The Easter Vigil in the Holy Night is the "greatest and most noble of all solemnities" as the Roman Missal highlights in its preliminary notes to the Proper of the Vigil.  As celebrated today, among other things, beginning in total outdoor darkness and blessing the paschal candle outside the church, is one of the main fruits of the liturgical reform. By proposal of the liturgical movement, this was adopted ad experimentum for three years in 1951 per decree of Pope Pius XII, and officially instituted in 1954 for its celebration by the universal church. This helped us to go back to the original and ancient practice when Easter was celebrated by early Christians during the night, crossing midnight, and ending before the sunrise on Sunday. As the preliminary notes in the Missal explain:

1. By most ancient tradition, this is the night of keeping vigil for the Lord (Ex 12:42), in which, following the Gospel admonition (Lk 12:35-37), the faithful, carrying lighted lamps in their hands, should be like those looking for the Lord when he returns, so that at his coming he may find them awake and have them sit at his table. 
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One common error is to begin the celebration of the Easter Vigil when there is still light outside. The norms in the Missal prescribe it must be celebrated after all light is gone, precisely so that the celebration is illuminated by the light of the paschal candle, which symbolizes the crucified Jesus Christ who is now risen:

3. The entire celebration of the Easter Vigil must take place during the night, so that it begins after nightfall and ends before daybreak on the Sunday. 

But there is another liturgical error, made a lot more frequently than the first: leaving the church in the dark longer than it should, all through the Liturgy of the Word until the singing of the Gloria, turning the lights on at that moment.

This "error" (which strictly, is a liturgical abuse, as it violates the liturgical norms) is, most of the times, not done out of disobedience, but due to different reasons:

a. Not paying attention to the rubric in the Missal.

b. Not understanding  the liturgical theology of the rite of the Lucernarium -which explains the existence of the rubric.

c. Becoming used to celebrating Mass the own way of the priest and not the way of the Church.

The Liturgical Norm

The Roman Missal prescribes the following in rubric 17 (capital letters are mine, to highlight the text in question):

17. Then the Deacon places the paschal candle on a large candle stand... AND LIGHTS ARE LIT THROUGHOUT THE CHURCH, except for the altar candles.

It is only the altar candles that are not lit. They will be the ones to be lit at the Gloria, as rubric 31 indicates:

31. After the last reading from the Old Testament with its Responsorial Psalm and its prayer, the altar candles are lit, and the Priest intones the hymn Gloria in Excelsis Deo, which is taken up by all, while bells are rung.

The Liturgical Theology

The liturgical theology behind the moment to turn the lights on is the following: The rite of the Lucernarium expresses how the Risen Lord (whose symbol is the Paschal Candle) sheds his light gradually:

1. From the Paschal Candle at the fire pit (the first time the deacon sings "Lumen Christi").

2. To the local church (the second time the deacon sings "Lumen Christi" at a higher tone and the faithful share the flame taken from the Paschal Candle).

3. Through the entire world, when the deacon places the paschal candle at the solemn candlestand next to the ambo, and sings "Lumen Christi" at an even higher note". Because at this third moment the Risen Lord is shedding his life upon the entire world, all lights in the church are turned on. Even the Easter Proclamation (Exsultet) is sung with all the lights of the church on and all the faithful hold their lit candles. You just shouldn't be celebrating how the Risen Lord is shedding his light upon the entire world while your corner in the world remains in the dark. It is a contradiction even to what the deacon is proclaiming through the Exsultet:

"Be glad, let earth be glad, as glory floods her,
ABLAZE WITH LIGHT from her eternal King,
let all corners of the earth be glad,
KNOWING AN END TO GLOOM AND DARKNESS..."

.. while our parish remains in darkness??

Let's pray that all priests and deacons are more attentive to the liturgical norms and celebrate "the great and most noble of all solemnities" they way the Church prescribes, so the beautiful rite of the Lucernarium truly communicates to the faithful what it is meant to, and the Light of the Risen Lord can illuminate the entire world, including every church where his glorious Resurrection is being celebrated at the Easter Vigil in the Holy Night.

Be passionate about our faith!

