Vessels
full of living waters
Introduction
Ritual/Ritualism
The religious leaders of
Jesus' day imposed upon the people a mind-boggling accretion of rabbinical
traditions and ritualistic practices. Good practicing Jews had to scrupulously
wash cups, pots, and copper kettles. They had to carefully purify their hands
when they came in from the market
(Mk7:1-5). Above all, they had to observe the many countless
prescriptions and rituals laid down for observing the Sabbath. How often Jesus has run-ins with the Scribes
and Pharisees for not observing the
Sabbath (Lk 6:1-5; Lk 13:11-14; Lk 14:1-6).
This confusing maze of
prescriptions and rituals was a heavy burden on people's backs, and Jesus tried
to comfort them saying, "Come to
me all you who are weary and heavily burdened, and I shall give you
rest" (Mt 11:28-30). He meant rest
especially from religion as burden. He meant rest especially from empty
ritualism.
Jesus was not against
ritual itself. After all, at the Last Supper
he was engaged in ritual as, "he took the bread, gave thanks to
God, broke it, and gave it to the Apostles saying, `This is my body given for
you; do this in memory of me'”(Lk 22: 19- 20). The Eucharist, the mass, the liturgy is ritual. Jesus is not
against ritual itself but against ritualism: that’s ritual which, like cracked
vessels, carries no living waters.
Or to put it positively,
Jesus is for good ritual, that's ritual which, like good un-cracked vessels, teems with living waters.
That’s the kind of ritual which Rabbi Abraham Heschel describes when he
writes that, “Down through the centuries the Sabbaths, with all their ritual,
were great cathedrals for Jews, teeming with inner strength for them and
helping them to know who they are.”
Sex as
ritual
Someone has said that ritual is the
"motion-al” language of religion. That is to say, ritual is religion
speaking not with words but with
movement and gesture." I like the definition but it needs some clarification. In his book Philemon's Problem, Fr.
Burtchaell, Notre Dame theologian,
offers an example: A man, he says, loves his wife when he senses without being
told that she is not feeling well, and he ministers to her. He loves her when
he is attentive to chores without being nagged. He loves his wife when he pitches
in and cares for the children when they are down with fever. Yes, he writes, he
loves his wife even as he wipes the
ring out of the bathtub. Then Fr. Burtchaell
writes: "It is not in bed that he makes love to his wife. He does
that when he wipes the ring out of the tub. It is in bed that he celebrates the love that has grown
between them as he keeps wiping the ring out of the tub."
In other words, sex is
ritual, i.e. it is “speaking not with words but with movement and
gesture." Sex as ritual is taking time out from daily life to celebrate
the loves that has been growing between two human beings. But if no love has
been growing between the two, if, furthermore, their love is waning or even
turning into anger or hate, then sex is
empty ritualism, a cracked vessel containing no living waters.
There is at work here a
truth that might surprise most of us; it is this: What makes us truly Christian and truly religious does not happen here in church and in ritual, but out there
in real life. For example, all real and costly neighborliness don’t happen
in here at Mass during the Kiss of Peace but “out there” somewhere in
real life. Scripture says, "If you remember that someone has something
against you, leave your gift at the altar, go and be reconciled with that
person, and then come back and offer your gift," then come back and shake hands (Mt 5:23-24).
The Kiss of Peace is not
the reality; it is the ritual. As ritual, it is taking time out to celebrate in here the forgiveness or
neighborliness that has happened out there.
But if no neighborliness has happened out there, if, furthermore, we've
become steeped in revenge or just don't give a hoot about one another, then
the Kiss of Peace is empty ritualism, a cracked vessel containing no
living waters.
We make the same point today, on this feast of Corpus
Christi ( on this feast of the Body and the Blood of the Lord.) All true and costly bread-breaking takes place not here in church and in ritual but out there in real life. The Eucharist, the Mass, the liturgy is not
the reality; it is the ritual. It's taking time out to celebrate all the bread-breaking that has happened “out there”
somewhere. But if no bread-breaking or sharing has taken place “out there;” if,
furthermore, we have selfishly been grabbing things for ourselves, and have not
been thinking of others but only ourselves,
then the Eucharist becomes empty ritualism, a cracked vessel containing
no living waters.
Sometime ago I stopped in at Caputo's in Chicago,
an ethnic Italian food store, to stock up on the "good stuff."
