathered for worship, their active participation in the symbolizing activity allows for discernment of meaning and communion with the mysteries being celebrated. When this dynamic takes place in the Liturgy of the Hours, the symbols of time and light contribute to the ongoing formation of the imagination and affectivity of the assembly who appropriate the symbols and "dwell in" their meaning.60 Nathan Mitchell reminds us that ritual symbols are not objects to be manipulated, but an environment to be inhabited. Symbols are places to live, breathing spaces that enable us to discover life's endless possibilities.61 Because symbols have the power to make present the reality they symbolize, their invitation to participate enables the assembly to dwell in the reality to which they point — the saving presence and action of God.62 The sacramental theologian Michael Lawler describes this dynamic as "living into" symbols.63 Furthermore, since ritual symbols invite participation and point beyond themselves, they involve the knower as person and speak to the human subject's individual horizon of experience. For this reason, symbols have the potential to mediate transformation. By shifting our center of awareness, symbols can change us by changing our values. Chauvet's theology of symbol would suggest that this dynamic is constantly in process as symbols provide new opportunities for us to make sense of our world and find our identity within in. By engaging with liturgical symbols, we build ourselves by building our world. This "building" suggests the process of change that is inherent in the experience of transformation. As Don Saliers points out, symbols have this power of transformation by forming, over time, the imagination and affectivity of the assembly. So worship itself, as a complexus of symbols, both forms and expresses a set of emotions and attitudes in participants that constitute the Christian

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life.64 Saliers' insights regarding the role of worship correspond to Susanne Langer's description of ritual when she says: Ritual "expresses feelings" in the logical rather than the physiological sense. It may have what Aristotle called "cathartic" value, but that is not its characteristic; it is primarily an articulation of feelings. The ultimate product of such articulation is not a simple emotion, but a complex, permanent attitude. This attitude, which is the worshipers' response to the insight given by the sacred symbols, is an emotional pattern, which governs all individual lives. It cannot be recognized through any clearer medium than that of formalized gesture; yet in this cryptic form it is recognized, and yields a strong sense of tribal or congregational unity, of rightness and security. A rite regularly performed is the constant reiteration of sentiments toward "first and last things"; it is not a free expression of emotions, but a disciplined rehearsal of "right attitudes."65

Langer's comments about ritual highlight its use of symbol and repetition in enabling a disciplined rehearsal of "right attitudes/7 Her focus on a resulting sense of congregational unity is particularly pertinent to our consideration of the gathered assembly. How do these insights apply to the celebration of the Liturgy of the Hours? Certainly the very structure of the Liturgy of the Hours provides for the regularity of performance that both Saliers and Langer see as part of the transformative power of ritual. But what are the feelings or permanent attitudes that are being performed or rehearsed? The ideal primary attitude or posture of the worshiper is praise of God. Sacrosanctum Concilium 10 reminds us that the purpose of liturgy is the glory or praise of God and the sanctification of the faithful. In addition to that primary posture of creature before creator, other attitudes that derive from the nature of the Hours are those highlighted in the liturgical season of Advent, sentiments of longing and expectation. The community gathers at times that mark the rising and the setting of the sun to rehearse their longing for and expectation of the presence of Christ. However, because this longing and expectation of Christ is eschatological and therefore experienced as already present even though not yet in its fullness, gratitude or thanksgiving for the light that is Christ and for his gift of salvation is another "attitude" that is regularly performed.

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This attitude of longing or expectation is actually more fundamental to the Hours than we might at first suspect. If we trace the practice of daily prayer in the New Testament, we discover that there is a great deal of evidence of vigil prayer or prayer through the night. Gregory W. Woolfenden argues for the significance this tradition gives to prayer in the night and to the centrality of the theme of "light overcoming the darkness" in daily prayer. He notes that the New Testament includes numerous instances that prayer took place at night, often as an all-night vigil. The Gospel story about watching for the bridegroom who arrives at midnight (Matt. 25:6) and the account of the vigil in Gethsemane (Matt. 26:36-46) both suggest that prayer in the night was a common practice. The description of Paul and Silas praying and singing in prison (Acts 16:25) and the admonition to stay awake in anticipation of the master's return (Mark 13:33-37) make it clear that the night watch was important and cannot be limited to the annual observance of the Easter Vigil. The Prologue of John, especially 1:4-5, provides an important example of the symbolic treatment of light and darkness. The watch in the night, with its experience of the natural passage into and out of darkness is the perfect setting for prayer to Christ symbolized as the light that overcomes the darkness. Woolfenden concludes that the late nineteenth-century scholar Pierre Batiffol66 was correct in proposing the primacy of vigil prayer in the development of the daily office. If this is the case, Woolfenden argues, then the watch for, and in anticipation of, the Lord's return is the fundamental rationale of the daily office and the starting-point for understanding the nature and purpose of Christian prayer.67 Woolfenden's conclusion supports our thesis that "anticipation of encounter with Christ" is or needs to be a fundamental communal attitude of the assembly that gathers for worship. The two hinges of the Hours, Morning and Evening Prayer, both celebrate Christ as the light of the world, the light that overcomes the darkness, the light that signals salvation. Ardent longing and joyful anticipation thus aptly describe the Christian posture or attitude to be "rehearsed" at liturgical prayer that is closely tied to the setting and the rising of the sun. In the language of phenomenology, longing and anticipation would describe the assembly's intentionality — the way in which they attend to the rhythm of light and

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darkness, and therefore, to the presence of Christ. The assembly that gathers regularly at those two key moments of the day will, over time, become open to transformation, to becoming a community that both anticipates Christ's presence when they gather and celebrates that presence even as they long for its fullness in the future. Furthermore, the experience of Christ as the true light that overcomes the darkness of sin and death will naturally erupt in praise and thanksgiving for the gift of salvation and for the gift of Christ's presence. It will likewise erupt in intercessory prayer that the gift of that presence be experienced by all humankind. Regular rehearsals or ritualizings of longing, expectation, intercession, praise, and thanksgiving can gradually transform an assembly into a people who wait on the Lord and who glorify God for Christ's resurrection and for the gift of his presence, received as salvation. This can transform the assembly's perception of time in two ways. In the first place, time will be experienced as a mode of Christ's coming. This perspective is firmly rooted in Church tradition and celebrated each year by the season of Advent. Secondly, time will be experienced as a mode of becoming — the assembly's becoming more the Body of Christ. This perspective is rooted in the Paschal Mystery — the starting point and source of the liturgical commemoration of time.68 Herein lies the meaning of our baptism, of the Eucharist, and of the Liturgy of Hours as well.69

Liturgy of the Hours: Prayer of Christ and Prayer of the Entire Church One of the foremost intentions of the liturgical reform was to retrieve an appreciation of the Hours as liturgy, that is, as a communal action of the Church. As communal action, this prayer involves a gathering of the Church to participate in ritual prayer. By virtue of gathering, a once disparate group of individuals is united through Christ with the Father and in the Spirit. It is because of this gathering together that we can say that Christ is present in the assembly's prayer.70 Article eight oiLaudis Canticum expresses its this way: This prayer takes its unity from the heart of Christ, for our Redeemer desired "that the life he had entered upon in his mortal body...

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should continue without interruption through the ages in his Mystical Body, which is the Church/' Because of this, the prayer of the Church is at the same time "the very prayer that Christ himself, together with his Body, addresses to the Father." As we celebrate the office, therefore, we must recognize our own voices echoing in Christ, his voice echoing in us. The imagery of voice is significant here. In praying the Hours, the gathered assembly as the Body of Christ can be likened to a wind instrument through which the prayer of the Trinity breathes forth the Spirit into the world. This union of breath and instrument in expressing the prayer is an apt metaphor for describing how Christ is truly present when the community prays. The liturgical reform has been unsuccessful in communicating the fact that the communal aspect of the Hours involves all members of the Church. This has been the case even though Sacrosanctum Concilium encouraged a retrieval of this prayer for the laity when it states in article 100: "Pastors should see to it that the principal hours, especially Vespers [Evening Prayer], are celebrated in common in church on Sundays and on the more solemn feasts. The laity, too, are encouraged to recite the divine office, either with the priests, or among themselves, or even individually." The laity is mentioned by name regarding a prayer that had been for centuries considered the privileged domain of clergy and religious. This expanded understanding of the participation of the laity is taken up in three articles in GILOH. Article 20, comparing the Liturgy of the Hours to all other liturgy, asserts that it "is not a private matter but belongs to the whole Body of the Church " This line of reasoning continues in article 21 that encourages: "Wherever possible, other (that is, groups besides canons or priests) groups of the faithful should celebrate the liturgy of the hours communally in church." The strongest endorsement of the participation of the laity in the Hours as ritual prayer comes in article 33: "Hence, whenever it is possible to have a celebration in common, with the people present and actively taking part, this kind of celebration is to be preferred to one that is individual and, as it were, private." Laudis Canticum mentions the laity in two different articles. Article one echoes Sacrosanctum Concilium when it says that "The Office has been drawn up and arranged in such a way that not only

The Sacramentality of Time clergy but also religious and indeed laity may participate in it, since it is the prayer of the whole people of God." Article eight provides a theological foundation for this claim when it explains: "Christian prayer above all is the prayer of the whole human community, which Christ joins to himself. Everyone shares in this prayer, which is proper to the one Body as it offers prayers that give expression to the voice of Christ's beloved Bride, to the hopes and desires of the whole Christian people, to supplications and petitions for the needs of all humanity." This article is especially significant regarding the laity, not only because it sees the Hours as inclusive of all Christians, but also because it describes the prayer as offering "supplications and petitions for the needs of all humanity." This is the priestly office of all the baptized — to raise up the world and its needs to the throne of God. This is the one sense in which calling the Hours the "office" is most apt. For it is the office or responsibility of each member of the Church by reason of baptism to pray for the needs of the world. As in the retrieval of the prayers of the faithful at Eucharist, so too the return of intercessions to the Hours after the reforms of Vatican II has enabled the assembly to become more aware of its priestly task in the midst of the world.71 However, it is not only in the intercessions, but also in the entire prayer of the Hours that intercession for the world is made. Sacrosanctum Concilium points out in the inspiring and poetic article 83 that this priestly prayer of all the faithful joins with Christ's priestly prayer. The entire article warrants a careful look: Jesus Christ, high priest of the new and eternal covenant, taking human nature, introduced into this earthly exile that hymn which is sung throughout all ages in the realms above. He joins the entire community of humankind to himself, associating it with himself in singing his divine song of praise. For it is through his church itself that he continues this priestly work. The church, by celebrating the Eucharist and in other ways, especially the celebration of the divine office, is ceaselessly engaged in praising the Lord and interceding for the salvation of the entire world.

This article echoes article seven of Sacrosanctum Concilium in asserting that all liturgy is an exercise of the priesthood of Christ and an action of the Church in and through Christ. This is another reason why we can say with confidence that when the Church gathers

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to accomplish this priestly action, that Christ is truly present in her midst. Perhaps few would argue this point. What becomes more difficult to sort through is the nature of that presence and how it relates to or is distinguished from the presence of Christ in the Eucharist.

The Real Presence of Christ in Communal Daily Prayer From the beginning, we have reiterated the point that both conciliar and post-conciliar documents have acknowledged that Christ is present when an assembly gathers in his name. This presence is one of several modes of presence, e.g., in the person of the presider, the Word, the sacred species, and in the prayers and songs of the Church. Describing one mode as real naturally raises the question whether the others are not. Addressing the question of the presence of Christ in the Liturgy of the Hours, Thaddaus A. Schnitker reflects: That this presence of Christ is a "real" one, not depending on our faculty of imagination or pious moods but on the will of the Lord, is undoubtedly clear. The kind of presence rightly coming into consideration here might be called the "anamnetic presence" because, whenever the memorial of the Lord is celebrated, he with his redemptive work is present with those remembering him. That is the case in the anamnesis of the Eucharistic Prayer but in no less real a sense also in the anamnesis of the redemption celebrated in the Liturgy of the Hours.72 Schnitker's linking of anamnesis to the real presence of Christ both in the Eucharist and in daily prayer provides a common basis for speaking about both modes of Christ's presence. Furthermore, this focus on anamnesis highlights the temporal dimension as critical to a mediation of the sacred in daily prayer as "a remembrance of the past a present unfolding of the future." The unfolding of time enables the unfolding of the mystery.

The Role of Time in the Assembly's Becoming the One Body of Christ: Contemporary Challenges and Opportunities In addition to the cultural difficulties alluded to in chapter 1 regarding a postmodern "dis-ease" with time, there are other aspects of the

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contemporary Church that impact our ability to embrace a vision of the sacramentality of time in general or of its specific instances in the celebration of Sunday or of the Hours. The first is the issue of repetition or regularity of celebration. The impending lack of priests means that more and more communities will not have the opportunity for weekly celebrations of Eucharist. The result may well be a gradual loss of a sense of Sunday as the eighth day Yet even within those communities that do celebrate Eucharist regularly, the experience of the weekend militates against an eschatological perspective that views Sunday in this way. Issues of regularity regarding the Hours are of a different sort. If the basis of the Hours is the daily rhythm of light and darkness, the ideal rhythm for gathering would seem to be twice a day. This regularity or daily rhythm would allow the symbol of light to truly speak of the presence of Christ in the midst of those assembled for prayer. But for the great majority of persons — including many religious and clergy today—such rigorous regularity has made participation in communal celebrations of the Hours prohibitive. Paul Bradshaw, on the other hand, suggests that perhaps focusing on the larger cycle, that of the entire liturgical year, might be the way to engage larger numbers of Christians in praying the Hours, if only in a limited way.73 In fact, it is often during those special seasons of preparation for the high points of the liturgical year that local churches make a concerted effort to schedule celebrations of the Hours. This solution, however, does not take into account the sacramentality of the daily rhythm of light and darkness. For now, the accessibility of this prayer continues to allude the majority of Church members, especially the laity. The irony of the situation is that the Liturgy of the Hours is at once both accessible and inaccessible to the laity. On the one hand, despite the reforms, the structure and format of the Hours is complicated, even for those who pray it every day. Learning and maneuvering the prayer can be rather daunting for the average person. On the other hand, one of the strengths of the Liturgy of the Hours — in a Church that is facing a priest shortage — is that it does not require ordained leadership. The possibilities of this second opportunity have still been largely unexplored. Simplifying its

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celebration may be an important first step toward improving its accessibility. Highlighting the primary symbols of light and darkness rather than the sanctoral cycle of the liturgical calendar may also allow the sacramentality of time to speak more clearly to those who pray the Hours on a regular basis. A third area of both challenge and opportunity is the annual celebration of the liturgical year, particularly the season of Advent. Many rue the commercialization and celebrations of Christmas that begin even before the season of Advent arrives. Liturgists and pastoral ministry teams often attempt to keep Christmas decorations out of Church, school, and home, but these counter cultural strategies seem to make little difference in the larger scheme of things. Often these efforts, admirable in themselves, reveal a somewhat narrow view of the season of Advent. The basis of Advent is an eager and joyful anticipation or longing for the coming of Christ. This coming is celebrated in three dimensions, only one of which focuses on Christ's first coming as a babe in Bethlehem. The other two are the second coming of Christ at the end of time and his daily coming into our lives in varied and sundry ways. The first dimension looks to the past, the second to the future, and the third to the present. But it is the second and the third dimensions that may best cultivate that posture of longing and expectation for the coming of Christ that is at the heart of the Christian impulse to gather to celebrate the liturgy. Together, the three dimensions remind us that we live in the eschatological end times. Christ is present and yet we experience his absence, longing for the fullness of his presence at the parousia. After all, the purpose of celebrating Christmas is not simply to recall that Christ was born as a babe in Bethlehem, but to celebrate our belief that the Word of God became human and dwells among us. Still dwells among us.

