Over the past several weeks I’ve been giving some thought to a series of posts on American classical music. It’s a great Fourth, so why not start tonight with a great piece of American music?

I’ve always found tone poems and other themed music personally appealing. If I could assemble a list of about a dozen or two American composers and choose one such piece from each of their bodies of work, what would I choose?

I remember George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue from childhood. I can’t place where I first heard it, but it’s probably one of the top ten notable and recognizable pieces to people who are not well-versed in classical music.

I saw it performed about ten years ago in Iowa. Everybody seems to like it to some degree, so it bounced around outside my faves for quite some time. Practically everything else Gershwin wrote was tighter, more polished, and showed his growing ability to handle classical forms. Even people who love Rhapsody in Blue nitpick on its slapdash mixture of themes and ideas. But what marvelous themes! Gershwin was a musical genius. One can only imagine his contributions had he not died before he turned forty.

Did you know its original title was American Rhapsody? Gershwin conceived of the piece while riding the train from New York to Boston.

It was on the train, with its steely rhythms, its rattle-ty bang, that is so often so stimulating to a composer – I frequently hear music in the very heart of the noise… And there I suddenly heard, and even saw on paper – the complete construction of the Rhapsody, from beginning to end. No new themes came to me, but I worked on the thematic material already in my mind and tried to conceive the composition as a whole. I heard it as a sort of musical kaleidoscope of America, of our vast melting pot, of our unduplicated national pep, of our blues, our metropolitan madness. By the time I reached Boston I had a definite plot of the piece, as distinguished from its actual substance.

I have the Levine/Chicago Symphony recording which features Ferde Grofe’s 1924 arrangement from the premiere. Gershwin played at that concert and improvised some of the piano part. At one point some of the score was blank for the piano part with just a single instruction for the players, “Wait for nod.” We really don’t know if the original piano part was different from what the composer put into print later that year.

It’s a great piece for listening and for celebrating a holiday weekend. I find it electrifying every time I hear it. I think it shows the connection a composer can make with listeners above and beyond any intellectual analysis of what is the best. Good for Gershwin.

John Allen offers his opinions on the Raymond Burke transfer to Rome. It’s easy to zero in on one reason for doing something or that something happened. The reality is that often, many factors combine. Allen suggests there are four reasons why the appointment happened: Burke is well-liked in Rome and does the politics and social life there well; the man is extremely good at canon law; Burke is a “Catholic identity man;” and the appreciation for the US is waxing in Rome under Benedict.

And the big question:

Does all this mean that Burke’s reputation as a divisive figure in St. Louis played no role in the decision to send him to Rome?

Not necessarily. When Lopez Trujillo was appointed to the Council for the Family in 1990, it was widely understood that the move was motivated, in part, by controversies surrounding his role as the archbishop of Medellin. There is a bit of old Roman wisdom that you want sticklers for the rules, and for the teachings of the church, setting policy at a level beyond the limits of time and place, while more pastoral figures will decide how to apply those positions to the concrete situations posed by various cultures and historical moments.

Allen suggests the personal qualities of the next archbishop of St Louis will give a clue.

Meanwhile, north of the border, the Congregation of Bishops is playing musical chairs in Québec province. Bishop Joseph Paul Pierre Morissette (left), who has served the see of Baie-Comeau since 1990, gets a move to Saint-Jérôme, a diocese centered just 25 miles northwest of Montréal. Québec City Auxiliary Bishop Pierre-André Fournier moves to his own archdiocese in Rimouski, farther east along the St Lawrence Gulf and north of Maine. (Across the gulf from Morisette’s old see, by the way.) I don’t really know these guys, but I’d like to point out both moves contribute to a perception of the episcopacy as a career. Bishops move up to new sees with more people, closer to population centers. And auxiliaries move out into their own dioceses.

As speculation continues in Saint Louis for a new shepherd there, note how many archdiocesan clergy are not mentioned as possible candidates. That would be a traditional move probably not recognized by most traditionalist-leaning Catholics.

