‘Christ is not explained; Christ is experienced’

A friend of mine and I met for lunch recently. We hadn’t seen each other in quite a while, so we spent the better part of an hour catching up on the happenings in our lives. As our conversation moved along, we gradually left specifics and moved to general topics.

“It bugs me,” I said. “People show up at Mass and that’s about all they do; show up! They are there in body alone — warm and breathing — a far cry from the ‘full, conscious, active participation’ Vatican II hoped for.”

“But how can we expect anything different?” my friend countered. It was a response I had not expected since he serves as the pastor of one of South Jersey’s largest Catholic parishes. “Think about it,” he continued. “The majority of those in the pews have not received any type of religious education in 20, 30, 40 or more years. For decades, we’ve told people — perhaps verbally, but mostly through our actions — that all they need to know for their faith they learned before they were confirmed. And that usually happened in the eighth grade. ‘Just come to Mass,’ we’ve told them.

“We offer adult education classes,” my friend continued, “on Scripture, on doctrine, on theological issues, but no one comes because they think they don’t need it.”

“And they’re probably right,” I responded. “But they know they need something … that something is missing from their lives. And then one day, they will accept an invitation from a friend or neighbor to attend an Evangelical Protestant church and within a few months, they won’t show up to Mass in their tee shirts and jeans anymore. As a matter of fact, they won’t show up for Mass at all. That’s what happened to me.”

“So what made you decide to come back?” my friend asked.

“Truth, fundamental truth,” I said. “The same fundamental truths that are presented to adults preparing to become new Catholics need to be preached to people in the pews every Sunday. Tell us what we’ve been baptized into, what happens in the sacraments. Break open the mystery of God’s love.”

My friend invited me to offer reflections during Sunday Mass for several weeks to demonstrate this method of preaching which focuses on the sacraments, essential for reinvigorating our parishes. The results were anything but predictable.

“In Romans, St. Paul writes, ‘I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, can separate us from the love of God,’” I said concluding the reflection offered during each of the Masses at which I spoke.

“When we’re feeling alone, God’s love remains. When we’re feeling abandoned, God’s love remains. When we are in the depths of despair, God’s love remains. When we have lost all hope, God’s love remains. When we are in the midst of grief — from the death of a relationship or from the actual death of a loved one — God’s love remains. When we feel as if we have nowhere to turn, God’s love remains. And even when we get angry with God, God’s love remains.

“During this Easter season, we celebrate the fact that our Savior rose from the dead. It is through our baptism that we, too, rise up out of the waters to new life! In the midst of our imperfections, we rise to a new life that conquers sin. In the midst of our uncertainties, we rise to a new life that overcomes failures. In the midst of our loneliness and anxiety, we rise to new life in the eternal presence of our Creator.

“This morning, we who have been baptized into a loving relationship with our God celebrate this gift. We celebrate the gift of life, the gift of mercy, the gift of continued forgiveness. This morning, we who have said yes to a relationship with our Creator are invited to a banquet given for us … a banquet that sustains us in our journey through this life; a banquet that offers us food and drink that will nourish us into eternity, food and drink that are given to us in love. How happy we are to be called to his supper!”

At the end of Mass, I made my way to the rear of the church. As I walked down the side aisle, a woman blocked my path. She stood there, her eyes filled with tears.

“You have no idea,” she began.

“That bad, huh?” I responded preparing for the worst.

“No!” she answered. “I have a vision for what our church can be, and this ….” Her words trailed off; she was unable to speak. As I continued toward the doors, I was met by one parishioner after another, thanking me. Some spent a minute or so explaining what touched them most; others said only a few words. Still others were wiping their eyes and reached out to embrace me.

“Christ is not explained; Christ is experienced,” writes author Craig Satterlee. And for many of us, that is why we go to Mass. It is true that we want desperately to know we are not alone in our suffering. But perhaps more importantly, we want to experience a deeper faith which will sustain us when we are in fact by ourselves. We want a faith which will carry us through the crises of our lives. We want a faith which sustains us from one day to the next. We want a deep faith through which we will know that the bread and wine we are about to receive are in fact the Body and Blood of their Savior. We want a faith which tells us we are loved. People will come back next Sunday for that.

James Randolph Jordan is a professional writer and serves as a Catholic lay evangelist. He teaches writing and theology at Neumann University in Aston, Pa.