Chapter Five

GATHERED UP INTO THE ONE COSMIC DANCE

Quantum physics describes the universe as a place where everything is interconnected or interrelated. Connections are realized by energy concentrated in bundles called "quanta" that flow throughout all of reality1 Indeed, this energy is the primary essence of reality. It is an astounding and fresh way to look at the cosmos! The notion that all of reality is interdependent and that its relatedness is accomplished by means of the flow of energy provides an apt metaphor for understanding the symbolic activity of the liturgical assembly that gathers in expectation of encountering Christ. Like the bundles of energy described in quantum theory, liturgical symbols interact with each other, transferring and increasing energy, shedding light and unfolding meaning. In such a milieu, energy provides impetus for movement. Nothing is static. And although this movement may at first glance appear random, it is ultimately directed toward union. Similarly, the dynamic impulse of Christians to gather is part of the larger, more expansive energy that flows both within and out from the Blessed Trinity. Within that eternal movement, God pours forth the fullness of God's love on humanity and all of creation, inviting a response. Enlivened by this energy that classical theology names grace, the regular gathering of the Christian community becomes an ongoing movement toward communion. In this way, symbolizing rituals that negotiate connections or relationships within the community and with God serve to nourish and support this impulse toward communion. Thus we come to the final chapter. Having explored the postmodern context of Christian worship, the sacramentality of the 125

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gathered assembly, the symbolic nature of worship, and the sacramentality of time, we discover that the energy that flows through our lives and our worship fuels our desire for union with God, a union that necessarily involves our sisters and brothers. And so we gather regularly for worship. In some inchoate way, we know that gathering for this purpose will allow us an encounter with the divine. What we may not consciously realize, however, is that such a glimpse or encounter is experienced first of all in the midst of the people gathered. That this marvelous truth frequently eludes us is not surprising since, over the centuries, the proper balance between the various modes of Christ's presence has often shifted as the interrelationship between them was either forgotten or misunderstood. Correcting our somewhat skewed perception requires a renewed commitment to authentic symbolizing activity in the liturgy and to an accompanying adult catechesis and/or mystagogy. The good news is that there is within each human person an impulse toward communion. Building community, however, is hard work that requires the efforts of every member, most especially of those in leadership. Our study of the theology of the gathered assembly suggests that the work required of each member can be more focused and more fruitful when the liturgical symbols we celebrate speak more clearly of the unity to which we are called. To assist in channeling that impulse toward communion, therefore, this chapter proposes three strategies. They include the following: (1) embracing diversity as a means to unity; (2) celebrating mindfully the symbols of unity that are constitutive of the liturgy; and (3) cultivating an expectation of encounter that acknowledges God's absence.

Embracing Diversity as a Means to Unity Encountering the presence of Christ in the gathered assembly depends to a significant extent on the assembly's commitment to building unity. In fact, the symbolizing activity of the Eucharist is specifically directed toward assisting the assembly in becoming one — the one Body of Christ. This task may require the asceticism or discipline of letting go of one's own desires or preferences in regard to such liturgical components as music, art, preaching, language — among other things — in order that the Body of Christ

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might flourish and grow. This letting go does not mean settling for the least common denominator in standards of quality and good taste. It does mean, however, being open to new and diverse ways in which God may speak and God's people may respond. But this, above all, is critical: the work of building unity by embracing diversity must be intentional and the entire community needs to be committed to it. The fact that unity is the goal of our liturgical celebrations is often lost on members of the gathered assembly, including its presiders. Yet this point is reiterated time and again both in the liturgical texts themselves, in the instructions, and in several other church documents. The act of gathering for worship is a fundamental activity of the Church. Neither private prayer (important though it is) nor televised masses (helpful though they be for the home bound) can substitute for the personal presence of each member gathered for worship on a weekly basis. One of the goals of gathering is to bring the Church together so that, joined together as one, it recognizes the presence of Christ in its midst. Whether or not this recognition occurs depends to a great extent on the intentionality of the community to become one—the one Body of Christ. Because we are called to participate in the very life of the Trinity, our life in relationship must mirror the relationship of the persons of the Trinity. Unity is therefore not negotiable. Working toward it must be embraced as the common effort of all those involved in liturgical practice, preaching, catechesis, and living the Christian life. Some may object to the strong emphasis on the necessity for unity. After all, one might argue, are not most "churchgoing" Catholics content with attending Mass to satisfy their personal need for spiritual nourishment or inspiration? Is not the main purpose of attending Mass to receive Holy Communion so as to have the strength to get through the week? The Last Supper discourse recorded in the Gospel of John provides a simple, but startling answer to these queries. John 17:11 reads: "And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one." In other words, through his prayer to the Father, Jesus conveys to his disciples the fact that their being in the world must emulate the unity of the Father and the Son. Jesus

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identifies this characteristic as an essential mark of the Church that is now deputed to be his presence in the world once he returns to the Father. Furthermore, the foundation of the unity to which we are called is love. Love, in fact, is the energy that propels us to move toward union. Like bundles of quanta, the love shared among the persons of the Trinity spills over as a "fountain fullness"2 that suffuses all of creation. This love is expressed as both desire and anticipation: God's desire for us and our desire for God. Waiting for a response inspires a sense of anticipation that is not passive, but active: there is an eternal movement toward union with the object of desire. If mirroring the unity of God is the vocation of the Church as Christ's presence in the world, then building that unity through the symbolizing activity of liturgical rituals is essential when the Church gathers for worship. For it is by means of symbols that both our identity and our relationships are negotiated or "regularly rehearsed." If unity is the goal, then liturgical symbols need to be attended to in such a way as to ensure that celebrating (handling) them breaks down (rather than sets up) barriers created by differences based on race, ethnicity, gender, age, education, or economic status. Note that it is barriers that need to be broken down, not diversity. Diversity is a gift to the Church and a sign of the presence of the Holy Spirit. As St. Paul reminds us, "there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit" (1 Cor. 12:4). Calling for unity can never be a rallying cry for uniformity. Diversity, in fact, provides the energy that brings people together in a relationship of love that respects difference and appreciates its potential for service and building up the whole body. St. Paul underscores this when he explains: "To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good" (1 Cor. 12:7). Diverse gifts at the service of the community promote the unity that allows the Church to witness to Christ's presence in its midst: "For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ" (1 Cor. 12:12). Unfortunately, uniformity is sometimes mistaken for unity. The result has been, predictably, the homogenization of the liturgy to the detriment of the worship life of the Church. The Church's response to the Protestant Reformation is a classic example of this

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situation. Liturgical reforms that followed the Council of Trent (1545-63) sought to safeguard the unity of the Church by requiring a new level of uniformity in the liturgy. The dominant Western culture was canonized as the standard by which all others were measured. This mentality influenced the rejection of pleas for the use of vernacular languages and the mandate that all of Christendom adopt the same reformed liturgical books. Similar requirements for uniformity were imposed in regard to the use of Gregorian chant and polyphony. Such a classicist view of culture is not the unity of which we speak. It does appear, however, to be the point of view that has inspired the promulgation of recent liturgical documents from Rome, including the instructions Liturgicam Authenticam (2001) and Redemptionis Sacramentum (2004). This development raises serious concern since the third task of the liturgical reform of Vatican II — inculturation — has barely begun to make an impact on the Church's liturgical praxis. One of the motivations for these documents seems to be a fear that the unity of the Roman Rite might become fragmented if too much diversity is permitted. What would be more helpful would be to provide instead frameworks for incorporating diversity in ways that would respect the underlying unity of the Roman Rite. There is a clear difference, however, between diversity and fragmentation. What is destructive of the unity of the Church is the fragmentation or polarization that occurs when one style, perspective, or cultural expression is held up over against another. The current liturgical battles that are being fought on many fronts today (particularly in the United States) are an example of this fragmentation. While disagreements over liturgical practice are not new, the deep-seated enmity expressed now so easily and so publicly because of internet communication, underscores the fragmentation of the Church's liturgical assemblies. This situation is further exacerbated by our postmodern penchant for individuality and personal interpretation. In this milieu, parishes often drift into homogeneous assemblies where uniformity gives the impression of unity because diversity is absent. Chauvet's remarks regarding the diverse Sunday assembly as paradigmatic of the Church challenge this growing practice.3 In the face of this fragmentation, local churches need to make a commitment to the discipline of working toward unity in their

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regular weekly celebrations of the Eucharist. This task needs to be approached, not as a public relations maneuver, but as a sincere effort to witness to the belief that the gathered assembly is indeed the presence of the Resurrected Christ. How can this be achieved? Attending to the way we celebrate or handle liturgical symbols that mediate unity is an important first step.

Celebrating Mindfully the Liturgical Symbols of Unity The power of symbols to mediate God;s action in human life and our response to that action cannot be overstated. Indeed, this principle is the foundation of our belief in the Incarnation and in the sacramentality of all of life. Furthermore, if we accept Chauvet's premise that all reality is mediated and that the action of the Holy Spirit works through the bodiliness of the created universe, then we must take symbols seriously. The manner in which liturgical symbols are celebrated — particularly symbols that express unity— has an essential role in promoting the awareness of and growth in unity of the gathered assembly. But instead of mediating the unity of the assembly, these symbols often contribute instead to the fragmentation of our assemblies. This situation occurs when what is said or intended is contradicted by what is done. Sometimes this situation arises because of carelessness in the handling of symbols, but such symbolic dissonance also occurs because of recent changes mandated in the rubrics. Symbols do have the potential to negotiate relationships and identity for both individuals and the community. How well they are celebrated will determine whether the energy generated by their interaction mediates theological meaning or creates symbolic dissonance that may dissipate or contradict that meaning. The theological meaning that concerns us here is an understanding of the assembly as both the subject of the liturgy and the presence of Christ when it gathers for worship. If the gathered assembly, as an instance of Church, is the Body of Christ, the manner in which these liturgical symbols are celebrated needs to mediate this theological reality in an ongoing way. Otherwise, the Church's claim to be the One

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Body of Christ will be empty pretense and the fragmentation and dysfunction of the assembly will become ever more clearly evident. This is not about what is "liturgically correct/' but about allowing symbols to speak the reality that is being celebrated. It is hard work to be attentive to the Body (meaning Christ's Body, the Church). However, both St. Paul and St. Augustine warn us that we ignore the Body at the peril of performing empty rituals, or worse still, rituals that work toward our condemnation (see 1 Cor. 11:29). Phenomenology's insights regarding intentionality can enliven an assembly's approach to the celebration of liturgical symbols. As subjects of the liturgical action, members of the assembly need to be mindful of, attentive to, and cognizant of the symbolizing activity in which they are engaged. Such mindfulness involves intending what the Church intends when performing the ritual actions, being attentive to the performance of those actions, and understanding their meaning. This last point—understanding the meaning of liturgical symbols — involves being open to the many layers of meaning generated by symbolic activity that is inherently multivalent. Certainly the full meaning of any one symbol can never be apprehended by any one person at any one moment. Nevertheless, glimpses of insight and comprehension become clearer over time when symbols are consistently celebrated well. An examination and critique of how well symbols of unity are celebrated in the Eucharist is the focus of the next section of this chapter. Three ritual moments that are rich in symbols of unity will be considered in detail. They are the gathering rite, the Eucharistic prayer, and the communion rite. The section will conclude by looking at mystagogy as a way to promote the assembly's mindful (and therefore full, conscious, and active) participation in the symbols of unity.

The Gathering Rite Our concern here is for the symbols that promote the unity of the gathered assembly. As primary symbol of unity, the gathered assembly requires special "attending to." Furthermore, three additional symbols — architecture, music, and language — also need to be viewed in terms of their role in promoting the unity of the gathered assembly. Since the assembly is always in process of becoming

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the Body of Christ, it affects the sacrament of unity in-its-becoming one in the power of the Holy Spirit.4 Therefore, attending to the other symbols of the gathering rite, including architecture, the arrangement of sacred objects, and music must be informed by this fundamental effort of the assembly to "become one" as it gathers for worship. The word "attend" is used here in its phenomenological sense as a function of intentionality.5 When we attend to a person or persons within a liturgical event, we "pay attention" to the network of symbolic actions and the relationships that are set up between these persons and the symbols they use. Simply stated, we attend to the gathered assembly as primary symbol and as an instance of Church. As we have already discovered, there is much ambiguity regarding the meaning of the word "church." Perhaps this ambiguity between "church" as the people of God and "church" as building is really at the heart of the difficulty of recognizing the presence of Christ in the assembly. Over the centuries, Christians have built towering testaments of faith out of brick and stone. Many of these churches and cathedrals house exquisite works of art whose numinous qualities serve to create spaces that are truly experienced as sacred. Their size and their beauty, however, can distract us from the fact that God chose to dwell, first of all, not in great edifices, but among people. St. Paul asserts this directly in his first letter to the Corinthians when he says: "you are... God's building" (1 Cor. 3:9c) or when he asks: "Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you?" (1 Cor. 3:16) The original and primary reference for the word "church" is the people, not the building. The church is indeed "built of living stones." This fact can be celebrated by taking opportunities to highlight the primacy of the assembly not only when it is housed in a great church building, but also when it worships outside a sacred space. How the space is set up and appointed needs to say that the room or building is sacred because the people have gathered for worship. This emphasis on the people should not be mistaken for an inflated or misplaced sense of the dignity of the assembly based on its own merits. Rather, it is based on the identity of the assembly as the Body of Christ, most especially when it gathers for worship. In fact, part of its task in gathering is to become more the Body of Christ as it enters once