The bishops suggest that the preacher’s interaction with the Scripture is not solely an intellectual exchange of scholarly information and personal details of the parishioners. The homily is a creative composition based in part on the subconscious of the minister, and also the serendipity of the Lectionary choices for a particular community:

[55] Such prayerful listening to the text demands time, not just the time of actual reading and praying and studying but, just as importantly, the time of standing back and letting the text dwell in our unconscious mind. This period of “incuba­tion” as it is often called, is essential to all human creative effort. It is especially important for the homilist when reflecting upon texts which have become overly familiar, or which seem inappropriate for a given situation. With the use of a lectionary, the readings assigned for a particular day may seem to have little to say to a specific congregation at a specific time in its life. However, if the text and the actual human situation are allowed to interact with one another, a powerful interpretative word of faith will often emerge. But for this to happen we need to dwell with the text and allow it to dwell with us. Only then will the text reveal new meaning to us, a new and fresh way of interpreting and speaking about our world.

Agree? Disagree? Comment?

(All texts from Fulfilled in Your Hearing are copyright © 1982 USCCB. All rights reserved. Used with permission.)

The Vox Nova commentariat is “predictably” vigorous in discussing tomorrow’s optional memorial or votive Mass for Us independence. The Catholic Peace Fellowship is solidly in Elizabeth’s court. I can’t buck that decision.

I knew one priest who absolutely insisted on observing the woman rather than the nation on the 4th.

What do you think?

The latest Space Carnival is up, ready for viewing and surfing, courtesy Mang’s Bat Page.

That image above? It’s M64, the Black Eye Galaxy from NASA’s Hubble Telescope gallery. Nothing to do with the carnival, but a spectacular sight nonetheless.

The bishops suggest the Scriptures be used not as cover, but as real words God speaks to real people:

[53] To preach from the Scriptures in this way means that we have to “get behind them,” as it were. We have to hear these texts as real words addressed to real people. Scholarly methods of interpreting Scripture can help us do this by putting us in touch with the life situations that originated these texts, or by making us more aware of the different ways language can function as a conveyer of meaning. But scholarly methods are not enough. As we emphasized in the second chapter, the preacher needs to listen to these texts meditatively and prayerfully.

This is a suitable balance, don’t you think? Scholarship is indeed far from enough. And a preacher who relies on intellect rather than prayer and knowledge of the assembly is failing miserably.

[54] As preachers we go to the Scriptures saying, “What is the human situation to which these texts were originally addressed? To what human concerns and questions might these same texts have spoken through the Church’s history? What is the human situation to which they can speak today? How can they help us to understand, to interpret our lives in such a way that we can turn to God with praise and thanksgiving?” Only when we approach the Scriptures in this way do they have any possibility of becoming a living word for us and for others.

Even the Scriptures themselves were written for a human situation in the past. That others later found benefit is a credit to the inspiration of the texts, but it gives us the needed perspective and reminder that those very texts were rooted in human spiritual needs. Much the same needs are present today in any liturgical assembly. The preacher might see the homily as a continuation of this tradition, don’t you think?

In bits and pieces, I’ve shared some part of my family’s adoption story here on Catholic Sensibility and in comboxes elsewhere over the years. My friends at InsideCatholic asked me to write something over there. So I took a break from the liturgy and culture wars. You can surf over for a visit and add a comment if you wish.

I believe I could be writing more about adoption. My blog audience, fine people that you are, is pretty narrow in the big scope of internet things. About a third of my recent visitors come because of one short essay on Miley Cyrus. (Just typing her name in this post will probably bump up my referrals from search engines.)

Lots of you are liturgy geeks or sympathizers. Most of you are from the US. Are you an audience that would consider adopting a child? I’ve never thought so. That’s why, in part, I consented to doing a piece elsewhere on it.

I hope that doesn’t come off as insulting. That’s not my intent. What I’m trying to say is that my adoption stories would be human interest stuff on CS. I do get an occasional comment by e-mail that I should stick with what I know–liturgy. The posts on astronomy and family are slightly interesting, but mostly they just get in the way, they say. My friends know I’m an adoptive parent, and what more could I say to my regular readers to convince you to adopt in turn? I have the best kid in the world. The luckiest among you would get number two, at best.

If I knew I would have a larger audience to promote adoption, I would post on it more often.

I will also add that my wife is concerned about too much publicity. She gets nervous when I post images of her and especially the young miss of the family. I see other bloggers doing it, and I don’t do it too much … so a few times a year is usually tolerable. Otherwise, no clue where you can find us and cause mischief–heh. Like any of us could get off the grid if we wanted to.