The liturgical aspects that make of the Palm Sunday Mass unique and one of the most intense ones every year.
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After having prepared our hearts from the beginning of Lent on Ash Wednesday and for five weeks with our penance and our works of charity, on Palm Sunday we gather to begin, united with the whole Catholic Church, the annual celebration of the Easter Mystery, that is, the passion, death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, mysteries that begin with his entry into Jerusalem, the holy city.​

The liturgical name of this day is Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord. Through the anamnesis and mimesis of the sacred Liturgy, we remember and relive the entry of Christ, the Lord, into Jerusalem to consummate his Easter Mystery. The anamnesis consists of remembering an event that occurred in the past with the purpose of bringing it to the present. Mimesis consists of mimicking the gestures of a past event to relive them here and now. In this way, this liturgical memorial puts us fully in the joy of the triumphal entry of Jesus into the Holy City, especially when the liturgical celebration begins with a procession (the Missal allows two additional forms of entry: the solemn entry, without procession, inside the church; and the simple entrance in which the Mass begins, practically, as usual).

The anamnesis of the Entrance to Jerusalem is carried out by listening to the reading of the Gospel, which tells us this epic episode of the life of Jesus. In Year A, we hear the story made by Matthew (21:1-11), in which Jesus tells two of his disciples to go to the town in front of Bethphage and borrow an ass and a colt. 

In Year B, we may listen to the account of Mark (11:1-10), who speaks only of a colt and adds that some people in that town questioned the two apostles for taking it. We may also hear what John says (12:12-16), in whose version Jesus finds himself an ass and without further ado, He rides it to fulfill the Scriptures. Unlike the other evangelists, John does not detail the fact that the ass was covered with cloaks, which is a gesture reserved for a royal mount.

In Year C, we hear Luke (19:28-40) telling a version very similar to Matthew and Mark, specifying that it was the owners of the colt who questioned the two apostles who borrowed it.

The four evangelists are consistent in pointing out that Jesus was acclaimed when He entered Jerusalem, with hosannas and blessings to the King of Israel. Luke adds at the end that the Pharisees reproach Jesus by ordering Him to rebuke his disciples, to which Jesus replies by assuring them that "if they are silent, the stones will speak."

The mimesis is carried out with the procession of the assembly into the church, each carrying olive branches or palm leaves, which are sprinkled with holy water at the beginning, and chanting songs of acclamation to Christ the King. Just as it happened in Jerusalem that glorious day, each of us feels the branches and palms in our hands, advances among the people and sings acclaiming the Lord, reliving and making present that glorious moment.

A moment of great joy for Christ, his apostles, his disciples and for us, his Church. A joy that will soon be transformed into drama in the same liturgical celebration when the Gospel is proclaimed, which is distinguished from the gospels of the rest of the masses of the liturgical year in special ways: 

• No candles or incense are used at the ambo.
• The usual greeting “The Lord be with you... A reading of the Holy Gospel..." is not made at first.
• It can be read by three readers, always leaving the priest the words of Christ, or by three deacons.
• Taken from Mt, Mk or Lk depending on the corresponding year, it is the longest Gospel of all the masses of the year (it only competes in extension with the Passion according to St. John, but this is proclaimed in the Liturgy of the Passion of the Lord on Good Friday which is not a Mass).
• When we hear that Jesus dies on the cross, we all kneel in silence for a moment.

A dramatic Gospel that confronts us year after year with the injustice of the trials against Jesus, the torture of his flagellation, the torment of his way to Calvary and the martyrdom of his death on the cross. A Gospel that moves even the most insensitive listener and that leaves many with a lump in the throat. The drama of the Passion unfolds, step by step, before us. Our imagination puts us right in front of the agony of Jesus in Ghetsemane, standing in front of the Sanhedrin, in the palace of Herod and the praetorium of Pilate, on the side of the road to Calvary and at the foot of the Cross. A Gospel that leaves us speechless and that for that reason, for the only time in the year, the Missal allows instead of a homily to remain silent if the celebrant prefers so. But what causes that lump in our throat? What is it that leaves us speechless every year? The horror of the passion of Christ or the shame of knowing that although He has died for us, we have not been able to respond faithfully to Him? The pain of seeing Him suffer for us or recognizing that we are not worthy of such suffering?

Lent is not over yet. Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord is, in fact, the sixth Sunday of Lent. But with this celebration our Holy Week begins. It is for this moment we have prepared ourselves throughout Lent by praying more intensely, cultivating our generosity increasing our almsgiving and striving to keep the fast we traditionally observe. This week, Christ will institute the Eucharist and the priesthood on Holy Thursday, He will die for our salvation on Good Friday, from his grave He will descend to hell on Holy Saturday and will rise with all his glory on Easter Sunday. The mystery of redemption is about to be consummated and Christ invites us to witness his infinite love, living these sacred mysteries by his side.