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again into the celebration of the Paschal Mystery. Sacrosanctum Concilium reminds us that there are two purposes of worship: the glory of God and the sanctification of the faithful (art. 7). These dual activities of the assembly with Christ and in the Spirit significantly contribute to the creation of a sacred worship space. Architecture is perhaps the overarching symbol that interacts with multiple aspects of the action of the assembly. Something as basic as the seating arrangement and how it is used can create either a sense of unity or of fragmentation. The responsibility to promote unity includes attending to each member's ability, not only to see him or herself as part of the group, but also to see and hear the presider and other liturgical ministers. It also requires providing clear sight lines with altar, ambo, and other sacred objects. Furthermore, creating a sense of welcome for all those in attendance and providing them with the means to participate fully is an important part of enabling a disparate group of individuals to become one assembly. This "becoming one" can be promoted not only by the design of the space, but also by the exercise of ministries of hospitality. Each individual — including the handicapped, the stranger, or the young—needs to be brought into the gathering. All need to be invited into participation in the liturgical action. On a human level this is simply a requirement of hospitality. But on a theological level it is an acknowledgment that the assembly is the subject of the liturgy. For this reason, care must be taken to enable every participant to enter fully into the worship action so that each may easily and reverently perform the responsibilities of the assembly. The gathering song is another symbol that requires great care and attention, not simply in its performance, but especially in its selection. Liturgical music, as ministerial symbol, serves the assembly, the rite, and the texts.6 One of the tasks of the gathering song, therefore, is to be at the service of building up the unity of the assembly and enabling it to constitute itself as the active subject of the liturgy. Because music-making is symbolic activity, it has the potential to affect, influence, or negotiate the assembly's identity, relationships, participation, and transformation.7 Music can minister in these ways when those responsible for the assembly's

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song understand music's role in relation to the assembly and to the gathering rite. If music-making is to ritualize the unity of the assembly, careful planning, attentiveness to the makeup and talents of the community, hospitality, and patience are essential pre-requisites. Perhaps no other ritual symbol has the power to unite or divide an assembly than does liturgical music, especially the assembly's song. This is especially the case in regard to the gathering hymn. For this reason, not only the execution of the hymn, but also the selection of the hymn can make a critical difference in whether the assembly enthusiastically stands to embrace its role as subject of the liturgy or retreats into a passive mode because the music communicates exclusion rather than inclusion. This does not mean that every diverse aspect of the community needs to be represented in every gathering song. Sometimes this misguided effort can lead to greater fragmentation. It does mean, however, that diligent effort needs to be made to prepare or enable an assembly to learn and be comfortable with the unfamiliar or the new. This includes providing everyone with the necessary music and text, explanation or rehearsal, and plenty of repetition over the span of several weeks or an entire season. It also requires thoughtful modeling on the part of all liturgical ministers so that their wholehearted participation as leaders in the procession and in the sanctuary draws the entire assembly, by example, into the act of music-making. 'Attending to /; the role and nature of the assembly when making musical choices, enables music as symbol to serve the unity of the assembly and create an environment where all are welcomed. 'Attending to" the assembly also means helping it to stretch or grow. Music, particularly the gathering song, can accomplish this when it mediates relationships not only with new peoples and cultures, but also with the Church's rich cultural heritage. The unity of the Body of Christ includes, but is not limited to, the local assembly gathered for worship. Indeed, the Body of Christ includes the entire Church, past, present, and future. Liturgical music-making, like other symbols of the liturgy, negotiates relationships not only with those gathered at that moment and in that space, but also with all those who engage in worship in other places on the globe as well

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as with those who have in the past or will in the future be engaged in this same worship activity. In other words, one of the tasks of music-making is to promote catholicity or inclusivity. This can be accomplished when a community's music repertoire is expressive of the diversity that exists in the Church both locally and globally. Liturgical music-making will gather an assembly when it gives voice, not only to the ethnic diversity of the parish, but also to even broader and deeper diversity that exists beyond its walls. This inclusivity needs to embrace not only cultures across the globe, but also cultures across time. If our worship is to be expressive of the one Body of Christ, then our music-making cannot be limited to singing gathering songs or other liturgical repertoire, composed since the reforms of Vatican II.8 If it is truly to promote unity, liturgical music-making must somehow mediate connections with those who came before us in the faith and with those who will follow. The faith we celebrate as an assembly is a faith that has been handed down to us. When we gather for worship, we stand on the shoulders of those who have passed on the faith from one generation to the next. It is a faith that was expressed by monophonic chant in the medieval period and by polyphony in the Renaissance. It is a faith that also expresses itself in the musical vocabulary of today's cultures—polychords, African rhythms, quarter tones, atonal harmonies, folk ballads, jazz, and gospel among many others. Incorporating this kind of variety into our worship is not tokenism, but a means of ritualizing our oneness in the faith with our mothers and fathers of past generations and our brothers and sisters across the globe. If we subscribe to a sacramental world-view, then our life and worship must embrace all that is good in every culture so that its energy or power may mediate God's revelation and our response to it. These last remarks also apply to the matter of inclusive language. Just as issues of racial and cultural diversity must be attended to when mediating the unity of the body of Christ, so too must be issues of gender in regard to inclusive language. The major hymnal publishers have performed an invaluable service to worshiping assemblies by using great care and sensitivity in the editing or revising of both classic and contemporary hymn texts for the purpose of ensuring inclusivity. The same cannot be said for the latest edition of

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the Roman Lectionary (1998). Many, including biblical scholars and bishops, consider its translation an unmistakable step backwards in the task of promoting inclusivity within the gathered assembly. Other recent liturgical texts also include ample instances of exclusive language. Likewise, the issuance of the instruction Liturgiam authenticam9 has broadened the divide between those who see inclusive language as an issue vital to the wholeness of the liturgical assembly and those who view an unyielding literalism as essential to the translation of liturgical texts. Ongoing disagreement surrounding the issue of inclusive language continues to fragment our assemblies and our Church. The liturgical music-making that occurs at the international pilgrimage sight at the ecumenical monastery in Taize, France is perhaps the best contemporary example of how music can overcome barriers and promote unity while still respecting diversity. The accessibility of the Taize chants enables international assemblies to negotiate connections so that disparate groups of people participate easily and wholeheartedly in common sung worship. The spirit of hospitality of the brothers of Taize, the structures of the music, and the polyglot nature of the texts serve to bridge national differences, not by eliminating them, but by celebrating them. This dissolution of boundaries promotes a tangible sense of unity in a truly diverse gathered assembly.

The Eucharistic Prayer Music That Unifies and Animates. As in the gathering rite, key symbols celebrated in the Eucharistic prayer have the potential to mediate unity. They include, among others, music, posture, and the bread and wine. Each requires careful attending to so that it might promote the assembly's ability to act as the unified subject of the eucharistic event. Because of the inherent difficulties in celebrating this prayer as the high point of the Eucharist and the prayer of the assembly, every effort needs to be made to tap the power of these symbols. The historical research that led to the liturgical reforms of Vatican II focused primarily on the texts or content of the Eucharistic prayers. Ancient manuscripts, unavailable to the reformers following the Council of Trent, were carefully studied and incorporated

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into the new prayers that followed the reforms of the Second Vatican Council. However, the actual ritual celebration of these lengthy texts did not receive much attention. As Joseph Gelineau so well observes, what is still needed is to develop celebratory models that approach music as performative.10 Within such a framework, saying and singing the liturgy is understood as doing or accomplishing an action.11 In other words, what is spoken is understood to actually accomplish an action. This is certainly the case of the Eucharistic prayer where speaking thanksgiving, anamnesis, intercession, and the institution narrative does indeed accomplish what is said. Furthermore, in the act of praying the Eucharistic prayer, the assembly more clearly perceives itself as Church, as the Body of Christ, and as the subject of the liturgical event. Although parameters for creativity are set by the ordo of the Roman Missal, the options for celebrating this prayer indicated in the text could be used to greater advantage. Joseph Gelineau suggests that communities create "an overall assembly action in which text, music, gestures, and division of roles are integrated for 'making Eucharist together/ "12 Admittedly, the length of the Eucharistic prayer coupled with the manner of its execution — usually by a single presider — make it difficult for the assembly to experience this prayer as their action. As a result, the Eucharistic prayer is more often experienced as a low point than as a communal high point. While music cannot solve all of the difficulties inherent in the Eucharistic prayer, it can, as symbolizing activity, both structure the assembly to act (sing) as one even as it draws the assembly into the action and thus encourages participation. The dynamic activity of singing as a body is itself a unifying power that at least begins to give the assembly a sense that they are acting as one at this most critical moment in the Eucharist. Musical settings of the Eucharistic Prayer and acclamations that possess their own internal unity will more readily enable this prayer to be the communal act of thanksgiving, anamnesis, and petition that it is meant to be. As Gelineau — himself a composer—conceives it, the music should be of a simple, easy style that does not dominate, but rather promotes the cohesiveness of the whole.13 This cohesiveness is more readily achieved when all the acclamations and all the presider's parts (including introductions to the acclamations) are from the same setting. In this way,

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the music serves not only as an example of unity but as a means of promoting an actual experience of unity. Furthermore, singing the Eucharistic prayer provides a level of heightened speech and drama that more readily draws the entire assembly into the action of praying the text. The murmurings and grumblings that often emit from the congregation when the acclamations are recited rather than sung dissipate the energy of the assembly and shift attention away from their role to that of the single voice that often enough moves quickly through the lengthy text. As a result, what should be a moment of heightened awareness and full participation becomes instead a time of distracted attention and inactivity. More needs to be done (one hopes in the not too distant future) to imagine a dynamic celebration of the Eucharistic prayer that goes beyond the current structures provided by GIRM. For even in those instances when the Eucharistic prayer is optimally celebrated, its structures often prevent the assembly from experiencing it as truly their prayer. Postures That Unify. The discussion on posture that follows pertains specifically to liturgical praxis in the United States. GIRM (art. 43) stipulates that the normative posture for the Eucharistic prayer in the universal Church (with the exception of the institution narrative) is standing. However, in dioceses of the United States the prescribed posture is kneeling. While the posture of kneeling during the Eucharistic prayer may be at least partially responsible for the passivity of the congregation (and this passivity can contribute to a lack of unified engagement), posture can also exhibit unity or disunity. This is another instance when what is said or intended can be contradicted by what is done. Article 42 of GIRM states that "a common posture, to be observed by all participants, is a sign of the unity of the members " However, when the congregation kneels there is already a lack of unity since the presider, who is speaking on their behalf, is standing. This state of affairs does not happen in the case of any of the other presidential prayers of the Mass.14 This visible display of disunity between presider and congregation is further exacerbated in celebrations where there are several priest concelebrants. The visual image of a standing clergy and a kneeling congregation weakens the unity of the assembly (of which the priest concelebrants are a part).

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It also diminishes a sense of the assembly as the active subject of the Eucharistic prayer since it diminishes their ability to be fully engaged in the prayer in a unified and active way.15 Another similarly divisive situation has grown more common since the promulgation of the new GIRM and the confirmation of kneeling as the official posture for the Eucharistic prayer in the United States. This is the case where standing is the custom, usually in daily mass chapels without kneelers. Persons diligent about observing the kneeling norm do so during the Eucharistic prayer even when the majority of the assembly stands. The irony is that while such behavior may be inspired by sincere piety or a desire to observe the rubrics, it nevertheless weakens the essential unity of the assembly by further eliminating the possibility of a common posture. This situation also tends to set up divisions between young and elderly members of a congregation since it is often the young who kneel and the elderly who, for obvious reasons, stand. There are, however, licit options for dealing at least in some limited way with the potential symbolic dissonance that can occur when the kneeling posture prescribed by the rubrics is observed. It is actually so simple a matter as taking the conditional clause of article 43 at its word. That article prescribes kneeling "except when prevented on occasion by reasons of health, lack of space, the large number of people present, or some other good reason." Further on, the article also states: "With a view to a uniformity in gestures and postures during one and the same celebration, the faithful should follow the directions which the deacon, lay minister, or priest gives according to whatever is indicated in the Missal." In the end, it is clear that GIRM intends to promote the value of unity within the assembly. Furthermore, this unity is identified as the ideal toward which we are to strive. Therefore, when the situation warrants it, the posture not only can, but should be changed in order to preserve that unity. This may mean standing instead of kneeling, as is the case when there may be a lack of space, a large number of people present or some other good reason. "Some other good reason" could include the absence of kneelers or the presence of a large number of priest concelebrants. When a sanctuary is crowded with concelebrants standing during the Eucharistic prayer, common sense would seem to dictate that the appropriate posture

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for the congregation, in view of symbolizing unity, would be standing. Furthermore, since unity is indeed a value to be promoted and protected, it would be helpful for the presider or some other designated person to provide clear directives regarding posture when there is some apparent uncertainty. Building unity does, after all, require some measure of discipline and cooperation on the part of the entire assembly.16 Lastly, regarding posture, the ancient tradition regarding the festive nature of Easter as described in chapter 3 could be interpreted as "some other good reason" for directing an assembly to stand rather than kneel for the Eucharistic prayer. Choosing this option during the Easter season would better serve to celebrate the Eucharistic prayer as the high point of the liturgy at least during the high point of the liturgical year. Having the assembly stand for the Eucharistic prayer, however, is no guarantee in itself that the assembly will thereby have a more profound sense of unity, be more actively engaged, or more readily perceive themselves as the subject of the liturgical action. This is another instance when mystagogy regarding symbols, including the posture of the assembly, can help to persuade the assembly that the quality of their posture and their attentiveness to doing it well, are integral to the sacred action taking place. Nevertheless, at the high point of the Eucharist, a unified posture can more readily disclose or manifest the unity of the one Body of Christ. One Bread, One Cup, One Body. In addition to the assembly's posture as exhibitive of unity in the celebration of the Eucharistic prayer, there is also the strong symbol of unity that is embodied in the one bread and one cup on the one altar. The significance of this visual cue cannot be overestimated. However, the recent instruction, Redemptionis Sacramentum forbids the use of flagons or carafes on the altar during the consecration. As a result, the impact of this very important symbol of unity is undercut when the one cup with flagon is necessarily replaced by multiple chalices.17 It is another case where what is said or intended is contradicted by what is done. As we discovered in chapter 2, both the writings of St. Paul and St. Augustine focus on the power of the one bread and the one cup to symbolize, and therefore promote, the unity of the assembly. St. Paul declares: "One loaf, one body, is what we, being many

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are" (1 Cor. 10:17). In sermon 229, St. Augustine quotes this passage from St. Paul in order to highlight the fact that the unity of Church is built up by sharing from the "one loaf." Indeed, the purpose of sharing from the one bread and the one cup is to symbolize Christ's presence in his body which is the Church. The large size of congregations, in the United States and in many other countries, necessitates the use of several sacred vessels for the distribution of Holy Communion. However, since the reforms of Vatican II, the common practice had been to place only one plate or ciborium and one cup plus flagon on the altar during the consecration of the sacred species. This practice provided a strong visual focus for symbolizing the "one" bread and "one" cup for the "one" Body of Christ. During the fraction rite, as the "Lamb of God" was sung, the priest or deacon distributed the consecrated bread among several plates and poured the wine from the flagon into the necessary number of cups.18 The symbolic action of "pouring" and "breaking or distributing" is the origin of its designation as "fraction rite." The consecrated bread -was broken (or separated into several sacred vessels) so that it would be ready for distribution. Since the rubrics now require that the wine from the flagon be poured into all the chalices before the Eucharistic prayer begins, a situation has been created that requires multiple chalices on the altar. Sometimes, as in the case of very large gatherings, the entire altar may be covered with chalices.19 On the practical level, such a scenario can significantly increase the danger of spillage. But on the symbolic level, a regrettable loss occurs. The visual symbol of unity on the altar provided by the one bread and one cup disappears. As a result, the symbolic connection negotiated between the altar and the assembly is ruptured. How can the assembly recognize itself as one when the sacred species given for the unity of the Body of Christ is itself expressed as a multiplicity rather than a unity?20 Once again, what is said or intended is contradicted by what is done. One last comment is in order regarding the multiplication of symbols and the danger of thereby undermining the unity of the assembly. The practice of scheduling multiple masses on the weekend, often exceeding the needs of a local parish, also contributes to the fragmentation of the community. If the celebration of the Eucharist is meant to move a community toward a realization of its

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unity as the Body of Christ, the ideal (distant or impossible as it may seem) would be to have only one Eucharist on Sunday. The event of gathering would take on greater significance and provide a heightened sense of the Eucharist as the action of the assembly if Eucharist were celebrated only once and the entire community was expected to be there. Alas, this is impractical in most communities, particularly since the convenience of having several choices is viewed by most as something the parish owes its members. However, the current lack of clergy in many areas of the country could well become an opportunity to change expectations and promote a new understanding of the liturgical role of the assembly and its identity as the one Body of Christ. Certainly reducing the number of masses on the weekend would be an important step in this direction.

