I often do the early parish Mass. I tumble out of bed at 5:45 (a full hour after the Missionaries of Charity arise!), hasten to the rectory chapel for our communal holy hour, and I begin to wake up. Jesus gradually brings us to consciousness by the shining radiance of His presence (calories and caffeine will come later). If I have the early Mass, I report directly to the church after our holy hour. By then I’ve been up for 90 minutes. Already a few preoccupations have crept into my mind, and my stomach is still empty. Our early Mass is in the extraordinary form, which uses a bit more wine than the ordinary form (three pourings rather than just one). The first pouring, of course, becomes the Blood of Christ, but retains the physical properties of wine. We use a port wine that is 18% alcohol to prevent it from turning to vinegar, since it will stay unrefrigerated in the bottle for a week at a time. By the third pouring (during the purifications), the priest cannot help but feel a bit more affable, as even consecrated wine retains the “accidents” or chemical properties of wine.
The Mass ends, I give the blessing, and I go down the steps for the “Leonine Prayers,” done in English. I gaze up into the blue windows, which ride above our shining marble altar, adorned with gorgeous flower arrangements. Today flushed pink and French vanilla roses glowed among pale green gladiolas. God has surrounded his throne with beauty, I thought, and placed us all among that loveliness. His beneficence toward us is everlasting.
God chose wine to become his Blood. Wine, in all its sublime properties, sacramentally represents for us Christ’s life outpoured. Wine, which brings joy to gods and men, is the sacramental substance that Christ chose to represent Himself in the Mass, along with bread. The priest cannot perceive the infinite mystical graces Christ’s Blood obtains for him at early Mass. The natural cheer wine brings to the heart, however, signifies, in the smallest way, those same graces. God begins the priest’s day, not with coffee or sugar, but with wine, become His Blood. How sweet it is, and how much more infinitely sweeter must be the redemption wrought by Christ’s Blood itself. If we only knew the measure of the Gift to which the Mass hints by the gifts of bread and wine!
The Mass ends, I give the blessing, and I go down the steps for the “Leonine Prayers,” done in English. I gaze up into the blue windows, which ride above our shining marble altar, adorned with gorgeous flower arrangements. Today flushed pink and French vanilla roses glowed among pale green gladiolas. God has surrounded his throne with beauty, I thought, and placed us all among that loveliness. His beneficence toward us is everlasting.
God chose wine to become his Blood. Wine, in all its sublime properties, sacramentally represents for us Christ’s life outpoured. Wine, which brings joy to gods and men, is the sacramental substance that Christ chose to represent Himself in the Mass, along with bread. The priest cannot perceive the infinite mystical graces Christ’s Blood obtains for him at early Mass. The natural cheer wine brings to the heart, however, signifies, in the smallest way, those same graces. God begins the priest’s day, not with coffee or sugar, but with wine, become His Blood. How sweet it is, and how much more infinitely sweeter must be the redemption wrought by Christ’s Blood itself. If we only knew the measure of the Gift to which the Mass hints by the gifts of bread and wine!
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