Be passionate about our faith!

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© Mauricio I. Pérez 2024

Well into the second decade of the 21st century, we have become used to the way of celebrating Holy Week: Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord on the 6th Sunday of Lent; the Weekdays of Holy Week from Monday to Thursday; the Chrism Mass on Thursday, as the last liturgical act of Lent; the Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday, which marks the beginning of the Easter Triduum; the Liturgy of the Hours and the celebration of the Liturgy of the Passion of the Lord on Good Friday; the Tenebrae on Holy Saturday in the morning and the great celebration of the Easter Vigil on the Holy Night, in addition to local devotions in different countries, such as the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday.

For many of us, this is the only way we know to celebrate the Holy Week in the Roman rite — it’s celebrated this way since 1956, 68 years ago. It was at Easter that year that the new Ordinary of Holy Week instituted by Pope Pius XII at the end of the previous year came into use. It was, by the way, this change that decisively marked the liturgical reform that would lead to the promulgation of the first of the four constitutions of the Second Vatican Council, the Sacrosanctum Concilium on the Sacred Liturgy, on December 4, 1963.

Before this reform, the celebrations of the Easter Triduum attended by our parents and grandparents — then called "offices" — were celebrated in the morning, including the Easter Vigil. A noticeable change after this 1956 reform is to celebrate the rites preferably at the same times that the corresponding mysteries took place: the Last Supper on Thursday afternoon, the death of the Lord on Friday at 3 and the Resurrection at midnight between Saturday and Sunday.

Celebrating the Easter Vigil of the Holy Night after the sun has set completely on Saturday night — being Sunday already, liturgically — was one of the most important changes of the reform introduced by Pius XII. Other significant changes were the integration of the rite of the Washing of the Feet to the Evening Mass in the Lord's Supper. The "Sacred Triduum" became the "Easter Triduum". It is now recommended that the Liturgy of the Hours is prayed in all churches together with the people along the Triduum. A recent change, prescribed by Pope Francis in 2016, allows women's feet to also be washed on Holy Thursday.

But how did it all start? How did the first Christians begin to celebrate the Passion, Death and Resurrection of the Lord?

The birth of the Easter Vigil

Let's start with the Easter Vigil in the Holy Night, which is the highlight of the whole Holy Week. Jewish Easter is an annual holiday, which is always celebrated on the 14th of the month of Nisan, in the first full moon of the spring equinox. In those days, Jewish Passover was necessarily located in Jerusalem, but Christian Easter was not linked to that single date or that single place. To begin with, the first Christians celebrated the Easter mysteries of the Lord every week, on Sundays. This celebration was connected with the Last Supper, a memorial of the Passion and Resurrection of the Lord, with a sense of anticipation of his glorious return.

Later on, the Church began to celebrate Easter once a year, with the Vigil, in which prior preparation was required through fasting, which in its form and duration varied from one region to another. In several Churches, a 40-day fast was adopted, emulating the fast of Jesus the 40 days he spent in the desert after being baptized by John. This long fast was suspended on Saturdays and Sundays. There were communities in which the Easter fast began six days before Easter Sunday, starting the "Great Week of the Passion". Fasting was mandatory from Good Friday and throughout Saturday, up to and including the Easter Vigil.

Being a Vigil, it was celebrated at night, illuminated by the full moon and by lamps and candles. "On this night... the darkness of the night is overcome by the light of devotion," preached in a homily Chromace of Aquileia in the year 407. St. Augustine called it "the mother of all vigils" (Sermon 219). The homilies of those times usually refer to the burning lamps, citing that verse of the psalm that resonates to date in the Vigil when the Easter Proclamation is singed: "And the night will be luminous like the day" (Ps 138:12). 

It is likely that the lighting of the lamps was accompanied by a rite, which was then consolidated into a true liturgy of the lucernarium, with the blessing of the new fire. Towards the end of the fourth century, in the West the custom of lighting a large Paschal candle became widespread, accompanied by an Easter proclamation, in connection with the baptismal font. The greatest example is the Exsultet, attributed to St. Ambrose, sung by a deacon, and which Augustine recounts with emotion, in The City of God, the time he was commissioned to sing it "by the side of the Paschal candle."

The celebration could be introduced by a Paschal preface. The Easter Vigil included readings of the Old Testament: creation (Gen 1), the Passover lamb (Ex 12), the flee from Egypt (Ex 14-15), the sacrifice of Isaac (Gn 22), the song of Moses (Dt 33) and the dry bones (Ez 37). From the New Testament,  "Christ is our Passover" (1 Corinthians 5,7-8) and one of the pericopes of the Resurrection in the Gospel. The homily was preached before the readings, after them or at both times.