The Communion Rite The very title of this rite captures the essence of its role in the Eucharist: the ritualization of the assembly's communion with Christ in order that it may become the one Body of Christ in the Spirit. Once again, since unity is the focus of this ritual action, the symbols of unity require authentic celebration. Key symbols exemplary of unity in the communion rite include the assembly, music-making (the communion hymn), and the sacred species. The Assembly. Everything about the communion rite is designed to move the assembly toward a more profound celebration of its union with Christ and with each other. The "each other" aspect of the rite is not merely a by-product of the reception of communion, but an essential element. Thus the nature of this rite as communal event rather than private experience needs to be kept in the foreground. In a similar way, the integral connection between the action of the assembly during the Eucharistic prayer and their subsequent reception of Holy Communion needs to be made very clear by the way symbols are celebrated or handled. Article 85 of GIRM encourages the ritualization of that connection when it states: It is most desirable that the faithful, just as the priest himself is bound to do receive the Lord's Body from hosts consecrated at the same Mass and that, in the instances when it is permitted, they partake of the chalice, so that even by means of the signs Communion will

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stand out more clearly as a participation in the sacrifice actually being celebrated.21 In other words, Holy Communion should be distributed from the altar, not from the tabernacle. Despite the fact that this is a longstanding directive, it is observed more in the breach in many of the celebrations that occur each weekend in churches throughout the United States. The practice of routinely distributing communion from the tabernacle during Mass speaks volumes without saying a word. Gradually and imperceptibly this seemingly innocuous practice erodes the vital connection between the assembly celebrating the Eucharist and the Eucharist they receive during the communion rite. The resulting misperception is that there is only one presence of Christ, but it is certainly not located in the gathered assembly. Rather, the focus on the reserved sacrament, even in the midst of the celebration of the Eucharist, reinforces the perception that the presence of Christ is found primarily or even solely in the tabernacle. Furthermore, this practice can serve to negate any inchoate perception on the part of the assembly that Christ is present in their midst and that they are the subject of the liturgical action. The practice of regularly distributing communion from the tabernacle also exposes the assembly's own lack of self-awareness since it seldom raises any objection to this widespread practice. Perhaps this is the case because the average worshiping assembly, including the presider, has lost sight of the interrelationship between the various modes of Christ's presence. The issue is raised not to encourage a rigid observance of rubrics, but to demonstrate how the way we handle symbols affects our perception of the meaning of familiar ritual actions. At the very moment when the symbols are intended to mediate the unity of the assembly with Christ and with each other, the gesture of taking communion from the tabernacle instead of from the altar diminishes both the impact of communion as a symbol of unity and the image of the assembly as the subject of the liturgical action. The Communion Hymn. While the assembly's celebration of eating and drinking the body and blood of Christ is the primary symbol of communion, singing the communion hymn also plays a

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significant role in mediating the unity of the assembly. This song of the assembly is meant to accompany the communion procession and provide a bodily experience of unity in the very act of singing the song. Furthermore, the combination of processing, singing, and receiving communion together highlights not only the unity of the assembly but also their identity as members of the one Body of Christ. Texts that highlight this unity can effectively enhance both the mediation of unity and the celebration of the presence of Christ for and in the assembly. The textual component of the communion hymn can also support the ritual action of eating and drinking, except in those cases where texts inappropriately focus on adoration instead. In addition to the matter of appropriate texts, the musical genre also needs to harmonize with the ritual action of the communion rite. While a variety of musical genres are usually sung during the Eucharistic liturgy, some encourage participation more readily than others since their structures are more amenable to repetitive or open-ended ritual actions. When a musical genre is chosen that allows the assembly to walk in procession, receive communion, and sing at the same time (no small achievement), the communion song enhances the symbolic action that is taking place. Songs that include refrains that can be sung by heart rather than hymns with multiple stanzas are the better choice since they do not require carrying a hymnal while processing. C. Michael Hawn has written insightfully on the impact that musical structures have on an assembly's relationship to the liturgy and their ability to be actively engaged in it. He points out that cyclic musical structures that include brief texts sustained by concise musical statements possess an essentially oral/aural nature that effect a kinesthetic response. Examples of genres that possess this type of structure include the ostinato, canon, litany, refrain or response, theme and variation, and acclamation.22 Sequential structures, on the other hand, are inherently literary and depend on the eye for participation. The familiar hymn form organized into stanzas and structured by meter and rhyme is the classic example. And while battles are often fought over musical styles, Hawn suggests that the issue of structure rather style is more critical to how music enables

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an assembly to actively participate in worship. This is because sequential structures are content-oriented while cyclic structures are oriented toward community building. The cyclic structures listed above are central to forging community because they do not tie the assembly visually to a text the way sequential structures do.23 Instead, cyclic structures draw the assembly easily into a corporate action by focusing their attention on what the group is doing. Choosing a musical structure that will enable the assembly to participate, not only in the singing, but in the rite that is being enacted, is important for all the ritual moments (gathering, Eucharistic prayer, communion) we have considered in this chapter. In fact, the choice of structure may be more critical than any other musical characteristic in promoting a singing assembly and therefore a united assembly. In the case of the communion hymn, cyclic structures are particularly helpful because their very structures assist in physically structuring the assembly as an assembly that is actively engaged as one in a complex ritual action.24

Mystagogy on the Symbols of Unity Article 34 of Sacrosanctum Concilium observes that liturgical rites "normally should not require much explanation." In practice, this comment is often interpreted to mean that no explanation should be required if the rite is celebrated well. But this is not the case. Members of the assembly are symbol users, and as such they need to know the basic cultural codes that determine the meaning of the symbols they use. In the case of the liturgy, these codes are the necessary keys that help unlock the meanings embedded in the network of the Christian culture that fashions us and fashions our rituals. In addition to learning by actual engagement in the liturgy, catechesis and preaching are the usual venues whereby the assembly learns about liturgical symbols. Another means is the process of mystagogy. The word "mystagogy" means "interpretation of mystery." Early Christian communities engaged in Katecheseis Mystagogikai with neophytes in the days immediately following their baptism at the Easter Vigil. The original purpose of mystagogy was to explain the theological and spiritual significance of the various symbols and

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gestures that were celebrated in the Initiation rite on Holy Saturday night. Mystagogy was re-introduced into liturgical practice in the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults in 1972 following the reforms of Vatican II. Adopting aspects of the mystagogical process into the ongoing formation of all Christians, especially adults, can assist the assembly in grasping more fully the theological meaning of the rites they celebrate. Mystagogy can include small group reflections on the rites, their liturgical symbols, and the lectionary. It can also be adapted for inclusion in the homily and adult education programs. This kind of approach can do more for promoting the full, conscious, and active participation of the assembly in liturgical action than the somewhat questionable strategies that sometimes attempt to shame adults into picking up a hymnal or responding wholeheartedly to the prayers. The process of mystagogy involves unpacking the theological meaning of the symbols used in the liturgical rites. Applied to the Eucharist, a mystagogical approach can assist the assembly in discovering the power of symbol to negotiate the unity that constitutes them as the Body of Christ.

Cultivating an Expectation of Encounter in the Face of God's Absence It is not an accident that it is the first commandment that forbids idolatry. The great temptation of adults has always been to fashion idols or false gods or to try to create God in our own image. This impulse includes our innate desire to control God. But to our dismay, God eludes human efforts to deal with God on human terms. This inability to fashion or control God extends to the way we experience God's presence in our every day lives, a presence that will necessarily be incomplete on this side of the grave. In fact, in those rare moments of sober honesty, we may admit that God's presence is often experienced more as an absence than a presence. This is so despite the fact that the Church to which we belong—the community Christ promised to be with until the end of time — exhorts us to anticipate or expect to be surprised by traces of God's presence in daily life. Despite the anguish of absence, there is the quiet, but persistent conviction that the ''world is crowded with God"25 if we

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but only attend, expect, wait. This posture of expectancy or waiting is essential to an experience of encounter with the divine. Furthermore, such a spirit of anticipation acknowledges that there is indeed something more to hope for. In the words of the psalmist, we long to see "the face of God" (Ps. 42). In that moment, we will know the fullness of God's presence in a way that defies the powers of the human imagination. In the mean time, we celebrate the sacraments and attend to the signs of God's presence in our daily lives. Some may believe that our postmodern era is unique in its experience of God's absence. Certainly people who have witnessed the unlocking of so many mysteries of the universe and the harnessing of so much of its power may find it more difficult than former generations to live with ambiguity or the experience of God's absence. Furthermore, an inflated sense of having "conquered" so much of the world makes it difficult to face the growing realization that we are powerless to guarantee our security or safety in the face of growing threats of terrorism and random violence. Times such as these provide fertile ground for the seeds of religious fundamentalism or nostalgic romanticism. In such a milieu, the ability to definitively identify the presence of God is so much more attractive than the unpredictability with which God usually manifests God's self. Nevertheless, authentic faith in the Eucharistic presence acknowledges both God's presence and God's absence. In some ways an exaggerated focus on only one mode of Christ's presence to the diminishment of the others exhibits a need to manage or control God. We want to be able to pin God down to a particular time and place. In the polemics of the Protestant Reformation, this tendency was expressed in the single-minded Catholic focus on the Eucharistic species and the corresponding single-minded Protestant focus on Scripture. But acknowledging that Christ is present in multiple ways requires greater attentiveness and openness. In fact, acknowledging that God is present in a group of weak and sinful people can be a downright messy business. Certainly it is easier to worship Christ in a beautifully appointed tabernacle with candles flickering and incense hanging in the air than to acknowledge his presence in the community that haltingly and imperfectly gathers to do Eucharist week after week.

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There is, of course, a long and venerable tradition of worship of the Eucharist outside of Mass that has been a significant part of Catholic devotion. But, if we believe that (or behave like) Christ is only present in the tabernacle or in the exposed monstrance, then our Eucharistic faith is misguided, perhaps even idolatrous. It is misguided because its narrow focus eclipses the rich tradition of Christ's manifold presence in the Church. It is likewise misguided because it forgets that although God chose to dwell among us, God is ultimately beyond imagining, beyond naming, beyond dimensions of time and space.26 Such a narrow faith can also be idolatrous if it seeks to confine Christ's presence to a specific location and dimension. Such efforts forget that the ultimate reason for Christ's presence in the sacred species is not the bread (and wine) itself, but the human beings for whom Christ died on the cross.27 Furthermore, such a narrow perspective forgets that Christ instituted the Eucharist so that "all of us who share in the body and blood of Christ [may] be brought together in unity in the Holy Spirit" (Eucharistic Prayer II) or "that... nourished by his body and blood, [we] may befilledwith his Holy Spirit, and become one body, one spirit in Christ" (Eucharistic Prayer III). The ultimate purpose of the Eucharist is the unity of the one Body of Christ. This requires attending to the Body that is the Church, particularly in its local manifestations.

Eschatological Banquet, Eschatological Mission: Gathering All into the One Cosmic Dance The Eucharist we celebrate anticipates the final gathering for the eschatological banquet that awaits us when, in the fullness of time, Christ will come again to gather all humankind up into the embrace of God. The banquet image aptly expresses the ultimate fulfillment of all our hopes and longings. It also highlights the communal nature of our salvation and our relationship with God who is, in God's own nature, community. We express our longing for the day of fulfillment each time we proclaim: "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again/' This future-oriented stance is reiterated throughout the Mass, but especially in the Eucharistic Prayer and

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the Lord's Prayer. The "kingdom come" petition in the Lord's Prayer expresses a sense of longing for the final coming of the Reign of God brought about by Christ's return at the end of time. This sense of longing is reiterated in the embolism when the presider prays for "freedom from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ." Such an eschatological vision is inherent in the Eucharist because when we gather, our remembrance itself is a type of longing and desire for a presence that is now only available through the mediation of sacraments. The Reign of God proclaimed by Christ becomes present, even as we realize that it is yet to come. The future fulfillment of all things in Christ is the direction toward which we set our sights. We are not there yet. And so we grapple with absence. German Martinez observes that the eschatological dimension of the Eucharist is essential to an understanding of Christ's presence in the Eucharist when he explains: When one speaks of transformation of bread or wine, person or community, world or history, the radical Christian meaning of transformation stems from an eschatological reality, the universal transformation already begun in Christ, a transformation that is the goal of creation. Because the Eucharist is the seed of the new creation in Christ's resurrection, it is the anticipatory presence of the eschaton and foreshadows that universal transformation. Thus the mission of the Church and the destiny of the person and of the world are all bound together in Eucharist as their unity, center, and potential for transformation.28 Yes, the presence of Christ that we celebrate when we gather for worship is an anticipatory presence that foreshadows the universal transformation of all humankind and the entire cosmos into Christ. And just as it is true that Christ's presence in the bread and wine is directed, not toward the bread and wine, but toward the members of the Church, so is it true that Christ's presence among us is directed beyond the members of the Church to the entire world. We are not called to be the Body of Christ so that we can glory in God's election of us as his dwelling place. Rather, our call to unity is meant to be a witness to the unity and love of God that is being poured out for the life of the entire world.