If I had any confidence I could sway the world, I would give up liturgy blogging and go full at it on adoption. I still might do it someday.

Lots of bloggers are abuzz the past week with Archbishop Burke’s immediate move to Rome as prefect of the Apostolic Signatura. A contrast in commentariats tackles the issue. At dotCommonweal the few, the proud, and the brave “orthodox” are basically saying, “You support women’s ordination, so of course you’re cheering.” And at InsideCatholic they’re insisting he’s a really, really, really good bishop, just misunderstood. (Note: these are intentionally caricatured viewpoints with far less nuance than the real thing.) Archbishop Burke gets a red hat and a job he’ll love, but is it really a promotion?

Rock reported that Burke has long been a standout in scholarly circles, and capped that stage of his career with five years in Rome working at the Signatura before his 1994 appointment to the see of LaCrosse.

Which is the real Raymond Burke? The legal scholar or the bishop? Which was the sidebar to his life’s work: being a legal mind or being a pastor?

If the man’s heart is in law rather than leadership, he seems to resemble a bit of this American president, where moving to a high court was his most satisfying personal achievement. He once penned, “I don’t remember that I ever was President.”

If Burke shares that view, then the person will do better in Rome than in Saint Louis. At this stage of my life, I don’t begrudge anyone the most meaningful work in the most fruitful setting. He may or may not have been bumped by his brother bishops stateside. People may be cheering a bit that the long arm of canon law can’t reach across the Atlantic. But if the episcopacy was just a dalliance, then Archbishop Burke is cheering, too.

It does beg the question as to why we ordain an all-male clergy for this. We’re told men only for presbyters and bishops. Did Jesus establish at the Last Supper that the head of the Apostolic Signatura had to be male, too? If so, what is it about this office (or any curial position for that matter) that signifies Christ to the extent that a woman would not be considered. I’m sure there’s a legal opinion on that. Somewhere.

Personally, I’m glad–very glad–I’m staying in pastoral ministry.

The second of three wedding selections from Romans is another excellent passage. Much of Paul that is selected for the Lectionary is teaching material: theological, rational, philosophical. This passage isn’t one of those. In Judaism, much of the Old Testament is devoted to simple rules for living. Romans 12 and the following three chapters devote themselves pretty much to the apostle giving sage advice for good living.

I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God,

     to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice,

     holy and pleasing to God, your spiritual worship.

Do not conform yourselves to this age

     but be transformed by the renewal of your mind,

     that you may discern what is the will of God,

     what is good and pleasing and perfect.

We skip six verses to get to Paul’s advice for the Christian community. Husband and wife are a community of two, so this advice is still apt:

 

Let love be sincere;

     hate what is evil,

     hold on to what is good;

     love one another with mutual affection;

     anticipate one another in showing honor.

Do not grow slack in zeal,

     be fervent in spirit,

     serve the Lord.

Rejoice in hope,

     endure in affliction,

     persevere in prayer.

Contribute to the needs of the holy ones,

     exercise hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you,

     bless and do not curse them.

Rejoice with those who rejoice,

     weep with those who weep.

Have the same regard for one another;

     do not be haughty but associate with the lowly;

     do not be wise in your own estimation.

Do not repay anyone evil for evil;

     be concerned for what is noble in the sight of all.

If possible, on your part, live at peace with all.

The last three lines really apply more to those outside the believing community than other Christians. The framers of the Lectionary could have easily ended this selection at verse 16.

If an engaged couple wanted a simple listing of virtues to bring into their marriage and cultivate there, Romans 12 provides it. There are some wordings that seem strange given our modern tastes, but they really stand out and make one think. One example:

     … anticipate one another in showing honor.

Are we concerned about showing honor to a spouse? What does that mean? Has our Western egalitarian sensibility and exposure to tv culture rendered us more apt to deliver sarcasm or wit than real signs of honor?

This reading picks up on the Beatitudes, even echoes something of Matthew 5:1-12a. If this line of thinking were important to a couple on their wedding day, why not select these two passages and ask the homilist to develop this into more than a list of do-good advice.

The notion of a liturgy with a “theme” does have a place in the Roman Rite.  But it’s generally not on Sunday.