The celebration of Baptism during the Easter Vigil
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After the homily, baptisms were celebrated. Because baptism was administered by immersion in a pool, it was mainly given to adults. It was carried out in a building adjacent to the church, located near the entrance: the baptistery. In the Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus we find the oldest description of the baptismal rites, which provided that the candidates should bathe on Holy Thursday, fast on Friday and gather with the bishop on Saturday, praying on their knees. They spent "all night" on Saturday in vigil, listening to readings and instructions about the Christian life. 

At the crow of the rooster, the candidates were taken to the baptistery where they were immersed in the pool to be baptized. They were dressed in a white garment and, still in the baptistry, the rite of the washing of the feet took place involving the newly baptized, while the corresponding pericope in John’s Gospel was read. The neophytes went in procession to the church next, joining for the first time the assembly of the rest of the faithful, who welcomed them with joy. The celebration continued with the Eucharist.

With that Easter Vigil began the time of the holy joy of 50 days until Pentecost, considered "the great Sunday" that had been extended for seven weeks, and prefigured in the Old Testament by the feast of the weeks. In other words, the Easter season, which extends for 50 days (seven times seven days), culminates in Pentecost, which is not only the last day, but the sum and synthesis of those 50 days.

The entire Easter Vigil had a strong eschatological connotation, beautifully described by St. Jerome in his comment to Mt: "There is a Jewish tradition according to which the Messiah will come in the middle of the night, like the time in Egypt, when Easter was celebrated and the exterminator came and the Lord passed over the houses, and our foreheads were consecrated with the blood of the lamb. From here I deduce that the apostolic tradition has remained that on the eve of Easter the people are not dismissed before midnight, waiting for the coming of Christ, and only after making sure that He has passed, they all celebrate together."

It was in the second half of the fourth century that the Easter celebration began to include, in addition to the Vigil, a Mass on Sunday, the day of the Resurrection.

The celebration of the Easter Vigil allows us to grasp the essence of this feast: a rite of passage in which the threshold between death and life is crossed. Ancient authors interpreted the etymological sense of Easter in different ways: either as "the passing of the exterminating angel," or as a "pass of the people," or as a "passion of the Lord." The fact is that the meaning of the Christian Passover is the sacrifice of Christ, the ultimate Easter lamb.

Easter begins to be celebrated in three days

The desire to delve into the events of passion led to the extension of the liturgical celebration unfolding into a three-day triptych: the Holy Triduum of Good Friday (death on the Cross), Holy Saturday (Jesus' repose in the tomb and his descent into hell) and the Vigil at night until Easter Sunday. Origen describes the Triduum as "The first day is for us the day of the Passion of the Savior, the second is the one in which he descended to hell and the third is the day of the resurrection."

The Easter liturgy in Jerusalem gave rise to the chronological representation of the Passion, after Emperor Constantine exalted in the fourth century the places of the crucifixion and burial of Jesus, erecting on them the magnificent basilica of the Holy Sepulchre. This unique building included the Martyrium (place of the Cross), the Anastasis (Holy Sepulchre), an atrium and a baptistery.

Thus, the procession of the Palms was born in Jerusalem on the Sunday before Easter: the people, together with the bishop, gathered on the Mount of Olives to listen to the Gospel that describes Jesus' entry into Jerusalem. From there, everyone descended in procession down to the city singing hymns and psalms. That week's celebrations had the Passion as their motif.

Holy Thursday — called Coena Domini — commemorated the institution of the Eucharist. The sacrament of reconciliation was administered and the consecration of the holy oils took place. It was in the sixth century that, after the Mass, the "washing of the feet" of twelve poor people began to be performed by the bishop.

On Good Friday, a reading, singing and prayer service was held. In Jerusalem, a relic of the Holy Cross was venerated and kissed, a rite that soon spread to many churches in the East and West, for which the relics of the Cross began to be disseminated. Good Friday concluded with the "Mass of the pre-sanctified", that is, with the communion of the sacred bread that had been consecrated the day before.

Holy Saturday has always been a day in which the Eucharist is not celebrated. Only after sunset did the great Easter Vigil begin and Mass was celebrated on Resurrection Sunday.