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Thus our gathering for worship mirrors that of the Triune God whose communal nature is to be "for others" as Christ revealed by his life, death and resurrection. The vocation to be the presence of Christ in the world provides the Church with a strong sense of mission. As God is a God "for us," as Christ was a person "for others/' so also the Church and each member, must be committed to "being for others/' The significance of this call to mission is eloquently expressed by our bishops when, in Co-Workers in the Vineyard, they speak of the transformation of the world as the purpose for building ecclesial communion.29 Thus the impulse to gather for worship, from the first efforts of individuals to come together in a simple worship space to the final gathering at the feast of the Lamb, is a movement toward unity. This unity toward which our longing and our expectation of encounter with Christ propels us begins with a gathering of a small circle of believers, but eventually finds it fulfillment in reaching out to embrace all of humankind. So the circle of the gathered community becomes the circle of the whole of humanity that ultimately becomes one with all of the cosmos. Finally, like the bundles or quanta of energy, the love of the persons of the Trinity gathers us up into the loving relationship of the Three Divine Persons. It has become commonplace in theological writing to invoke the metaphor of the "divine dance" to describe this dynamic, loving activity. This image has its roots in the Greek verb perichorein, introduced into Christological language by Gregory of Nazianzen (fourth century) and in the Greek noun perichoresis, used by Maximus the Confessor (seventh century). Both words were popularized in their application to Trinitarian language by John of Damascus (eighth century).30 Contemporary theologians such as Catherine Mowry LaCugna have used the term perichoresis to describe the unity of the inner life of God whereby the three divine persons intermingle in an eternal flow of love and shared life that opens out to all of creation. In terms of an economic Trinitarian theology, perichoresis has thus also been employed to describe the communion of God with all of humankind and creation.31 Perichoresis can be translated as cyclical movement, recurrence, or reciprocity. According to Liddell and Scott, chorein means "to make room for another" and peri means "round about."32 Thus

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Lawler suggests that the noun perichoresis names the dynamic process of "making room for another around oneself." In Latin, the word was rendered as circumincessio, the dynamic process whereby one thing interweaves with another.33 Its Trinitarian usage suggests the mutual indwelling or coinherence of the persons of the Trinity 34 While the word perichoresis is not etymologically connected with the Greek word perichoreuo, which means to "dance around" or "dance in a ring/' the connotations of the two words are related. This fact opens the way for characterizing the divine activity of the Trinity as dance and providing an apt metaphor for the mutual indwelling and encircling of God's holy mystery.35 The image of dancing together implies mutuality and unity, since the movements of all contribute to the overall pattern of the dance.36 This dance metaphor allows us to imagine the entire universe moving toward greater love and greater union as it is taken up into the cosmic dance of the Trinity. It likewise allows the community that gathers regularly for worship to understand their corporate action as part of a greater movement that will have its ultimate fulfillment in being gathered up into God. In this way our gathering for worship becomes a "dancing out" of our commitment to becoming the one Body of Christ and our longing for the divine presence that we look for "in joyful hope." Our life as Church is thus truly an advent living. Gathering in expectation of encounter with Christ fills our days and supports our hope that Christ will come again. That coming will culminate in the final union of all of humankind in the Trinity. The twenty-second chapter of the Book of Revelation presents the vision of the second coming this way: "The Spirit and the bride say, 'Come.' And let everyone who hears say, 'Come/ And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift" (Rev. 22:17 NRSV). The penultimate verse puts these words on the lips of Jesus Christ: "The one who testifies to these things says, 'Surely I am coming soon'" Our response is at once both whispered and thunderous: "Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!" (Rev. 22:20 NRSV). So the Church continues to gather, however awkwardly or haltingly, in expectation of encountering in our midst the God who has promised to be with us when we gather in Christ's name.

NOTES

Introduction 1. C. S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1964), 75. 2. The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, {Sacrosanctum Concilium) in Vatican Council II: Constitutions, Decrees, Declarations, gen. ed. Austin Flannery, inclusive language, ed. (Northport, NY: Costello, 1996), art. 7, 117-61. The Latin title, Sacrosanctum Concilium, and the English title, Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, will be used interchangeably in this text. 3. Kenan B. Osborne, Christian Sacraments in a Postmodern World: A Theology for the Thud Millennium (New York: Paulist Press, 1999), 37, 41. 4. Bruce T. Morrill, "Initial Consideration: Theory and Practice of the Body in Liturgy Today/' in Bodies of Worship: Explorations in Theory and Practice, ed. Bruce T. Morrill (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999), 1. 5. Ibid. 6. The more popular form of this phrase is often rendered as lex orandi, lex credendi, that is, "the law of prayer is the law of belief/' 7. See Susanne K. Langer, Philosophy in a New Key: A Study in the Symbolism of Reason, Rite and Art, 3rd ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967), 153. The idea for the phrase "regularly rehearsed" comes from Langer who speaks of a rite regularly performed as a disciplined rehearsal of right attitudes. 8. See Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, Liturgiam authenticam (Washington, DC: USCCB, 2001).

1. Perception, Presence, and Sacramentality in a Postmodern Context A significant portion of this chapter first appeared in Studia Uturgica 35, no. 2 (2005): 221-34. 1. In New York City, "straphangers" is a colloquial term for passengers on the subway. The term derives from the fact that, especially during rush hour, passengers steady themselves by hanging on to overhead bars that were originally equipped with straps. 153

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2. Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World {Gaudium et Spes) in Vatican Council II: Constitutions, Decrees, Declarations; A Completely Revised Translation in Inclusive Language, gen. ed. Austin Flannery (Northport, NY: Costello, 1996), 163-282. 3. The meaning of these terms will be discussed later in the chapter. 4. The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy [Sacrosanctum Concilium) in Vatican Council II: Constitutions, Decrees, Declarations; A Completely Revised Translation in Inclusive Language, gen. ed. Austin Flannery (Northport, NY: Costello, 1996), 117-61. 5. Stanley J. Grenz, A Primer on Postmodernism (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1996), 2. 6. Ibid., 3. 7. Ibid., 4. 8. See Ibid., 2-14. 9. See Ibid., 106 and Martin Heidegger, Poetry, Language, Thought (New York: Harper & Row, 1971), 202-10. 10. Grenz, A Primer on Postmodernism, 6-20. 11. See Ibid., 34-35. 12. Lieven Boeve, "Thinking Sacramental Presence in a Postmodern Context: A Playground for Theological Renewal/7 in Sacramental Presence in a Postmodern Context, ed. L. Boeve and L. Leijssen (Leuven, Belgium: Leuven University Press, 2001), 15. 13. Ibid., 16. 14. Ibid., 17. 15. See Judith Marie Kubicki, Liturgical Music as Ritual Symbol: A Case Study of Jacques Berthiefs Taize Music, liturgia condenda, 9 (Leuven, Belgium: Peeters, 1999), 115. Here find a discussion of how Armen Marsoobian distinguishes between exhibitive and assertive propositions in her semiotic approach to poetry and opera. For Marsoobian, the meaning of an opera is not asserted in the propositional content of the libretto, but exhibited in the interplay between text and music. 16. Thomas P. Rausch, Catholicism at the Dawn of the Third Millennium (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1996), 81. 17. Kevin Irwin, "A Sacramental World — Sacramentality as the Primary Language of Sacraments/' Worship 76 (2002): 197-9. See also Rausch, Catholicism, 80. 18. Ibid., 203. 19. Eschatology is often defined as a theological study of the last things or the end times. In fact, its purview is much broader and richer than that. The word is derived from the Greek word eschaton. The term highlights the fact that since the paschal victory of Jesus Christ, we are living in the "end days./; However, though Christ has already achieved this victory for us, it is not yet definitively accomplished. It can be described as the space,

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distance, or tension between the already and not yet that is designated by the adjective "eschatological." 20. This sentiment is eloquently expressed in the last stanza (1881) of William Turton's hymn text, "Lord, Who in This Eucharist Didst Say." Some contemporary hymnals have dropped this verse. 21. See Kenan B. Osborne, Christian Sacraments in a Postmodern World: A Theology for the Third Millennium (New York: Paulist Press, 1999), 5053. 22. Ibid., 70. 23. Ibid., 70-71. 24. Boeve, 'Thinking Sacramental Presence," 21. 25. Karl Rahner, "Considerations on the Active Role of the Person in the Sacramental Event," in Theological Investigations, vol. 14, Ecclesiology, Questions in the Church, the Church in the World, trans. David Bourke (New York: Seabury Press, 1976), 169. 26. Ibid., 166-69. 27. Osborne, Christian Sacraments, 67. 28. Louis-Marie Chauvet, The Sacraments: The Word of God at the Mercy of the Body (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2001), xxii. 29. Louis-Marie Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament: A Sacramental Reinterpretation of Christian Existence, trans. Patrick Madigan and Madeleine E. Beaumont (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1995), 551. According to Chauvet, there is an important dynamic set up in the sacramental exchange between God and human beings. He refers to the reception of God's gift as sacrament. Reception, however, always requires a return-gift. Chauvet refers to this as ethics and, in the case of the Eucharist, identifies this return-gift as living as the one body of Christ. See 279. 30. Anne M. Clifford, "Creation," in Systematic Theology: Roman Catholic Perspectives, vol. 1, ed. Francis Schiissler Fiorenza and John P. Galvin (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), 209. 31. Edward J. Kilmartin, "Theology of the Sacraments: Toward a New Understanding of the Chief Rites of the Church of Jesus Christ," in Alternative Futures for Worship, vol. 1, General Introduction (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1987), 158. 32. See Edward J. Kilmartin, The Eucharist in the West: History and Theology, ed. Robert J. Daly (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1998), 374-75. 33. Hans Bernhard Meyer, "Eine trinitarische Theologie der Liturgie und der Sakramente," Zeitschrift fur katholische Theologie 113 (1991): 37. Translation cited from Kilmartin, Eucharist in the West, xix. 34. Edward J. Kilmartin, Christian Liturgy: Theology and Practice, vol. 1 Systematic Theology of Liturgy (Kansas City, MO: Sheed and Ward, 1988), 58.

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35. The significance of this relationship between the mystery of creation and salvation will be explored further in chap. 4 on the sacramentality of time. 36. Ibid., 21-22. 37. Boeve, "Thinking Sacramental Presence/' 23. 38. German Martinez, Signs of Freedom: Theology of the Christian Sacraments (New York: Paulist Press, 2003), 5. 39. See Emmanuel Levinas, "Totalite et infini/; Autrement qu'etre (The Hague: M. Nijhoss, 1974), 51 and Martin Heidegger, "Pourquoi des poetes?" in Chemins qui ne menent nulle part (Paris: Gallimard, 1962), 382, both quoted in translation in Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 58 and 75. 40. Godfried Cardinal Danneels, "Liturgy Forty Years after the Second Vatican Council: High Point or Recession/7 in Liturgy in a Postmodern World, ed. Keith Pecklers (New York: Continuum, 2003), 10. 41. Ibid. 42. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 149. 43. Ibid., 149-50. 44. Ibid., 265. 45. See Osborne, Christian Sacraments, 70-71. 46. Many thanks to John Drummond, colleague and professor of philosophy at Fordham University in New York City for his invaluable assistance with this section of the chapter. 47. See Edmund Husserl, Cartesian Meditations: An Introduction to Phenomenology (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1960), especially, the second, fourth, and fifth meditations; see also Zur Phdnomenologie der Intersubjektivitdt, Zweiter Teil: 1921-1928, Hua XIV (1973), 15 and Zur Phdnomenologie der Intersub) ektMtdt, Dritter Teil 1929-35, Hua XV (1973), 604. 48. Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1962, 1986), x. 49. Ibid., xvi. 50. Bernard Lonergan, Method in Theology (New York: Herder and Herder, 1972), 235-37. 51. See Karl Rahner, "Transcendental Theology," in Sacramentum Mundi, vol. 6 (New York: Herder and Herder, 1970), 287-89. 52. For a more extensive treatment of das Lebenswelt see Edmund Husserl, The Crisis of the European Science and Transcendental Phenomenology: An Introduction to Phenomenological Philosophy, trans. David Carr (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1970). For a more extensive treatment of the significance of the body see Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception.

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53. See Robert Sokolowski, Introduction to Phenomenology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 8. 54. Dan Zahavi, Husserl's Phenomenology (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2003), 14. 55. Sokolowski, Introduction, 27. 56. Ibid., 30-32. 57. See Michael G. Witczak, 'The Manifold Presence of Christ in the Liturgy/' Theological Studies 59 (1998): 680-702. 58. Peter E. Fink, ''Perceiving the Presence of Christ/' Worship 58, no. 1 (1984): 21. 59. Sokolowski, Introduction, 33. 60. Ibid., 35-36. 61. Ibid., 37. 62. Ibid., 39. 63. See also n. 29 above. 64. Ibid., 66-68. 65. Ibid., 71-74. 66. See Judith M. Kubicki, " . . . Christ Will Come Again/' Living Light 40, no. 2 (2003): 44-50. 67. When Sokolowski uses the term "dative" he is observing its grammatical meaning. The dative is a grammatical case of a word that is either the indirect object of a verb or the object of a preposition. 68. Sokolowski, Introduction, 44, 93. 69. Ibid., 64-65. 70. Ibid., 158-59. 71. Ibid., 160-65. 72. The nominative case is the subject of the verb. When the verb is in the active voice, the subject is the doer of the action. 73. Ibid., 205-6. Sokolowski discusses this issue in terms of the sovereign state. I have applied his insights, mutatis mutandis, to the current situation in the Roman Catholic Church.

2. The Sacramentality of the Gathered Assembly Portions of this chapter and the next first appeared as "Recognizing the Presence of Christ in the Liturgical Assembly" in Theological Studies 65, no. 4(2004): 817-37. 1. The Latin edition, Institutio Generalis Missalis Romani, was published in 2000; the English translation, General Instruction of the Roman Missal (Washington: USCCB, 2002) was completed by ICEL in 2002 and approved by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops in 2003. It includes adaptations particular to the dioceses of the United States. Hereafter GIRM.

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2. Chap. 3 will include a discussion of the role of the gathering song, often referred to as the entrance hymn. There I will argue that the hymn itself does have a significant role in gathering the assembly. 3. Pius XII, On the Sacred Liturgy [Mediator Dei,) in Four Great Encyclicals of Pope Pius XII, ed. Gerald C. Treacy (New York: Paulist Press, 1961) article 25, 97-170. 4. The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy [Sacrosanctum Concilium) in Vatican Council II: Constitutions, Decrees, Declarations; A Completely Revised Translation in Inclusive Language, gen. ed. Austin Flannery (Northport, NY: Costello, 1996), 117-61. 5. Edward Kilmartin, "The Sacred Liturgy: Reform and Renewal" in Remembering the Future: Vatican II and Tomorrow's Liturgical Agenda, ed. Carl A. Last (New York: Paulist Press, 1983), 38. 6. Jerome M. Hall, We Have the Mind of Christ: The Holy Spirit and Liturgical Memory in the Thought of Edward J. Kilmartin (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2001), 11. 7. Kilmartin, "The Sacred Liturgy/7 38. 8. Robert Hurd, "A More Organic Opening: Ritual Music and the New Gathering Rite/' Worship 71 (July 1998): 290. 9. Ibid., 292. 10. Ibid. 11. See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae 3, q.73, a.3. 12. Margaret Mary Kelleher, "Assembly/7 in The New Dictionary of Theology, ed. Joseph A. Komonchak, Mary Collins, and Dermot A. Lane (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1991), 68; 67-70. 13. Hall, We Have the Mind of Christ, 49. 14. John Gallen, "Assembly/7 in The New Dictionary of Sacramental Theology, ed. Peter E. Fink, (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990), 71-80. 15. Edmund Hill, "Church/7 in The New Dictionary of Theology, ed. Joseph A. Komonchak, Mary Collins, and Dermot A. Lane, 185-201 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1991), 186. 16. Ibid. 17. Gallen, "Assembly/'71. 18. Joseph Lecuyer, "The Liturgical Assembly: Biblical and Patristic Foundations/7 in The Church Worships, Concilium: Theology in the Age of Renewal, vol. 12, ed. Johannes Wagner and Heinrich Rennings (New York: Paulist Press, 1966), 5. See also Lecuyer7s discussion of the Letter to the Hebrews and its comparison of the assembly of the old covenant during their stay in the desert with the liturgical assemblies in the temple, 9. 19. Ibid., 4, 6. 20. Ibid., 8. 21. Gallen, "Assembly/7 72.

