For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life. (John 3:16, NAB)At the center of the Paschal Mystery is the Sacrifice of our Lord. God the Father sent His only Son to live as fully human and fully divine and to give Himself and His life for the forgiveness of our sins. This idea of sacrifice is so central to our faith and our understanding of God.
In one of the most popularly observed pieties of Catholicism,1 many embrace the fasting element of Lenten observance by sacrificing something, or “giving something up,” for the duration of Lent, a time that parallels the forty days of temptation Jesus faced in the desert. Most of the time, our sacrifice is focused on taking something out of our lives — we focus on the subtraction of chocolate, dessert, coffee, soda, or something else we habitually use. The idea, when this sustains as something more than a sort of new New Year’s Resolution, is that our thoughts toward that thing we sacrificed will point us toward deeper contemplation of the Lord’s sacrifice in the Passion.
I think a frequently lost element of sacrifice is the simple idea of offering. In fact, the definition of sacrifice is “an act of slaughtering an animal or person or surrendering a possession as an offering to God or to a divine or supernatural figure.” So part and parcel in an act of sacrifice is an offering, beyond simply not doing something or not using something. Jesus doesn’t just give up His life; He offers His life to God and to all of us.
I was once in a relationship that started well but quickly turned rough, and I could not get a response from my girlfriend as I tried to figure out what was happening. I finally took a break, left my phone on my desk, and went to a chapel to pray. I started sitting up; I dropped my head in my hands; I knelt; I even laid prone on the floor as I tried to humble myself and embrace peace and surrender to God’s will to calm my heart.
I was seeking what I later learned is indifference or detachment — the spiritual practice of “making use of those things that help to bring us closer to God and leaving aside those things that don’t.”2 After about an hour alone with God, I finally felt calm and comfortable with whatever would come. A friend tracked me down and told me to call her back, and she broke up with me because I had failed to understand and communicate with her on an important issue. Her decision was fair and the right call. However, as I processed it, I too quickly lost that prayerful peace from God and instead invited anxiety, nervousness, and self-doubt. That offering of myself too easily gave way. I moved to languishing despondently when I instead could and should have been honest to my emotions alongside that God-given peace.
As usual, the Mass offers us strong footing in understanding sacrifice more fully. In fact, as we enter our anamesis — our memorial — of Christ’s sacrifice through the Liturgy of the Eucharist, we begin with the preparation of the altar, which includes the Offertory. At that point in Mass, the choir and/or cantor offer a song of reflection; the faithful typically offer their monetary support for the Church and its ministries; and, the people of God offer their simple gifts of bread and wine for the celebrant to consecrate and transubstantiate through the power of the Holy Spirit.
We are then called to offer ourselves, our sacrifices and all that we are, not just things we’ve lost or given up, but a surrender of our very selves as a gift to God. This is why I love the new translation of our prayer at this point in Mass, where the priest says, “Pray, brothers and sisters, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, the almighty Father.” The new words make clear and specific that the priest is not alone in the sacrifice of the Mass; we as the gathered people of God are offering our very selves to God, alongside the gifts of bread and wine, through our celebration of the liturgy.
The Eucharist has myriad gifts readily available to the attentive believer. In this case, the reality of placing myself on the altar as a sacrifice, as an offering, to God invites me anew into Eucharistic living. This has been underscored to me the last three weeks as my wife, Katherine, and I brought our one-month old daughter, Lucy, to Mass for the first few times.
Each week, we find a place near the back on the end of a pew.3 I set Lucy down next to the edge of the pew, file past her, and leave space for Katherine to sit between us for Mass. Since Katherine isn’t yet cleared to carry anything heavier than Lucy, when it comes time for communion, I let Katherine file past me, reach over, and pick up Lucy’s carrier to bring her forward with me. I enjoy facing her carrier toward those kneeling in prayer as I walk forward; I enjoy seeing the look on the Eucharistic Minister’s face as the carrier shows him or her the pudgy face of this little gal; and I love the reception of communion on my one free hand as I balance Lucy and her carrier in the other.
The reality of carrying forward my daughter while walking on the heels of my wife and her mother makes excellently concrete the offering of my life. Whatever my failings and sins, whatever my career and professional vocation, each week, I come before God’s altar to meet Christ with the offering of my being a husband,4 my fatherhood, and my family. I already love going to Mass, but this familial procession of offering to God only deepens that. And in bringing forward my joys and struggles, what I have and what I sacrifice, who I am and who I am called to be, I get to really offer myself.
1 I think it’s interesting to note those things that even more “casual” or less active Catholics observe. In addition to “giving something up for Lent,” most Catholics seem to go to Mass on Christmas and Easter and to receive ashes on Ash Wednesday, which is not actually a Holy Day of Obligation. I think the central reason for these sustained practices is the greatest motivator of all - social expectation. These three things are commonly talked about, and those who cannot say when/where they went to Christmas/Easter Mass, or what they’re giving up, or who walk around without ashes are missing something in social interaction. So those things more rarely fall by the wayside while regular Mass attendance and Reconciliation remain more rare.↩
2 Some good reading from IgnatianSpirituality.com here.↩
3 We strategically feed Lucy just before leaving for Mass. After burping her and strapping her into the carseat, the ride to church puts her to sleep, and she sleeps pretty soundly through Mass. The seat on the edge in the back is the failsafe to allow my wife the flexibility to make a quick exit should Lucy protest her current state. ↩
4 For parallelism in writing, I wanted so badly to use “husbandry” here, but “the care, cultivation, and breeding of crops and animals” just doesn’t quite fit.↩
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