[51] In the section of the lectionary entitled “Masses for Various Occasions,” we find the thematic principle at work in a way that corresponds more closely to what some liturgical planners refer to as the theme of a liturgy: e.g., readings appropriate for Christian unity, or for peace and justice. Such thematic liturgies have their place, as the lectionary title indicates, on various or special occasions, rather than at the regular Sunday liturgy.

The bishops turn a bit more attention to how they see the Scriptures interacting with the homily. Above all, the homily is not a teaching moment as one would experience in a classroom:

[52] It is to these given texts that the preacher turns to prepare the homily for a community that will gather for the Sunday liturgy. Since the purpose of the homily is to enable the gathered congregation to celebrate the liturgy with faith, the preacher does not so much attempt to explain the Scriptures as to interpret the human situation through the Scriptures. In other words, the goal of the liturgical preacher is not to interpret a text of the Bible (as would be the case in teaching a Scripture class) as much as to draw on the texts of the Bible as they are presented in the lectionary to interpret peoples’ lives. To be even more precise, the preacher’s purpose will be to turn to these Scriptures to interpret peoples’ lives in such a way that they will be able to celebrate Eucharist-or be reconciled with God and one another, or be baptized into the Body of Christ, depending on the particular liturgy that is being celebrated.

Some preachers attempt to show their intellectual prowess by using the tools of scholarship in an overt way in the homily. I mean the various ways in which one can study and interpret the Bible: historical criticism, form criticism, redaction, etc.. The bishops clearly come down against this. In fact, they assume a preacher will know the community so well so as to help them make connections between their lives and apt examples as the Lectionary presents itself to the community.

The bishops also see the Word, proclaimed and preached, as a liminal experience leading the people into the celebration of the sacraments. That’s a solidly Catholic approach, but one we would do well to remember. It also differentiates us somewhat from non-sacramental churches and their approach to liturgy. Is there ever a time in which the Word becomes the prime focus in liturgy?

(All texts from Fulfilled in Your Hearing are copyright © 1982 USCCB. All rights reserved. Used with permission.)

Fr Martin Fox and others mentioned ideas and resources on the Paul’s Year thread below. Any other ideas for you armchair liturgists in the reading audience?

Myself, I’ve been pondering something like a “lessons and carols” format (similar to the Office of Readings) with a portion or two from the Torah, maybe Psalm 19 or 119, or even some of the New Testament hymns Paul quotes in his letters.

What about daily or Sunday Masses? Is it a good year to focus on the Pauline readings in the homily? Do you think people want the theology of Paul or his story? What about playing up the ecumenical angle? Or do you think this is an idea that shouldn’t be overblown? Comments welcome.

Let’s get it out in the open: this is one great reading.

It’s appropriate to observe Year of Paul, day two with a look at one of the three wedding Lectionary suggestions from the letter to the Romans.

This reading is a favorite for prayer and spiritual direction. The whole of Romans 8 finds Paul preaching with enthusiasm on the Spirit of God. By the time we get to verse 31, enthusiasm gives way to a kind of glee. Can you catch it?.

Brothers and sisters:

If God is for us, who can be against us?

He did not spare his own Son

     but handed him over for us all,

     how will he not also give us everything else along with him?

Who will bring a charge against God’s chosen ones?

It is God who acquits us.

Who will condemn?

It is Christ Jesus who died, rather, was raised,

     who also is at the right hand of God,

     who indeed intercedes for us.

What will separate us from the love of Christ?

Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine,

     or nakedness, or peril, or the sword?

 

No, in all these things, we conquer overwhelmingly

     through him who loved us.

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life,

     nor angels, nor principalities,

     nor present things, nor future things,

     nor powers, nor height, nor depth,

     nor any other creature will be able to separate us

     from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

I wonder about Paul’s legal theme. The man was well familiar with legal proceedings, as a pharisaic Jew and as one who had been accused of crime. Several times accused and imprisoned, in fact. Paul’s optimism may have been grounded in experience: with God as one’s defender, what could anyone do to him? How could anyone possibly have the power to harm him? With God on the defense, the opposition had no hope.

Engaged couples sometimes have a similar attitude. With my beloved at my side, so the thinking goes, who can stand against me? Not family, not old flames, not unjust employers, crazy co-workers, high fuel prices, or any of life’s struggles and trials.

Imagine if engaged and married couples were serious about incorporating God into that equation. Then obstacles like poor communication, differences in approaches to sex, poor finances, families of origin, and the usual suspects would really seem trivial in comparison to the grave matters of faith.