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22. Hill, "Church/' 187. 23. Kelleher, "Assembly/' 68. 24. Ibid. 25. The Didache is an anonymous writing that did not originally have a title. It has often been referred to as 'Teaching of the Lord, given to the nations through the Apostles" or 'The Training of the Lord Through the Twelve Apostles to the Gentiles." Cf. Willy Rordorf, 'The Didache/' in The Eucharist of the Early Christians (New York: Pueblo, 1978) and Aaron Milavec, The Didache: Text, Translation, Analysis, and Commentary (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003). 26. Aaron Milavec, Didache: Text, Translation, Analysis, and Commentary (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003), ix. 27. Ibid., ix-x. 28. See Aaron Milavec, The Didache: Faith, Hope, and Life of the Earliest Christian Communities, 50-70 C.E. (New York: Newman Press, 2003), 379-80 for a more detailed discussion of this issue. 29. Milavec, Didache: Text, Translation, Analysis, and Commentary, 23. See page vii, where the author explains that he uses brackets to clarify the elliptical intent of the Greek while acknowledging that they are absent from the literal Greek text. Underlined spaces signal instances where a single Greek word is rendered by a phrase in English. An umlaut is used to signal the plural form. 30. Ibid., 25. 31. Milavec, Didache: Faith, Hope, and life, 376. 32. Kurt Niederwimmer, The Didache: A Commentary, trans. Linda M. Maloney, ed. Harold W. Attridge (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), 161. 33. Milavec, Didache: Text, Translation, Analysis, and Commentary, 35. 34. Ibid., 37. 35. Milavec, Didache: Faith, Hope, and Life, 634. 36. Raymond Johanny, "Ignatius of Antioch," in The Eucharist of the Early Christians, ed. Willy Rordorf, trans. Matthew}. O'Connell (New York: Pueblo, 1976), 50. 37. William R. Schoedel, Ignatius of Antioch: A Commentary on the Letters of Ignatius of Antioch, ed. Helmut Koester (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985), 197. 38. Ibid., 199. 39. Ibid., 116. 40. Ibid. 41. Lecuyer, "The Liturgical Assembly," 13-14. 42. Ibid., 14. 43. Gallen, "Assembly," 72. See also the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church {Lumen Gentium) in Vatican Council II: Constitutions, Decrees,

160

Notes to Pages 45-51

Declarations^ A Completely Revised Translation in Inclusive Language, gen. ed. Austin Flannery (Northport, NY: Costello, 1966), 1-95. 44. Ibid., 73. 45. Louis-Marie Chauvet, The Sacraments: The Word of God at the Mercy of the Body (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000), 32-33. 46. Ibid., 33. 47. Sometimes "ekklesia" has been translated "congregation." However, the perspective of the present discussion is that "congregation" designates the liturgical gathering of the baptized faithful who exercise their common priesthood, but would not include ordained clergy acting in their official role as liturgical presiders or concelebrants. Assembly includes everyone: bishop, priests, laity. 48. Chauvet's assertion reflects the thinking of the early Church, as is evident from the early sources examined earlier in this chapter. 49. Ibid., 34. See also Edward Schillebeeckx, Christ the Sacrament of the Encounter with God (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1963). 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid., 37. See also 35-36, where Chauvet presents a strong argument, based on ancient tradition, for the significance of the assembly's gathering on Sunday in memory of Jesus Christ risen from the dead. Chap. 4 will argue that, based on other scholarship, the earlier tradition was to gather on Sunday in expectation of an encounter with the Risen Lord. 52. Ulrich Lutz, Matthew A Commentary, vol. 2, Matthew 8-20, Hermeneia, ed. Helmut Koester, trans. James E. Crouch (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001), 458. 53. In fact, in commenting on Christ's presence in the Church in article 35 of Mysterium Fidei, Paul VI mentions Christ's presence "in his Church as it performs works of mercy." 54. Ibid., 460. 55. Pius XII, On the Sacred Liturgy, art. 24. 56. See Pius XII, On the Mystical Body of Christ and Our Union in It with Christ (Mystici Corporis Christi) in Four Great Encyclicals of Pope Pius XII, ed. Gerard C. Treacy (New York: Paulist Press, 1961), 7-63. 57. Paul VI, Mysterium Fidei, in Acta Apostolicae Sedis 57 (1965): article 35. The English translation is taken from Documents on the Liturgy 19631979: Conciliar, Papal, and Curial Texts (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1982), 378-92. 58. Ibid., article 38. 59. Sacred Congregation of Rites, Eucharisticum Mysterium, in Acta Apostolicae Sedis 59 (1967). The English translation is taken from Documents on the Liturgy 1963-1979: Conciliar, Papal, and Curial Texts (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1982), 395-420. The Sacred Congregation of Rites was an office of the Roman Curia established by Pope Sixtus V

Notes to Pages 51-55

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in 1588 to protect the legitimate rites of the Church. This congregation was replaced by Pope Paul VI in 1969 by the Congregation for Divine Worship. In 1988 there was some reorganization and the title was changed to Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments. 60. See R, Kevin Seasoltz, New Liturgy, New Laws (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1980), 175. Seasoltz defines an instruction in this way: 'An instruction is a doctrinal explanation or a set of directives, recommendations, or admonitions issued by the Roman curia. It usually elaborates on prescriptions so that they may be more effectively implemented. Strictly speaking, an instruction does not have the force of universal law or definition/' 61. See GIRM 2002, article 92 and 113. While canonically the term 'local church/; appropriately refers to the diocese, this book also uses the term to refer to the local parish community. 62. Sermon no. 272 will be considered in greater detail later in this chapter. 63. See Ormond Rush, Still Interpreting Vatican II: Some Hermeneutical Principles (New York: Paulist Press, 2004). 64. Ibid., 14. 65. Rahner used the term "people of God" in his book The Church and the Sacraments even before it appeared as the title and subject of chap. 2, articles 9-13 of Lumen Gentium. In fact, his work had a significant influence on the theology articulated by the documents of Vatican II. 66. Karl Rahner, The Church and the Sacraments, trans. W. J. O'Hara (New York: Herder and Herder, 1963), 18. 67. Ibid., 13. 68. Edward Schillebeeckx, The Eucharist, trans. N. D. Ward (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1968), 137. 69. Ibid., 138. 70. Ibid., 137,- see also Edward Schillebeeckx, "Transubstantiation, Transfinalization, Transignification," in Living Bread, Saving Cup: Readings on the Eucharist, ed. R. Kevin Seasoltz (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1987), 179. 71. William R. Crockett, Eucharist: Symbol of Transformation (New York: Pueblo, 1989), 217. 72. Ibid., 234. 73. Piet Schoonenberg, 'The Real Presence in Contemporary Discussion/' Theology Digest 15 (1967): 8. 74. Piet Schoonenberg, "Presence and the Eucharistic Presence/' Cross Currents 17 (Winter 1967): 40. 75. Chauvet, The Sacraments, 166. 76. Ibid. 77. Ibid., 167.

162

Notes to Pages 55-61

78. Crockett, Eucharist: Symbol of Transformation, 232. 79. Ibid., 233. See also Nathan Mitchell, Cult and Controversy: The Worship of the Eucharist Outside Mass, Studies in the Reformed Rites of the Catholic Church, vol. 4 (New York: Pueblo, 1982). 80. The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century. Part III: Sermons. Vol. 7: Sermons 230-72 B on the Liturgical Seasons, ed. John E. Rotelle, trans. Edmund Hill (New Rochelle, NY: New City Press, 1993), 300. Latin text in PL 38.1246-47. 81. Ibid. Latin text in PL 38.1247. 82. Ibid., 301. Latin text in PL 38.1247-48. 83. See Enrico Mazza, The Celebration of the Eucharist: The Origin of the Rite and Development of its Interpretation, trans. Matthew J. O'Connell (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999), 293. Mazza points out that it is at this verse that Paul shifts his focus from the Church universal to the Church as gathered assembly at eucharistic worship. In fact, this passage seems to have influenced the development of the epiclesis over the assembly that appears in Apostolic Constitutions 7.25. Mazza suggests that the theological inspiration for the introduction of the epiclesis originated in the desire to highlight the Pauline doctrine of the Church as the Body of Christ. Latin text in J. P. Migne, Patrologiae cursus completus, series Latina. Supplementum vol. 2, pt. 2 (Paris: Gamier Freres, 1960), 554-55. 84. The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century. Part III: Sermons. Vol. 6: Sermons 184-229Z on the Liturgical Seasons, ed. John E. Rotelle, trans. Edmund Hill (New Rochelle: NY: New City Press, 1993), 269-70. Latin text, ibid., 555. 85. See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae 3, 1. 73, a.3. 86. Mazza, The Celebration of the Eucharist, 208. See also Karl Rahner, "Introductory Observations on Thomas Aquinas' Theology of the Sacraments in General/' in Theological Investigations, vol. 14, Ecclesiology, Questions in the Church, the Church in the World, trans. David Bourke (New York: Seabury Press, 1976), 151-52. 87. Paul H. Jones, Christ's Eucharistic Presence: A History of the Doctrine (New York: Peter Lang, 1994), 208. 88. Ibid., 208-9. 89. Mazza, The Celebration of the Eucharist, 208. 90. Schillebeeckx, The Eucharist, 123.

3. Worship as Symbolizing Activity 1. The work of this chapter builds on previous research in the area of liturgical music. See Judith Marie Kubicki, Liturgical Music as Ritual Symbol: A Case Study of Jacques Berthier's Taize Music, Uturgia condenda, 9 (Leuven: Belgium: Peeters, 199), 93-127.

Notes to Pages 61-67

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2. Henri de Lubac is the theologian credited with saying that the Eucharist makes the Church. See Paul McPartlan, The Eucharist Makes the Church: Henri de Lubac and John Zizioulas in Dialogue (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1993). See also Margaret Mary Kelleher, "Liturgy: An Ecclesial Act of Meaning/' Worship 59 (November 1985): 482-97. In this article Kelleher develops the thesis that liturgy, and hence the Eucharist, is "an act of ecclesial performative meaning in which the church symbolically mediates itself/7 This chapter will show how Louis-Marie Chauvet's theology of symbol also makes this claim. 3. Charles Morris, Foundations of the Theory of Signs," in Foundations of the Unity of Science: Toward an International Encyclopedia of Unified Science, ed. Otto Neurath, Rudolf Carnap, and Charles Morris, vol. 1, nos. 1-10 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), 81. 4. Charles Morris, Signification and Significance: A Study of the Relations of Signs and Values (Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press, 1964), 1. 5. Gerard M. Lukken, "Semiotics and the Study of Liturgy," Studia Ldturgica 17(1987): 109. 6. Wilson Coker, Music and Meaning: A Theoretical Introduction to Music Aesthetics (New York: Free Press, 1972), 2. Although Coker applied Peirce's and Morris's thinking to the question of musical semiotics, his definitions can be generally applied to the broader study of signs. 7. The original French text is found in Gino Stefani "Essai sur les communications sonores dans la liturgie," Paroisse et liturgie 52 (1970): 99-100. This translation is by Jon Michael Joncas and is found in his article "Musical Semiotics and Liturgical Musicology: Theoretical Foundations and Analytic Techniques," Ecclesia Orans 8 (1990): 198-99. 8. Gerard M. Lukken, "Semiotics and the Study of Liturgy," Studia Liturgica 17 (1987): 114. See also Gerard Lukken and Mark Searle, Semiotics and Church Architecture: Applying the Semiotics of A. J. Greimas and the Paris School to the Analysis of Church Buildings, Liturgia condenda, 1 (Kampen, The Netherlands: Kok Pharos, 1993). 9. Michael Polanyi and Harry Prosch, Meaning (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975), 70-71. 10. Ibid., 71. 11. Ibid. 12. Ibid., 73. 13. Ibid. 14. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 41 (see n. 29 in chap. 1 above). 15. Ibid., 84-85. 16. Ibid., 112. 17. Ibid., 110-11. 18. Ibid., 111. 19. Ibid., 147.

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Notes to Pages 6 7-71

20. Ibid., 147. By extension, we can say that the body that is the Church as the gathered assembly is the "primordial place" of every symbolic joining of the "inside" and the "outside" that occurs in the liturgy. 21. Ibid., 151. 22. Ibid., 140. 23. Karl Rahner, "The Theology of Symbol/' in Theological Investigations, vol. 4, More Recent Writings, trans. Kevin Smyth (Baltimore: Helicon Press, 1966), 224. 24. Ibid., 225. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid., 234. 27. Ibid., 230. 28. Louis Roberts, The Achievement of Karl Rahner (New York: Herder and Herder, 1967), 35. 29. Rahner, "The Theology of Symbol/' 247. 30. Karl Rahner, The Church and the Sacraments, trans. W. J. O'Hara (New York: Herder and Herder, 1963), 37. 31. Michael Skelley, The Liturgy of the World: Karl Rahner's Theology of Worship, foreword by Rembert G. Weakland (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1991), 37-38. 32. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 149. 33. Ibid., 149-50. Chauvet speaks here of a different triple body than the triple body of Christ that he speaks of in The Sacraments. Cf. chap. 2, p. 54. 34. Schoonenberg, "Presence and the Eucharistic Presence" Cross Currents 17, no. 1 (1967): 52-53. Also see chap. 2, p. 54. Asserting the independence of each of the modes of Christ's presence does not negate the fact that there is an integral relationship between the various modes. It is when these modes are experienced in a healthy balance that respects the role of each one that the fullness of Christ's presence can be truly celebrated. Recall phenomenology's insights regarding an object's identity in its manifold appearances. See the section "Absence and Presence," pp. 27-29. 35. See Robert Sokolowski, Eucharistic Presence: A Study in the Theology of Disclosure (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1993). 36. General Instruction of the Roman Missal (Washington, DC: United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, 2002). In this chapter all references to GIRM will be taken from the 2002 edition unless otherwise noted. 37. United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, Built of Living Stones: Art, Architecture, and Worship (Washington, DC: USCCB, 2000), art. 22. 38. Joseph Komonchak, "Toward a Theology of the Local Church," in FABC (Federation of the Asian Bishops' Conference) Papers, no. 42, April 1986.

