Birthday, Confession and First Communion

Again my birthday has rolled around, my forty-second; I seem to recall that "42" was alleged in a sci-fi novel to be 'the answer' to life, the universe and everything, which raised the issue of what the question was in the first place! 

Today being Saturday, I had a nice sleep-in after a pleasant eve-of-birthday dinner with family at the local Chinese restaurant last night; then it was off to Confession at Apostles as is my weekly custom… I had hoped to be early enough to be first in line (I believe strongly in being as quick and to the point as possible when confessing), and arrived just before the priest at 10 am, but as it was I was fourth, and didn't get out of the box till twenty past. At least I had time to say Mattins and pray a little more whilst waiting.

Then I had to drive as fast as lawfully allowed to Glengarry, where (at the little country church of St Canice – "in-the-fields", as Fr Allan used to say) I was expected to sing at a special Missa cantata for the First Communion of the daughter of some friends of mine. I was also bringing the Mass booklets for the congregation, the music for the rest of the choir, the altar cards and the altar missal! 

Luckily, after I arrived, I found that Mass wasn't going to start strictly on time after all, so I could relax. However, I did have a near-miss: for when rushing to put the altar cards in place, I leaned the central card against the crucifix as usual, only to have the crucifix fall backwards against the stained-glass window behind the altar, somehow avoiding breaking it, but bending the crucifix (though Fr Suresh was able to bend it back into shape).

The Mass – of St Elizabeth of Hungary, with commemoration of Pope St Pontian – was beautiful: beforehand, we sang Veni Creator Spiritus; we psalm-toned the Propers, chanted the Messe Royale for the Ordinary, and during the Offertory sang Jesu dulcis memoria, after Communion, Ave verum, during the Last Gospel, the simple Salve, and for a recessional, Faber's devout hymn, "Jesus, my Lord, my God, my all". It was good to sing with the choir, since the 2nd M.C. had come up from Hobart, so I didn't have to serve as I usually do. Fr Suresh preached a special sermon about the Blessed Eucharist, especially for our first communicant. Afterward, in the adjoining church hall, we had a delightful celebration.

Of your charity, please pray for Peter, the father of an old friend I met at the First Communion party: I was shocked to learn that he is very ill with cancer.

I drove home along some of the quiet country roads in the district, through patches of bushland interspersed with farmland. Family members had given me a bottle of gin for my birthday, so I had a G&T once I got back, to celebrate. Then, it was time for some gardening, before heading off to the parish Vigil Mass of Christ the King (I sang with the choir, and read the first reading). Somewhat oddly, I then had Mexican for tea. All in all, a happy birthday.

Day of Rest

I feel like one of the little old ladies that a friend described to me, who go to Mass every day, except twice on Saturdays - and never on Sundays! I've got into the habit of attending the Sunday Vigil Mass on Saturday evening, in other words. Weirdly, this makes Sunday a complete day of rest - even from the Eucharist. However, I can justify this by recourse to the Old Testament: did not the Israelites gather the manna daily, except that they had to harvest a double portion on Friday, as none dropt down on Saturday? Move the days ahead one pace, and it accurately alludes to present practice.

Next weekend, of course, I shall be footsore and weary, a pilgrim still miles away from Bendigo, but hopefully imitating St Dominic, who (like St Stephen of Muret), spoke ever to God or of God (ad Deum vel de Deo), as he went about doing good on his long apostolic journeyings. Converse with God is most acceptable, and converse about Him - spiritual conversation - is charity. Dominic would either profit his brethren and others by his discourses, or drop a little behind so as to give himself up to prayer and contemplation. The early Friars Preachers reported that when he did so, he frequently made the sign of the Cross, as if brushing flies from before his face - in the Australian bush this will definitely be necessary!

St Dominic of course famously had his friars wear boots - the shoeless Franciscans mocked them as soft-living "shod friars" - but he himself took them off when out in the country, so as to do penance by macerating his feet upon the sharp stones. He also had two favourite songs while walking: Ave maris stella, and Veni Creator Spiritus. This seems to have been a Dominican habit: just before he was slain, St Peter Martyr was walking toward Milan singing the Easter Sequence, Victimæ paschali laudes - but he only let one companion join in, for he foreknew of his impending assassination, and of the death therein of that fellow brother: together they sang, themselves to be paschal victims in witness to Christ.