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I want you to jog back in your mind and remember for me your most memorable masses you participated in. Was it your wedding mass? Was it the Easter Vigil when you were accepted into the Church? Was it the funeral mass for your parents? This week, Fr. Miles watched on Catholic TV a biographical documentary on late Cardinal Nguyen van Thuan of Vietnam. Fr. Miles shared Cardinal's experience with me, and I was moved, so I want to share it with you.
On August 15th, the feast of Our Lady’s Assumption, in the year 1975, the newly appointed Archbishop of Saigon received a surprise command invitation to present himself at the President’s Palace, which by this time was in Communist hands. He was accused of conspiring against the People’s Republic of Vietnam and was immediately taken, without sentencing or trial, to a prison in Hanoi, in North Vietnam, where he would spend the next 13 years. Nine of those years were spent in solitary confinement, in a cell where visitors were never allowed. Unbeknownst to his captors and guards, however, the Archbishop would receive a visit each day from Someone he loved above all other Persons and things, Someone whose Presence he treasured even more than his own freedom and life. That Visitor was Jesus Christ, who came to him each day in the Holy Eucharist.
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The following are the words of Archbishop (later Cardinal) Nguyen van Thuan, explaining how he got hold of the humble elements of bread and wine that are necessary for a priest to confect the Presence of the Eucharistic Lord. He writes: I was taken to prison empty-handed; but later on I was allowed to request certain strict necessities, like clothing, toothpaste, and so on. I wrote home saying, “Please send me some wine as medication for my stomach pains,” and my faithful friends on the outside knew what I meant. They sent me a little bottle of wine, with a label that read “medication for stomach pains,” as well as small pieces of bread, which were in reality broken hosts. When the police asked me, “Do you have stomach pains?” I answered “yes.” And they responded, “Here is medicine for you!” I will never be able to express the joy that was mine. Each day, with three drops of wine and a tiny piece of bread in my hand, I celebrated the Eucharist. Before I was taken into solitary confinement, there were six fellow Catholics in my cell block of 50 prisoners. At 9:30 every evening, when lights went out and we all had to be lying down, I bent over a wooden board and celebrated Mass, distributing Communion to my neighbors beneath their mosquito nets. We made tiny bags from cigarette paper to protect the Blessed Sacrament. At night, my fellow prisoners and I took turns, spending hours in adoration before the Eucharist. The Blessed Sacrament changed the spirit of our prison block tremendously because the strength of Jesus’ love is irresistible. Many Buddhists and other non-Christians were converted to Christ. The darkness of the prison turned into light, and the seed germinated silently in the storm.
When he preached for the Pope John Paul II in the year 2000, the Cardinal reflected that when he was in prison, the palm of his hand became his church, his cathedral, because it held the precious gift of Jesus Christ. That is true for each and every one of us who are privileged to receive the very Body and Blood of Christ here in this church.
One of the most moving masses I celebrated in my 2 years as a priest was in January right here at Our Lady of Mercy when I came back from leading a pilgrimage to the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City. At that Sunday mass, I felt something was different throughout the mass. I didn't know what it was. But the moment when I lifted up the Host and the Chalice and pronounced the words, "Behold, the Lamb of God..." I could not finish the sentence. I was choked up and tears began to flow down my eyes. With difficulty and trembling in my voice I finished the rest of the line, "who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are those who are called to his supper." Here I was holding God Himself who created me and who took away my troubled past sins, and invited me to His banquet. I cried the rest of the time when I was distributing the Eucharist. Why was I so moved that day, I thought.
This coming Tuesday night at 7PM right here in the church, I will be giving a talk about the mystery of the mass. And as I prepare for that talk, I'm coming to realize why I was so moved at that mass in January. My physical eyes did not see Him, but my soul saw, throughout the whole mass, the great sacrifice that Jesus made for you and me. He was beaten and broken so that we might be united once again to the Father. Jesus, in His great obedience and generosity, gave and continues to give as gift to each of us, His body and His blood as food to nourish us. In turn, Jesus is asking us to be food for others, to give ourselves in service to others. We must decide to answer his call.