Couples don’t chose this reading much. It’s not as overtly romantic as 1 Corinthians 13. Paul doesn’t word-drop “love” as often as John. But Paul knows what side the bread is buttered on. Love triumphs. When we speak of the love of God, we speak of a majestic and glorious thing that transcends even life and death. Who wouldn’t want that working for us?

This reading gives us a serious complement to the selection from Song of Songs. If a couple is looking for an expression of the timelessness of love, and love’s power, and they’re not afraid to share their humble human love with God on their wedding day (and beyond) this is a wise choice.

Why are the readings at Catholic liturgy set up as they are? What relationship does that have to the homily?

[50] The homily is not so much on the Scriptures as from and through them. In the Roman Catholic tradition, the selection of texts to be read at the Eucharistic liturgy is normally not left to the preacher, but is determined ahead of time and presented in the form of a lectionary. The basic purpose of a lectionary is twofold: to ensure that the Scripture texts appropriate to a feast or season are read at that time, and to provide for a comprehensive reading of the Scriptures. Thus, we find in the lectionary two principles guiding the selection of texts: the thematic principle (readings chosen to correspond to the “theme” of a feast or season), and the lectio continua principle (readings taken in order from a book of the Bible which is being read over a given period of time).

I think I see the distinction the bishops are attempting. If the homily were on Scripture, it would really be more about the teaching and catechesis. Ideally Scripture is the source of content. Ideally Scripture is the means by which God’s love and will are communicated to the faithful.

(All texts from Fulfilled in Your Hearing are copyright © 1982 USCCB. All rights reserved. Used with permission.)

After Giovanni Cassini first espied Tethys and Dione in 1684, satellite discoveries dried up for more than a century. Astronomers didn’t think to look for new planets either. Lack of imagination? Perhaps so, because many famous astronomers viewed them. They just didn’t know what they were seeing.

John Flamsteed (bust, left), Britain’s first Royal Astronomer, indeed sighted Uranus in 1690. He called it “34 Tauri” and continued with his famous cataloguing work.

The great Galileo had a close encounter with Neptune. In 1612, two days after Christmas, he actually noted Neptune as he sketched the moons of Jupiter. Just the man’s luck that Neptune had, that very day, begun its retrograde motion and was stationary in the sky. Galileo did note Neptune’s movement in some drawings a little more than a year later. But the inspiration didn’t dawn that he was seeing a new planet. The moons of Jupiter got him into enough trouble, I guess.

We can forgive Galileo and Flamsteed for missing 30,000-mile wide planets. There’s a lot of space, even along the ecliptic to hunt for things. Once you get the planet, sleuthing the moons is one step easier. Though the moons are always much smaller and dimmer than the primary, the search is greatly narrowed.

At any rate, it took a church musician to further draw back the curtain of the unknown from the outer solar system. William Herschel (right) was an immigrant from Hanover, Germany and had a comfortable life in Bath, England. He wrote music, directed bands and orchestras, and gave concerts with his brothers and sister. In mid-life he adopted astronomy as a hobby and began building his own telescopes.

And in March 1781, he began tracking a green orb (below) moving slowly against background stars in Taurus. After consulting with professional colleagues, it very soon became clear that Herschel had found a new planet. It changed his life.

King George III gave him an annual salary, with the understanding Herschel would make himself available for sky parties at Windsor Castle. (I guess they needed a distraction from those upstart American revolutionaries.) The new “King’s Astronomer” suggested the name “Georgium Sidus” for the little green orb.

The French didn’t approve. They called the new planet “Herschel,” and were unaware one of their own made no less than a dozen sightings of this planet in the 1750’s and 60’s.

German astronomer Johann Bode suggested Uranus as a name. Two things seemed to work for its acceptance. That a new planet was named for a Roman god kept a consistency with Saturn, Jupiter, and the others. Uranus was also god of the sky, and at twice the distance of Saturn from the sun the little green body was pretty “deep” in the sky.

Herschel continued to refine his telescope-building under royal patronage. He didn’t neglect his green orb discovery, and six years after it, identified two moons in orbit. Funny thing about those moons: Herschel’s telescopes were, for half a century, the only instruments in the world powerful enough to view them. The amateur had advanced to the head of world class.