Conclusion

For Catholics, Holy Week is the most important of the year. The last days of Lent, starting on Palm Sunday, prepare us definitively for the celebration of the Mystery of Redemption throughout the Easter Triduum. The Triduum is not made up of three celebrations, but by a single one, that unfolds like a triptych in three stages. Hence, the Evening Mass at the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday does not end with a blessing, since it will be given at the end of the Easter Vigil on the Holy Night.

The Easter Triduum is not the preparation for Easter. It is, rather, Easter itself. At the end of the day, there cannot be an empty tomb in the Easter Vigil without a Cross in the Liturgy of the Passion of the Lord, and there cannot be a Cross without the Cenacle in the Evening Mass at the Lord's Supper. In order for Christ to rise on the Easter Vigil, he must first die on Good Friday. In order to die for us, He must take us in communion with Him to the cross and thus, He cannot die on the cross without first instituting the Eucharist on Holy Thursday.

Be passionate about our faith!

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© Mauricio I. Pérez. All rights reserved.

One of the changes the liturgical reform brought along with the 1955 Holy Week revisions, was that Passion Sunday was formally renamed from Dominica Passionis ("Sunday of the Passion") to Dominica I Passionis, "First Sunday of the Passion" or "First Sunday of Passiontide". Palm Sunday, formerly Dominica in Palmis ("Sunday in Palms") became Dominica II Passionis seu in Palmis ("II Sunday of the Passion or in Palms").

Since the revision of the General Roman Calendar in 1969, the name "Passiontide" is no longer used for the last two weeks of Lent, although the former usage is somewhat preserved in the formal name for the Sunday before Easter, "Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion". However, the Preface called that of the Passion of the Lord I (The Power of the Cross) is used in the fifth week of Lent:

-Lift up your hearts.
-We lift them up to the Lord.
-Let us give thanks to the Lord, our God.
-It is right and just.
-It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation, always and everywhere to give you thanks, Lord, holy Father, almighty and eternal God, through Christ our Lord.
For through the saving Passion of your Son
the whole world has received a heart
to confess the infinite power of your majesty,
since by the wondrous power of the Cross
your judgment on the world is now revealed
and the authority of Christ crucified.

We must bear in mind that during the Preface, we spiritually are lifted up to heaven, from where we contemplate in awe a significant aspect of the present Mass we are celebrating, and from there in the height, we sing together with the choirs of the angels the same way the sing in the Book of Revelation to adore the Triune God: "Holy, Holy, Holy...". With the liturgical reform of the Vatican II, the Church wanted to make this elevation more sacramentally visible by making a change to the rubrics: the celebrant priest know must keep his arms extended from the point he says "Lift up your hearts" and all the way through the preface, to symbolize precisely that he (with us) is "flying up" to where the choirs of angels dwell.

The Preface is one of the latreutic parts of Mass. That is, it is one of the moments when we worship God. Many faithful make the mistake of not paying attention to the Preface. They just let the priest sing it by himself and at the end respond "Holy, Holy, Holy". But we all must actually pay attention to what he says. Otherwise, what are we adoring God for?

On this fifth Sunday of Lent, the practice of covering crosses and images throughout the church may be observed. Crosses remain covered until after the celebration of the Lord's Passion on Good Friday, but images remain covered until the beginning of the Easter Vigil in the Holy Night.

Be passionate about our faith!
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© Mauricio I. Pérez | All rights reserved.

[THE FOLLOWING IS THE TRANSLATION OF THE ARTICLE PUBLISHED IN POLISH IN POLAND BY THE ORATORIAN FATHERS OF ST. PHILIP NERI, IN THEIR SPECIAL EDITION TO COMMEMORATE 45 YEARS OF THE BEGINNING OF THE PONTIFICATE OF ST. JOHN PAUL II]

It was January 1979. I had just turned 8 years old and I was in the 2nd grade in elementary school. For the first time, the Pope elected a few months earlier, in October, was on an apostolic trip. His destination, the country where I was born: Mexico. He traveled to participate in the conference of the bishops of Latin America (CELAM). Until then, the world was not used to seeing popes travel. For John Paul II, this trip would mark an inflection point in his incipient pontificate. In Mexico he would discover the Lord's call to go all over the world, as he sent his Apostles before ascending into heaven —over time, he would be dubbed "the pilgrim Pope."

The day John Paul II arrived in Mexico City, January 26, everything was expectation and excitement. We must bear in mind that, back then, there was no internet or social media, so the information and photos of the pope were scarce, not as quotidian as it is today. So the way to get to know the Pope was to see him on television or better yet, go out on the street and see him pass by.