Nothing neat and orderly about the place; nothing packaged or processed about
it; nothing antiseptic about it, as in the case of our super-markets are. Just
huge heaps of honest-to-God produce piled everywhere. There huge crowds don't
mind bumping into each other. After gathering a number of items, I lined up at
the check out counter. Ahead of me was
an Italian, I presumed. He had a huge mountain of stuff to be checked out. You
need a lot of money to buy so much of that good stuff, and he looked as though
he had it. But between him and me (next in line after him to be checked out)
stood a woman, and she had one sole item
in her hand, one sole item, I tell you: a bag of Greek coffee beans. Her
husband is Greek, she tells me. I say to myself, I wonder, I wonder, I wonder
what this guy is going to do?
And he does what I fear he is going to do: he
proceeds to check out his mountain of goodies before her one solitary bag of beans! And seven minutes later it's
her turn to check out the coffee beans, and that consumes seven seconds. We
might laugh but the bottom line is, "How immoral can you get!" Yes, I
say it again, "How immoral can you get!" Either this guy saw the woman or he didn't see her. If he did see
her, how come his morality didn't say to her, "Come on, honey, you're
before me (that's how we make it a compassionate and loving world)? Come on,
little lady, you're before me." If he did not see her (she's right beside him) he's blind. Having the
financial power to buy all the things you want can make you blind, unable to
see anybody else but yourself. No one caught that gross act of immorality. If it had been adultery, everyone
would have caught it.
The point: I assumed he bore a good Italian name and was a good Roman Catholic. But I was also tempted to assume that his Sunday Mass is an empty
vessel carrying no living waters, so lacking was he in bread-breaking “out
there” at the check-out counter.
But let me tell you another story about something that happened “out there” at the check-out counter. But this story is about a beautiful vessel filled to the brim with living waters. I believe I have already told you the story, but good stories are for repeating. (My gosh, we tell the Christmas story over and over again. I’ve heard the Christmas story seventy-five times now, and it never bores me.) A few years ago I had to put my dog, Tina, to sleep. Only dog-lovers know the grief involved. Some days later I had to shop for groceries at the old "Pick and Save" on East Capitol. It was very early in the morning. After gathering the food I had not taste for, I noticed there was only one clerk at the check-out counter. I know the guy fairly well and so do many others, precisely because he is a beautiful human being. But being in a rather weepy mood, I really didn't want to go to him, because he's the kind of guy who says to you, "Hey, how are you and Tina doing?" Well, he did just that!
When I broke the news, he
immediately read my grief. Suddenly he reached for his wallet, opened the cash
register, did some transaction, and then returned the wallet to his
pocket. I really didn't know what he
was doing. When I handed him my money, he rejected it saying, "I've taken care of it." And then he gave me the check-out receipt.
This young man is black. I
mention color because it is really part
of the story. Here is a blue-collar
worker who has to dress in a white shirt but
doesn't make one hundred dollars
an hour, and he is paying for my groceries!
Now that indeed is
bread-breaking par excellence “out there” at a check-out counter. That indeed is eucharisting of the very
first water. And if this Baptist man
were to come “in here” and partake of our Catholic communion that indeed would
be ritual of the very first class. No
cracked and empty clay jar here but rather one big beautiful earthen vessel
overflowing with living waters.
Conclusion
(Bread
broken and shared)
In the old days on the
feast of Corpus Christi, we used to place the sacred Host, the consecrated
bread, into the monstrance, to be carried around in procession and to be gazed
upon. We don't do that so much today anymore. In fact, we're all aware there's a different atmosphere today. The concentration now is not so much upon
Jesus in the bread (period) but rather upon Jesus in the
breaking of the bread. That fits well with Scripture. Luke tells us
that on Easter morning when the Apostles were on the road to Emmaus, Jesus
caught up to them and spoke with them, but it was only after they broke bread together that the Apostles
recognized that it was Jesus (Lk
24:30-31). Jesus -- not simply in the bread but rather in the breaking of the bread. The difference, I think, is significant.
At the consecration and
elevation of the eucharistic bread what we gaze upon is not simply bread but
rather bread broken and shared. Raised
on high the Eucharist calls to mind and celebrates all the bread-breaking we’ve
done “out there” before we've come “in here” for mass. And the dismissal at the
end of mass is this: “By the strength and inspiration of this liturgy and
ritual go forth now to break even more and better bread.”