Saints in the Halls of Heaven

Only a few years ago – more than twenty years into my priesthood – I discovered the Eucharistic Prayers for Reconciliation. They have been in the Roman Missal for decades now, but many of us priests leave unexplored the treasures of the Missal – votive Masses, Masses for various needs and occasions, solemn blessings, etc.

The story of those reconciliation prayers is linked to the Holy Year 1975, and marks a fruit of the liturgical reform at a tumultuous time. That story itself is worth recalling about the prayer that is at the heart of the Mass.

For some 1600 years, the Roman Canon (Eucharistic Prayer I) was the only “anaphora,” as it is properly called. The liturgical movement of the 19th and 20th centuries expressed some longstanding concerns about the prayer, namely the strange absence of the Holy Spirit, and that its literary structure was less than cohesive. Yet it had been consecrated by more than a millennium of use, venerable on that ground alone. In any case, the rubrics of the Tridentine missal had it recited sotto voce, so it was not heard by the congregation. Depending upon the Latin fluency of the priest, it was quite possible that even he was unconcerned with such matters.

After Vatican II, the decision to have the anaphora recited aloud and in the vernacular languages raised a question. Was the Roman Canon suitable for such at every Mass? The view that prevailed was that it would be burdensome for priests and people alike, and so new eucharistic prayers were drafted, some from ancient sources, others composed latterly.

The Church, as she often does, found it difficult to strike a balance in the new usage, and so the Roman Canon disappeared almost entirely in practice, though the anaphora itself remained in its primary place, largely untouched. There are a few priests who still choose to use it in all Masses, which remains an option.

The new missal of Paul VI included four anaphoras. The briefest of them (II) attracted the most enthusiasm in use, likely for that reason.

The third, to my mind, is of superior literary quality, with its soaring opening – invoking all persons of the Trinity, the work of Creation, the enduring covenant of salvation, with a “pure sacrifice” being offered “from the rising of the sun to its setting” – and its concluding image of the Church as a “pilgrim on earth” constantly offering its “oblation” of the “the sacrificial Victim” by which she is “nourished by the Body and Blood of your Son and filled with his Holy Spirit.”

The fourth anaphora presents a sweeping account of the history of salvation, rendered in language suffused with Biblical language and images. In the “fullness of time,” one can almost hear Jesus preaching in the synagogue at Nazareth. (Luke 4) The relevant rubrics restrict its use to Ordinary Time, and I find it suitable particularly for Sundays during the year.

The additional prayers are, to my eyes and ears, welcome additions. From a strictly literary point of view, I find that the Roman Canon is euphonious in Latin in a way that it is not in English; famulórum famularumque is pleasing to the ear in a way that mere “servants” or even “servants and handmaidens” is not. It retains its venerable status, and I use it when that is the desirable criterion, but more often prefer the other options.

Options were abounding in the early 1970s. Various (northern European) national episcopates were busily producing their own prayers, sometimes charging ahead without proper Roman approval. There were disputes in Rome between the congregations for doctrine and for worship. The heart of the Mass threatened to become a mess. In 1973, Pope St. Paul VI decided that matters had gotten out of hand and ordered a stop to the proliferation. The four anaphoras in the Roman Missal would remain, all other options would be restricted, and the drafting of new versions would be officially discouraged.

The Holy Father granted permission, though, for eucharistic prayers for children, and for the 1975 Jubilee Year, which had as its theme “reconciliation.” Two “eucharistic prayers for reconciliation” were thus approved and mark their fiftieth anniversary this year, a legacy of the holy year 1975.

The rubrics indicate that they “may be used in Masses in which the mystery of reconciliation is conveyed to the faithful in a special way. . .as well as in Masses during Lent.” The mystery of reconciliation is present in every Mass, so that scope is wide.

For example, the two solemn feasts of this month both included explicit references to reconciliation. The collect for All Saints invokes “so many intercessors” for an “abundance of reconciliation with you”; on Christ the King, the Prayer over the Offerings speaks of “the sacrifice by which the human race is reconciled to you.”

The first anaphora for reconciliation begins with simple, not soaring, language that is direct, touching, and even plaintive: “though we once were lost and could not approach you, you loved us with the greatest love.”

It speaks explicitly of Jesus celebrating “Passover with his disciples,” which is better than “the day before he was to suffer,” (Roman Canon) or references to being “betrayed” (II and III).

There is a vivid image of Jesus on the Cross: “his arms were outstretched between heaven and earth, to become the lasting sign of your covenant.” The theme of reconciling sacrifice is repeated between the two consecrations: “knowing that he was about to reconcile all things in himself through his Blood to be shed on the Cross.”

The conclusion of the anaphora marvellously combines direct speech and a touch of poetry.

Help us to work together
for the coming of your Kingdom,
until the hour when we stand before you,
Saints among the Saints in the halls of heaven…

Then, freed at last from the wound of corruption
and made fully into a new creation,
we shall sing to you with gladness
the thanksgiving of Christ,
who lives for all eternity.

American Catholics might appreciate that “freed at last,” which had particular resonances during the civil rights movement, but it is “Saints among the saints in the halls of heaven” that is most commented upon by attentive parishioners whenever I use it. Indeed, I look forward to that line from the beginning of the prayer, which is something of a liturgical experience of looking forward to blessedness in Heaven.

In the seminary, one of our formators advised us that every priest should, during Advent each year, read through the General Instruction of the Roman Missal and the Roman Missal itself. Familiarity and habit can otherwise restrict our working knowledge of what is there. Obviously, I did not heed that advice. I may be delinquent again this year, even though Advent is just beginning. It remains, though, good advice – lest it take more than twenty years to discover what is in the sacred book we use each day.