An elderly priest was reminiscing about the earliest days of his priesthood, which occurred during World War II. Father Smith, as we’ll call him, served in a rural diocese, with many small parishes scattered throughout the countryside; he was responsible for three of them. Back then, there were no Saturday evening vigil Masses; Sunday Masses had to be celebrated on Sunday morning—which also meant the last Mass of the day had to begin no later than 12 noon. Father Smith had to get up at 4:15 on Sunday mornings in order to leave his rectory at 5:15am; to get to his first church, he drove, rain or shine, on a two-lane road badly in need of repair, and which, in the wintertime, seldom saw a snowplow. He arrived at church in time to begin hearing confessions at 6:30am—and many people came to the sacrament. Then he said Mass at 7:30; afterwards, he taught catechism to the children for a while, and met with people who needed to see him. As soon as possible, Father Smith was back in his car to head to his second parish, to repeat the process. Finally, he rushed to the third parish to begin Mass there by 12 noon. After that Mass, he was able to have a drink of water. Remember that before Vatican II, the Communion fast was very strict: you couldn’t eat or drink anything after midnight—not even water—if you were going to receive Communion at Mass (and for a priest, of course, that meant nothing at all until his last Mass of the day was finished).
Father Smith wasn’t the only one making great sacrifices. Everyone who received Holy Communion had also gone without food or water since midnight. That wasn’t too hard for those persons attending the 7:30am Mass in the first parish, but it was much more of a sacrifice for those attending the later Masses, especially the one at 12 noon—yet, as Father Smith noted, just as many people at that Mass received Communion as at the early Mass. Another sacrifice, imposed by the war, was gasoline rationing. Father Smith was somehow able to obtain enough gas to make his rounds, but his parishioners were severely restricted in this regard; even if they had money to spend, they couldn’t go wherever they wanted, unless they could walk there or carpool. For many people, it was a choice: do we go to a movie Saturday night, or drive to Mass on Sunday morning? The churches were always full for Sunday morning Mass, even when the Mass times were inconvenient (such as 7:30am or 12 noon); people had a very strong sense of their Catholic identity and of their obligation to attend Mass, regardless of the cost (“Sacrificing for Mass,” The Priest, August 2009, pp. 6ff).
A lot has changed over the years, and much of it for the better: the Church has tried to free people from an excessive sense of guilt and made it much easier to participate in the Mass and to receive Holy Communion. However, some Church leaders have suggested we may have gone too far: great efforts by the American bishops and clergy to make religion more convenient for their people have perhaps contributed to a sense of laziness, complacency, and an unwillingness to sacrifice the way Catholics did in the past (op. cit). It’s part of our human nature that if we truly value something, we’ll be willing to pay a price for it—and the Eucharist is worth whatever sacrifices are necessary to receive it.
For the past month, the Gospel at Mass has been from John, chapter 6, in which Jesus multiplied bread and fish to set the stage for His teaching that He is the true Bread from Heaven, and that unless we eat His Body and drink His Blood, we have no life within us. In the passage for the 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (John 6:60-69), we see that some of Our Lord’s own disciples couldn’t handle this teaching. Presumably, they were good, loving people, and in their desire for holiness, they had been willing to follow Jesus. However, He asked a sacrifice of them they were unwilling to make: to believe in His words, even though they made no sense from a worldly or human perspective. Many of them could not or would not make this sacrifice, but fortunately, the apostles did; they too must have had their doubts, but, as Peter said, they had come to believe in Jesus, and they realized that following Him—regardless of the sacrifices involved—was the only way of life that made sense. Just as Joshua (24:1-2, 15-18) confronted the people with the need to make a clear choice, so the apostles faced this situation because of their Master’s teaching on the Eucharist—and they, through the grace of God, were able to make the right decision.
What about us? So far, it’s been relatively easy and convenient to practice our Catholic Faith, but what if that were to change? If, for instance, legal restrictions were placed upon the practice of our religion, with government agents carefully noting who showed up for Mass, would we still be willing to come here to church? What if we as Catholics were subject to severe sanctions—risking the loss of our jobs or even our freedom if we showed up here—would we continue coming? That may seem far-fetched, but millions of our brothers and sisters in Christ throughout the world face this reality, and still continue worshipping God—sometimes in secret, but other times quite openly. What if, instead of a religious persecution, we faced an economic crisis, resulting in severe gas shortages: if we had to choose between driving somewhere for our entertainment, or driving to Mass, what would our choice be? An earlier generation of Catholics made the right choice, even though it was a sacrifice; would we have the courage and commitment to do the same? What if the shortage of priests became so severe there was only one Mass each weekend, and that at a time inconvenient for most people? Would we as a parish continue gathering for the Eucharist—or would the inconvenience become a convenient excuse for drifting away from Jesus? Just as it makes sense to prepare for a possible crisis long before it occurs, so it’s an act of wisdom on our part to start thinking here and now about what we’d do if it ever became inconvenient or even difficult to continue practicing our faith. If it were necessary to give up many of the things we enjoy, or even some of the things we hold dear, to keep on following Jesus, would we be able to do so? Can we measure up to the standards of earlier generations of Catholics? Do we have the same yearning for and appreciation of the Eucharist that motivated them? Jesus says that no one can come to Him unless it’s granted him or her by the Father. God our Father does give us this grace and this opportunity. Are we willing to use it? The choice is ours.