Saturn’s edge-on rings in 1789 gave Herschel a chance to test the limits of his monster 49-inch reflector. First night of viewing: Enceladus. Then a month later: Mimas. Within a decade, Herschel had tied the records of Galileo and Cassini, throwing a planet into the mix if you want to consider a tiebreaker.

Here are Herschel’s 18th century moons: Titania (magnitude 14.0) and Oberon (14.2) of Uranus, both discovered in 1787, Enceladus (11.7) and Mimas (12.9) of Saturn, viewed in 1789. You’ll notice Saturn’s moons are brighter than Titania and Oberon by one and two magnitude factors. They are as hard to spot because of the nearby glare of the planet Saturn in an Earthbound telescope. Myself, I have yet to see them.

The Voyager 2 and Cassini space probes have given us great views of these four moons, far beyond the imaginative and intrepid Herschel. Check them out, first Titania:

Then Oberon:

Enceladus, of geyser fame:

And Mimas, with a giant crater named … Herschel:

It’s worth noting that the difference in magnitude between Jupiter’s bright Ganymede (4.6) and these 18^th century moons is on par with the difference between the full moon and Venus.

My imagination snags on my commonality with Herschel. Hey! I’m a church musician who loves astronomy, too. Unlike Herschel, there’s no way I’d convince my sister to patiently take notes while I observed the heavens. Also unlikely I’ll be building telescopes with the technology of the mid- to late-21^st century–fifty years ahead of my time as Herschel was.

Still, following in the footsteps of a great observer like William Herschel is exciting. No other branch of science is as receptive of the contributions of amateurs as astronomy is. It should give us all a sense of pride in our accomplishment to be standing with astronomers of centuries past, probing the unknowns of space, possibly with our own hand-made instruments and hand-drawn charts at our side.

And besides, if there are no planets or moons in the solar system left for me to discover, I guess I could write an oboe concerto.

How does the believer respond to good preaching? The faith of a believer should lead to a response of some kind. The bishops give two examples, then offer a third that is always appropriate.

[47] When one hears and accepts this vision of the world, this way of interpreting reality, a response is required. That response can take many forms. Sometimes it will be appropriate to call people to repentance for the way they have helped to spread the destructive powers of sin in the world. At other times the preacher will invite the congregation to devote themselves to some specific action as a way of sharing in the redemptive and creative word of God. However, the response that is most general and appropriate “at all times and in every place” is the response of praise and thanksgiving (Eucharist).

Our relationship is with more than a God of qualities, but with a God who claims us as children, as part of the Divine family.

[48] When we accept the good news that the ultimate root and source of our being is not some faceless Prime Mover, not a merciless judge, but a prodigally loving Father who calls us to share in his love and to spread it to others, we sense that it is indeed right to give him thanks and praise.

Sacrosanctum Concilium spoke of the Eucharist as source and summit. When we are troubled, weak, or in need in any way, the Eucharist is the source of grace, that place where we may find the “spark of faith” that sustains our lives and our expression of Christianity:

Although we have received this good news, believed in it, and sealed our belief in the sacrament of baptism, we need to rediscover the truth of it again and again in our lives. Our faith grows weak, we are deceived by appearances, overwhelmed by suffering, plagued by doubt, anguished by the dreadful silence of God. And yet we gather for Eucharist, awaiting a word that will rekindle the spark of faith and enable us to recognize once again the presence of a loving God in our lives. We come to break bread in the hope that we will be able to do so with hearts burning. We come expecting to hear a Word from the Lord that will again help us to see the meaning of our lives in such a way that we will be able to say, with faith and conviction, “It is right to give him thanks and praise.”

Note the definition of the Scriptures as a collection of documents that detailed believers interacting with the world:

[49] The preacher then has a formidable task: to speak from the Scriptures (those inspired documents of our tradition that hand down to us the way the first believers interpreted the world) to a gathered congregation in such a way that those assembled will be able to worship God in spirit and truth, and then go forth to love and serve the Lord. But while the task is formidable, it is not impossible especially if one goes about it with purpose and method. ‘

And in the next several posts, we’ll look more closely at this “purpose and method.” Meanwhile, any comments?

(All texts from Fulfilled in Your Hearing are copyright © 1982 USCCB. All rights reserved. Used with permission.)