Notes to Pages 72-83

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39. See chap. 2 for a discussion of Sacrosanctum Concilium, art. 7; Mediator Dei, art. 24; Mysterium Fidei, art. 35-39; Eucharisticum Mysterium, art. 9; and G/£M art. 27. Schillebeeckx and Schoonenberg are particularly strong on the relationship of the various modes of Christ's presence. 40. Some of these documents would include Sacrosanctum Concilium, art. 128, GIRM (1973), and Bishops' Committee on the Liturgy, Environment and Art in Catholic Worship (Washington, DC: USCC Publications Office, 1978), art. 78-80. 41. Art. 276 of GIRM (1973) recommends a chapel suitable for private prayer as the first option. There is no mention of the sanctuary although the second option suggests locating the tabernacle on an altar in a prominent place, appropriately decorated. 42. Bishops' Committee on the Liturgy, Environment and Art in Catholic Worship, (Washington, DC: USCC Publications Office, 1978), art. 78. 43. Rite of Dedication of a Church and of an Altar, (Vatican Polyglot Press, 1977), chap. 4, art. 4. The English translation is taken from Documents on the Liturgy 1963-1979: Conciliar, Papal, and Cuhal Texts (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1982), 1379. 44. John E Baldovin, "Introduction," in John K. Leonard and Nathan D. Mitchell, The Postures of the Assembly During the Eucharistic Prayer (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications, 1994), 2. 45. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 147. 46. See Nathan Mitchell, Cult and Controversy: The Worship of the Eucharist Outside Mass (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990) for a very fine scholarly treatment of this topic, both historically and theologically. 47. This quote is sometimes attributed to Augustine of Hippo. 48. Sacred Congregation of Rites, "Musicam Sacram," in Acta Apostolicae Sedis 60 (1967): 5. The English translation is taken from Documents on the Liturgy 1963-1979: Conciliar, Papal and Curial Texts (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1982), 1293-1306. 49. See Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. Richard Nice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 72. See also Bourdieu's notion of habitus as it is used to develop the hermeneutical tool of structural tropes in Lawrence Kramer, Music as Cultural Practice, 1800-1900 Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 6-10. 50. Wilson Coker, Music and Meaning: A Theoretical Introduction to Music Aesthetics (New York: Free Press, 1972), 2. 51. The term "communal" and/or "congregational" song will be used in this discussion to describe music that involves vocal rendition of a text set to music that includes the participation of the assembly. 52. See Armen T. Marsoobian, "Saying, Singing, or Semiotics: 'Prima la Musica e poi le Parole' Revisited, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism

166

Notes to Pages 83-91

54 (Summer 1996): 269. In this article, Marsoobian analyzes opera as exhibitive. Her insights can readily be applied, mutatis mutandis, to liturgical singing and to worship in general. 53. Tom Driver, The Magic of Ritual: Our Need for Liberating Rites that Transform Our Lives and Our Communities (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1991), 84. 54. Victor Zuckerkandl, Sound and Symbol vol. 2, trans. Willard R. Trask (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969), 23. 55. Avery Dulles, Models of Revelation (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, 1983), 136. 56. See Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 84-85. 57. Robert E. Innis, 'Art, Symbol, and Consciousness: A Polanyi Gloss on Susan Langer and Nelson Goodman/' International Philosophical Quarterly 17 (December 1977): 475-76. 58. See Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Antistructure (Chicago: Aldine, 1969), 83, 114. 59. Paul VI, The Sacramentary, English translation by the International Commission on English in the Liturgy (New York: Catholic Book Publishing Co., 1974). 60. John K. Leonard and Nathan D. Mitchell, The Postures of the Assembly During the Eucharistic Prayer (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications, 1994), 24. This book is an important resource on the question of posture and provides a more in-depth treatment of the topic than is possible here. 61. See De Corona militis 3, 4; PL II: 79-80. Translation quoted from Leonard and Mitchell, Postures, 40. 62. The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, part II: Letters, vol. 1: Letters 1-99, ed. John E. Rotelle, trans. Edmund Hill (New Rochelle, NY: New City Press, 1993), 230. Latin text in Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum [CSEL], 34/2:202. 63. Leonard and Mitchell, Postures, 31.

4. The Sacramentality of Time 1. Hans Bernard Meyer, 'Time and Liturgy: Anthropological Notes on Liturgical Time/' in Liturgical Time: Papers Read at the 1981 Congress of Societas Liturgica, ed. Wiebe Vos and Geoffrey Wainwright (Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Liturgical Ecumenical Center Trust, 1982), 7. 2. Ibid. 3. George Guiver, Company of Voices: Daily Prayer and the People of God (New York: Pueblo, 1988), 14. 4. Mary Pat Fisher, Living Religions, 5th ed. (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 2002), 50.

Notes to Pages 91- 99

16 7

5. Oscar Cullmann, Christ and Time: The Primitive Christian Conception of Time and History, rev. ed.; trans. Floyd V. Filson (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1964), 51-52. 6. Guiver, Company of Voices, 14. 7. Quoted in John Westerdale Bowker, Problems of Suffering in Religions of the World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 91. 8. John Melloh, "Liturgical Time, Theology of," in The New Dictionary of Sacramental Worship, ed. Peter E. Fink (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990), 734. 9. Cullmann, Christ and Time, 32-33. 10. See Robert Taft, Beyond East and West: Problems in Liturgical Understanding, NPM Studies in Church Music and Liturgy (Washington, DC: Pastoral Press, 1984), 2-3. While Taft's focus is primarily on the Eucharist, his argument can be appropriately extended to all liturgy. 11. Patrick Regan, "Pneumatological and Eschatological Aspects of Liturgical Celebration/' Worship 51 (July 1977): 346. 12. Stanley Campbell, From Breviary to Liturgy of the Hours: The Structural Reform of the Roman Office, 1964-1971 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1995), 573. 13. Mark Searle, "Sunday: The Heart of the Liturgical Year/' in Between Memory and Hope: Readings on the Liturgical Year, ed. Maxwell Johnson (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000), 62. 14. Willy Rordorf, "Sunday: The Fullness of Christian Liturgical Time/' in Liturgical Time: Papers Read at the 1981 Congress of Societas Liturgica, ed. Wiebe Vos and Geoffrey Wainwright (Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Liturgical Ecumenical Center Trust, 1982), 90-91. 15. Ibid., 64. 16. See Willy Rordorf, Sunday: The History of the Day of Rest and Worship in the Earliest Centuries of the Christian Church, trans. A. A. K. Graham (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1968), 231-32 and Searle, "Sunday: The Heart of the Liturgical Year," 64-65. 17. Ibid., 232. 18. Searle, "Sunday: The Heart of the Liturgical Year/' 65. 19. Rordorf, "Sunday: The Fullness of Christian Liturgical Time," 92. 20. Thomas J. Talley, The Origins of the Liturgical Year (New York: Pueblo, 1986), 13-14. 21. Pierre Jounel, "Sunday and the Week," in The Church at Prayer: The Liturgy and Time, ed. Aime Georges Martimort, Irenee Henri Dalmais, and Pierre Jounel, vol. 4, new edition, trans. Matthew J. O'Connell (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1986), 17. 22. Didache 9:3-4 as quoted in Rordorf, "Sunday: The Fullness of Christian Liturgical Time," 93. 23. Ibid. 10:6 as quoted in Rordorf, 93.

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Notes to Pages 99-105

24. Ibid., 93. 25. W. Jardine Grisbrooke, "A Contemporary Liturgical Problem: The Divine Office and Public Worship/' Part I and II, Stadia Ldturgica 8, no. 3 (1971-72): 135. 26. Rordorf, "Sunday: The Fullness of Christian Liturgical Time/' 91. 27. Searle, "Sunday: The Heart of the Liturgical Year/' 66. 28. Irenee Henri Dalmais, "Time in the Liturgy," in The Church at Prayer: The Liturgy and Time, ed. Aime Georges Martimort, Irenee Henri Dalmais, and Pierre Jounel, vol. 4, new edition, trans. Matthew J. O'Connell (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1986), 3-5. 29. Searle, "Sunday: The Heart of the Liturgical Year," 71-72. 30. St. Justin, Apologia I 67, 3 and 7. Translation quoted in Jounel, "Sunday and the Week," 14. 31. Rordorf, "Sunday: The Fullness of Christian Liturgical Time," 94. 32. Melito of Sardis, On Baptism 3-4, following the translation of O. Perler, Sources chretiennes 123 (Paris, 1966), 231-33. For original Greek see Melito of Sardis, On Pascha and Fragments, trans, and ed. Stuart George Hall (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), 72-73. 33. The Early Christian Fathers: A Selection from the Writings of the Fathers from St. Clement of Rome to St. Athanasius, ed. and trans. Henry Bettenson (New York: Oxford University Press, 1956), 49-50. For Greek and English texts see also J. B. Lightfoot, The Apostolic Fathers. Revised texts with short introductions and English translations, ed. J. R. Harmer (New York: Macmillan, 1893), 19, 68. 34. John Melloh, "Liturgical Time, Theology of" in The New Dictionary of Sacramental Worship, ed. Peter E. Fink (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990), 738. 35. F. X. Funk, ed. Didascalia et Constitutions Apostolorum, vol. 1 (Paderborn, 1905), 171-73. English translation cited from Robert Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours in East and West: The Origins of the Divine Office and Its Meaning for Today (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1986), 44-45. 36. W. Jardine Grisbrooke, "A Contemporary Liturgical Problem: The Divine Office and Public Worship," Part III, Studia Liturgica 9, no. 1/2 (1973): 8. This passage introduces a view of daily prayer as instrumental in the "redemption" of time. Additional viewpoints will be considered later in this chapter. 37. Melloh, "Liturgical Time," 736. 38. Cheslyn Jones, Geoffrey Wainwright, Edward Yarnold, and Paul Bradshaw, eds., The Study of Liturgy (London: SPCK, 1992), 399. 39. The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy (Sacrosanctum Concilium) in Vatican Council II: Constitutions, Decrees, Declarations; A Completely Revised Translation in Inclusive Language, gen. ed. Austin Flannery (Northport, NY: Costello, 1996), 117-61.

Notes to Pages 106-116

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40. Pope Paul VI, Laudis Canticum, In Ada Apostolicae Sedis 63 (1971): 527-35. Translation in Documents on the Liturgy 1963-1979: Conciliar, Papal and Curial Texts (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1982), 1086-90. 41. Sacred Congregation for Divine Worship, General Instruction of the Liturgy of the Hours (Vatican Polyglot Press, 1971). Translation in Documents on the Liturgy 1963-1979: Conciliar, Papal, and Curial Texts (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1982), 1091-1131. Hereafter GILOH. 42. Recall also that earlier in this chapter we saw Grisbrooke argue for the importance of "redeeming" or "transforming" time through the praying of the Divine Office. 43. Patricia M. Rumsey, "The Different Concepts of Sacred Time Underlying the Liturgy of the Hours." Worship 78 (July 2004): 290-95. 44. See Rumsey, "Different Concepts of Sacred Time," 300-301. 45. Ilia Delio, Simply Bonaventure: An Introduction to His Life, Thought, and Writings (Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2001), 60-62 46. Ibid., 50. 47. See Melloh, "Liturgical Time," 733. 48. Ibid., 735. 49. Guiver, Company of Voices, 9. 50. Jaroslav Pelikan, The Light of the World: A Basic Image in Early Christian Thought (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1962), 13, 51. Grisbrooke, "Contemporary Liturgical Problem," Part I and II, 130. 52. See Taft, Beyond East and West, 136-37. 53. Ibid., 138. 54. Ibid. 55. Ibid. 56. Ibid., 139. 57. Translation of the Greek text by William G. Storey. The text appeared first in Morning Praise and Evensong: A Liturgy of the Hours in Musical Setting (Notre Dame, IN: Fides, 1973) and was subsequently included as a hymn option in Christian Prayer: The Liturgy of the Hours (New York: Catholic Book Publishing Co., 1976). 58. See chapter 3 for a philosophical and theological discussion of symbol. 59. Avery Dulles, Models of Revelation (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), 58. 60. Avery Dulles, Craft of Theology: From Symbol to System (New York: Crossroad, 1992), 23. 61. Nathan Mitchell, "Symbols Are Actions, Not Objects," Living Worship 13 (February 1977): 1-2. 62. Kubicki, Liturgical Music as Ritual Symbol, 121. 63. Michael G. Lawler, Symbol and Sacrament: A Contemporary Sacramental Theology, rev. ed. (Omaha, Neb.: Creighton University Press, 1995), 19.

170

Notes to Pages 117-135

64. Don Saliers, 'The Integrity of Sung Prayer/" Worship 55 (July 1981): 293. 65. Susanne K. Langer, Philosophy in a New Key: A Study in the Symbolism of Reason, Rite and Art, 3rd ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967), 153. 66. See Pierre Batiffol, History of the Roman Breviary, trans. Atwell M. Y. Baylay (New York: Longmans, Green, 1912), 122-31. 67. Gregory W. Woolfenden, Daily Liturgical Prayer: Origins and Theology (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2004), 7, 11-12. 68. Rordorf, "Sunday: The Fullness of Christian Liturgical Time/ ; 92. 69. Robert Taft, "Thanksgiving for the Light: Toward a Theology of Vespers/' Diakonia 13, no. :1 (1978): 42. 70. J. D. Crichton, Christian Celebration: The Prayer of the Church (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1981), 22. 71. Balthasar Fischer, "The Common Prayer of Congregation and Family in the Ancient Church/' Studia Liturgica 10, no. 2 (1974): 115. 72. Thaddaus A. Schnitker, "The Liturgy of the Hours and the History of Salvation: Towards the Theological Penetration of The Public and Communal Prayer of God/ ;/ Studia Liturgica 15 (1982/1983): 152. 73. Paul F. Bradshaw, Two Ways of Praying (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 126-27.

5. Gathered up into the One Cosmic Dance 1. See Diarmuid O'Murchu, Quantum Theology: Spiritual Implications of the New Physics, revised (New York: Crossroad, 2004), 29-30. 2. Ewert H. Cousins, "God as Dynamic in Bonaventure and Contemporary Thought/7 in Thomas and Bonaventure (Washington, DC: American Catholic Philosophical Association, 1974), 138. 3. See chap. 2, p. 46. 4. Constantin Andronikof, "Assembly and Body of Christ: Identity or Distinction/7 in Roles in the Liturgical Assembly, trans. Matthew J. O'Connell (New York: Pueblo, 1981), 17. 5. See chap. 1, pp. 25ft 6. See Sacrosanctum Concilium, art. 112 and the Bishops' Committee on the Liturgy, Music in Catholic Worship (Washington, DC: USCC Publications Office, 1982), art. 23. For a fuller treatment of the ministerial role of liturgical music see chap. 1 of Kubicki, Liturgical Music as Ritual Symbol. 7. How liturgical music can accomplish this is set forth in greater detail in chap. 3 using the insights of Michael Polanyi and Louis-Marie Chauvet. See chap. 3, especially pp. 79-84. 8. This remark is not meant to be a blanket endorsement of every piece of church music, either past or present. Much of the music performed within the Tridentine Rite is no longer compatible with the theology and

Notes to Pages 136-140

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structures of the Roman Rite reformed under Paul VI. Nevertheless, there is room for the creative adaptation of ancient or traditional music in today's worship. The same may be said about new musical forms or music of other cultures. 9. Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, "Fifth Instruction 'for the Right Implementation of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy/" March 28, 2001. The official Latin text was published in Notitiae 416-17 = 37:3-4 (2001): 120-74. 10. Joseph Gelineau, The Eucharistic Prayer: Praise of the Whole Assembly. A Search for a Celebratory "Model" for "Making Eucharist Together/' trans, by Mary Anselm Grover (Washington, DC: Pastoral Press, 1985), 23. Gelineau, as liturgical theologian and composer, proposed the celebratory model in the early years of the Vatican II reforms. At that time considerable experimentation was occurring with regard to musical renditions of the Eucharistic prayer, especially in his native France. While the promulgation of GIRM 2002 solidifies the content of the Eucharistic Prayer, creative rendering of what is given in the official text is still possible. 11. Ibid., 2. This concept is developed in the work of J. L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1962). See also chap. 5 of Kubicki, Liturgical Music as Ritual Symbol. 12. Ibid., 13. 13. Ibid., 18. 14. The other presidential prayers of the Mass are the opening prayer that follows the Gloria, the prayer over the gifts that precedes the Preface dialogue, and the prayer after communion. These three prayers are recited by the presider. The assembly responds with "Amen." In addition, the intercessions that are referred to as the "Prayers of the Faithful" are led by a deacon, cantor, or other member of the assembly, but presided over by the ordained minister who opens and closes the prayer. In each instance, both the presider and the assembly stand. 15. See chap. 3 for a discussion of the theological meaning of kneeling and standing within the liturgy. 16. This discussion on unity in posture is not meant in any way to take away from the exigencies of the elderly and handicapped for whom posture may not be a matter of choice. 17. On March 25, 2004, the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacrament issued the instruction entitled Redemptionis Sacramentum. Art. 106 states: "However, the pouring of the Blood of Christ after the consecration from one vessel to another is completely to be avoided, lest anything should happen that would be to the detriment of so great a mystery. Never to be used for containing the Blood of the Lord are flagons, bowls, or other vessels that are not fully in accord with the established norms."

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Notes to Pages 141-150

18. In the ideal situation, easier to observe in small gatherings, one large host may be broken into small pieces for distribution. 19. In 2004, shortly after Redemptionis Sacramentum was issued, the Jesuit journal, America, published a photo of the altar taken during a Mass at the biannual meeting of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. It displayed an altar almost completely covered with chalices. No doubt the publication of the photo was a source of embarrassment to the some of the bishops. See America 191, no. 17 (November 29, 2004): 6. 20. The power of symbols to negotiate relationships and identity is developed in chap. 3. See especially the discussion of symbols as mediators of recognition. 21. In addition to art. 85 of GIRM, this directive is also found in Pius XII's Mediator Dei, art. 118; the instruction Eucharisticum Mysterium, art. 31; smdGlRM 1973, art. 56h. 22. The music of Taize mentioned above employs these genres. See Kubicki, Liturgical Music as Ritual Symbol for a more in-depth analysis of these musical genres. 23. C. Michael Hawn, Gather into One: Praying and Singing Globally (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2003), 228-34. While Hawn does not advocate using only one type of musical structure in worship, he does insist that different musical structures engage a worshiping assembly in different ways. 24. See chap. 3, p. 81, for a further explanation of singing's role as a structuring element in ritual and Pierre Bourdieu's discussion of habitus as structuring structures. 25. C. S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1964), 75. This phrase is part of a larger quote cited at the beginning of the introduction of this book. 26. The stunningly beautiful hymn by Bernadette Farrell captures this mystery in poetry and music. See "God Beyond All Names" (Portland, OR: OCP Publications, 1990). 27. See chap. 2, p. 54. 28. German Martinez, Signs of Freedom: Theology of Christian Sacraments (New York: Paulist Press, 2003), 174. 29. Co-Workers in the Vineyard: A Resource for Guiding the Development of Lay Ecclesial Ministry (Washington, DC: United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, 2005), 8. 30. Michael G. Lawler, "Perichoresis: New Theological Wine in an Old Theological Wineskin/' Horizons 22 (Spring 1995): 50. 31. Catherine Mowry LaCugna, God for Us (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1991), 274. 32. Henry Liddell and Robert Scott, Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964).

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33. Lawler, "Perichoresis," 49-50. 34. Ruth C. Duck and Patricia Wilson-Kastner, Praising God: The Trinity in Christian Worship (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1999), 35. See also G. W. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961), 1077. 35. Elizabeth A. Johnson, She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse (New York: Crossroad, 1992), 220. See also Lawler, "Perichoresis," 53. 36. Duck and Wilson-Kastner, Praising God:, 6. This notion complements the metaphor of quantum theory used above.

INDEX

absence and eschatology, 28-29 of God, 17,28, 146-47 in phenomenology, 27-28 in postmodernity, 13-14 See also presence active participation, 26, 29-30, 45-46, 65 Advent, 124 altar, 74-75 anamnesis, 111, 122 Aquinas, Thomas, 57 architecture, 69-75, 133 assembly as Body of Christ, 45-47, 49, 55-58, 132 called by God, 38-39, 40 communion rite, 142-45 diversity in, 126-27, 128 gathered, 34-35, 37-38, 43-48, 127-28, 151 meaning of, 37-44 unity of, 38-40, 43-44, 49, 58 See also gathering attending, 25-26, 131-32, 134 Augustine, 55-56, 86 Baldovin, John, 75 baptism, 8, 36-37 Basil, 114 Battifol, Pierre, 118 Blessed Sacrament. See Eucharist; tabernacle bodiliness, 21-22, 130. See also body

body bodiliness, 21-22, 130 embodiment, 54-55, 68, 75 importance of, 21-22, 67 relationship to soul, 68 See also Body of Christ Body of Christ, 45-47, 49, 55-58, 132 Boeve, Lieven, 14-15, 20-21 Bonaventure, 110 bowing, 76, 77, 78 Bradshaw, Paul, 123 bread, 140-41 Built of Living Stones, 71-72, 76-77 Casel, Odo, 36 chalices, 140-41, 172nl9 Chauvet, Louis-Marie, 18, 24-25, 28, 45-46, 54-55, 64-67 Christ Body of, 45-47, 49, 55-58, 132 Incarnation, 22 resurrected, 98-99, 100-101 salvation, 19-20, 148-49 See also Christ's presence Christ's presence in assembly, 45-58 in Liturgy of the Hours, 122 manifold, 26-27, 47-50, 147-48 modes of, 11-12, 48-51, 52, 164n34 in music, 79-82 perception of, 24, 25-26, 29-30 real presence, 45-46, 50, 52 See also God's presence

175

176 Chrysostom, John, 3 Church as primordial sacrament, 53 See also assembly Church Fathers, 43, 86 Clement of Alexandria, 113 Clement of Rome, 102 Clifford, Anne, 19 Coker, Wilson, 61-62 communal song, 79-84, 137-38, 165n51. See also music communion hymn, 143-45 communion rite, 142-45. See also bread; Eucharist congregational song. See communal song Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy (Sacrosanctum Concilium), 10-11, 45, 47-50, 105-6, 120-21 contemplative openness, 20-21 context, 10, 14-15 creation, 18-22 Cullmann, Oscar, 92-93 cup, 140-41 Cyprian, 113-14 Cyril of Jerusalem, 3 Danneels, Godfried Cardinal, 21 darkness, 112-14 Delio, Ilia, 110 Didache, the, 40-43, 159n25 Didascalia, 102 disclosure, 29-30 diversity, 126-27, 128 ''divine dance/' 150-51 divine office. See Liturgy of the Hours Dix, Dom Gregory, 105-6 Dogmatic Constitution on the Church [Lumen Gentium), 45 Dubarle, D., 67

Index Easter, 98, 100 "eighth day/7 100-101 ekklesia, 38-40, 160n47 embodiment, 54-55, 68, 75. See also body eschatology, 28-29, 98-101, 154nl9 Eucharist, 71-72, 148-51. See also bread; Eucharistic Prayer Eucharistic Prayer, 84-87, 136-40 Eucharisticum Mysterium [Instruction on Eucharistic Worship), 51,52 evidence, 29-30 Fink, Peter E., 27 Galien, John, 45 gathering eschatological dimension, 42, 98-101 with expectation, 97-98 multiple masses, 141-42 relationship to Trinity, 127-28, 150 rite, 34-35, 59, 84 rooted in baptism, 36-37 theological meaning, 34, 35, 37-38 gathering hymn, 79-82, 133-34 Gaudium et Spes [Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World), 10 Gelineau, Joseph, 137 General Instruction of the Liturgy of the Hours, The [GILOH), 106, 120 General Instruction of the Roman Missal The [GIRM) on architecture, 70, 73-75 on gathering, 34-35 on modes of presence, 51-52 on postures, 76, 78, 85, 138-39

177

Index genuflection. See kneeling gestures, 76-79. See also postures GILOH. See General Instruction of the Liturgy of the Hours, The [GILOH) GIRM. See General Instruction of the Roman Missal, The {GIRM) God. See God's presence; Trinity God's presence in creation, 17-21 in sacraments, 16-17 human perception of, 23-25 Trinitarian, 19-20 Gregory of Nazianzen, 150 Grisbrooke, W. Jardine, 99-100, 103-4 Hawn, C. Michael, 144 Heidegger, Martin, 28 Holy Communion, 142-45. See also bread; Eucharist Holy Spirit, 19-20 horizon, 23-25 human beings, 23-25, 68. See also body,- soul Hurd, Robert, 37 Husserl, Edmund, 23 identity, 6-7, 26-27 Ignatius of Antioch, 43-44 Incarnation, 22 inclusive language, 135-36 Instruction on Eucharistic Worship [Eucharisticum Mysterium), 51, 52 intentionality, 25-26 Irwin, Kevin, 16 Jesus Christ. See Christ John of Damascus, 150 Justin Martyr, 101

Katecheseis Mystagogikai, 145 Kilmartin, Edward, 19-20 kneeling, 78, 85-87, 138-40 knowledge, 12-13 koinonia, 40 LaCugna, Catherine Mowry, 150 laity, 6-7, 102-3, 120-21. See also assembly Langer, Susanne, 117 language, inclusive, 135-36 Laudis canticum, 106, 119-20 Lawler, Michael, 116 Levi-Strauss, Claude, 65 Levinas, Emmanuel, 28 Liddell, Henry, 150 light, 112-14 liturgical reforms, 35-38, 44-45, 105, 129, 136-37 liturgy, 3, 7, 37-38. See also Eucharistic Prayer; liturgical reforms,- music Liturgy Constitution, The. See Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy Liturgy of the Hours, 104-5, 115-16, 117-20, 122 Locke, John, 61 Lonergan, Bernard, 24 "Lord's Day/' 98-99 Lumen Gentium (Dogmatic Constitution on the Church), 45 Lutz, Ulrich, 48 manifold presence. See under Christ's presence Martinez, German, 149 Maximus the Confessor, 150 Mediator Dei, 48-49 Melito of Sardis, 101 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 23-24 meta-narrative, 14-15

178

Index

Meyers, H. B., 19 Milavec, Aaron, 41 Mitchell, Nathan, 116 modernity, 12 modes of presence. See under Christ's presence Morrill, Bruce, 2-3 Morris, Charles, 61 music communal song, 79-84, 137-38, 165n51 communion hymn, 143-45 in Eucharistic Prayer, 137-38 gathering hymn, 79-82, 133-34 liturgical, 79-84, 133-36, 14445, 170n8 mystagogy, 145-46 Mysterium Fidei (Mystery of Faith),

perichoresis, 150-51 phenomenology, 23-30 Pius XII, Pope, 48-49 Polanyi, Michael, 62-64 postmodernity, 12-15, 30-31 postures, 75-79, 84-87, 138-40 prayer, 102-3. See also Eucharistic Prayer presence, 13-14, 27-28, 45-46, 50-52. See also absence,Christ's presence; God's presence presiders, 11-12, 45-46, 138. See also priests priests, 37-38, 57. See also presiders Prosper of Aquitaine, 3

Mystery of Faith, The {Mysterium Fidei), 50-52 Mystical Body of Christ, The [Mystici Corporis), 49 Mystici Corporis {The Mystical Body of Christ), 49 openness, contemplative, 20-21. See also perception Osborne, Kenan B., 2, 17-18

Rahner, Karl, 18, 24-25, 53, 67 real presence, 45-46, 50-52 redemption. See salvation reforms, liturgical, 35-38, 44-45, 105, 129, 136-37 res et sacramentum, 57 res sacramenti, 56-57 Rordorf, Willy, 96-97 Rumsey, Patricia, 107, 109, 110, 111

participation, active, 26, 29-30, 45-46, 65 Paschal Mystery, 94-95, 108 Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World (Gaudium etSpes), 10 Paul, Saint, 39-40, 49, 80-81, 108-9, 162n83 Paul VI, Pope, 50-51, 106 Peirce, Charles Sanders, 61 Pelikan, Jaroslav, 112 perception, 20-21, 23, 29-30

sacramentality, 16, 17-21. See also Christ's presence,- God's presence sacraments, 16-17, 90 sacred species. See Eucharist Sacrosanctum Concilium (Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy), 10-11, 45, 47-50, 105-6, 120-21 Saliers, Don, 116-17 salvation, 19-20, 148-49 Saussure, Ferdinand de, 61

50-52

qahal, 38

179

Index Schillebeeckx, Edward, 3, 53-54, 57-58 Schnitker, Thaddaus A., 122 Schoonenberg, Piet, 53, 54 Scott, Robert, 150 Searle, Mark, 97-98, 100 Second Vatican Council, 35, 36, 37_38, 44-45 semiotics, 61-65, 70, 81-82 Shape of Liturgy, The, 105 singing, 79-84, 137-38 Sokolowski, Robert, 26, 29 song, communal, 79-84, 137-38, 165n51 song, congregational. See song, communal soul, 68 Spirit, Holy, 19-20 sprinkling rite, 78-79 standing. See postures Stefani, Gino, 62 Sunday, 95-101 symbols function, 62-68, 201-3 loss of meaning, 60-61 of unity, 130-36, 140-41 tabernacle, 70-75 Taize, 136 technology, 13-14 Tertullian, 86 Theodore of Mopsuestia, 3

time consecration of, 109-11 human experience of, 90-92 in Judeo-Christian tradition, 95 and liturgy, 103-5 as sacramental, 111, 122-24 sanctification of, 105-9 transubstantiation, 50-51 Trinity, 19-20, 125, 127-28 truth, 13, 14 unity of assembly, 38-40, 43-44, 49, 58 lack of, 84 rooted in Trinity, 127-28 symbols of, 130-36, 140-41 universality, 14-15 universe, 18-22 Vatican Council II, 35, 36, 37-38, 44-45 Witczak, Michael, 27 Woolfenden, Gregory W, 118 world. See creation worship as exhibitive, 15, 77 meaning of, 35-36 See also gathering Zuckerkandl, Victor, 83