Everyone was surprised by his gesture of humility and good will when he got off the plane and kissed Mexican soil —that would become his signature gesture every time he traveled to any country for the first time.

When I got home from school, I was able to watch him on television with my family, celebrating Mass in the Metropolitan Cathedral. From there, he would go to the apostolic nunciature and his route passed a few blocks from my house. A passenger bus was adapted. The ceiling was removed and a pedestal was placed where His Holiness could stand, blessing all the people —that was the first version of what would later be the popemobile.

Millions of Mexicans ran to the streets to see him pass by. My parents and grandparents carried stools out of the kitchen so that two of my younger sisters and I could stand atop them. My youngest sister was barely a five-month-old baby. We stood on the corner of our street. There were a lot of people around. Suddenly, we heard closer and closer the screams from the crowd. A policeman passed on his motorcycle and then others and suddenly there he was! Pope John Paul II! He had a smile full of tenderness and a penetrating gaze. Standing on his roofless bus, holding a bar with his left hand, with his right he turned to one side and the other blessing us.

People shouted with thrill “¡VIVA EL PAPA!, ¡VIVA EL PAPA!” I heard my grandfather, who was next to me, screaming just like everyone else. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. The emotion paralyzed me and I couldn't say anything. Literally, John Paul II left me speechless. I felt in my heart as if Jesus himself was passing in front of me. Even as I write these lines, 44 years later, I shudder and my eyes are in tears.

It was love at first sight. The Pope fell in love with Mexico and the Mexicans with John Paul II. He told us words that resonated: "Of my Homeland it is usually said: Poland Semper fidelis. I also want to be able to say: Mexico Semper fidelis! Mexico always faithful!" In addition, he spoke to us in the almost perfect Spanish that he learned in as a young poet in order to savor the poetry of Saint John of the Cross, recognized as the best poet of the Hispanic language.

We were able to see it one more time and my feeling was the same. At 8 years old, those ephemeral encounters with John Paul II had given me the full conviction that it was worth being a Catholic and living as such. Since then, I have taken my faith very seriously.

His departure was sad and at the same time, exciting. The Pope asked us to go up to the rooftops and say goodbye to him with mirrors when his flight took off. The pilot flew over the city twice and as the Holy Father passed over our houses, we all pointed our mirrors at the plane. Then, he left... John Paul II stayed in my heart in a very special way. It was the beginning of an friendship in pectore that would last a lifetime.

On Wednesday nights, I did not miss in the news the weekly report given from the Vatican by the Mexican correspondent Valentina Alazraki, a prominent journalist who became an endearing friend of John Paul II. That's how I learned what he was doing, saying and teaching and already in high school, I began to study his encyclicals.

The second time he traveled to Mexico, I was 19 years old and was a college student. It was 1990 and we were in finals. That didn't stop me from taking to the streets once again. And once again, the same thing happened to me. People now shouted “¡JUAN PABLO II TE QUIERE TODO EL MUNDO! (John Paul II, all the world loves you!)“, but I couldn't. I was mute and my heart was palpitating at a thousand beats hour. His sweet eyes as he passed by shuddered me to the deepest. It was then that I understood the power of the shadow of Saint. Peter referred by Luke in The Acts of the Apostles (5:15).

At the university, between classes, I listened to all the Pope's events through my walkman. This is how I heard John Paul II's meeting with the youth, in which he told us, "You have in your hands, as a fragile treasure, the hope of the future... Do not lose hope, you are pilgrims of hope." I always remembered those words and later, when in another meeting with the youth the Pope told us, "You are the hope of the Church. You are my hope," I took them to heart forever. I promised myself that I would not disappoint the Pope. This is why I have devoted so much of my time, since my youth, to the work on adult faith formation.

I was no longer a child, nor a young man. I was now a 28-year-old adult. Shortly before I got married, in January 1999, the Pope returned to Mexico. He already looked old and tired, but unstoppable. That time I saw him on the streets more than ever, several times together with Lulu, my fiancée. I confess, on more than one occasion I arrived late to the office because I preferred to stop near the nunciature to see him pass by when leaving for his first event of the day. As he passed by, people yelled at him “¡JUAN PABLO, HERMANO, YA ERES MEXICANO! (John Paul, our brother, you’ve become a Mexican!)” In an exciting and memorable event at Estadio Azteca, where two Soccer World Cup opening games and two finals have been played, in 1970 and 1986, the Pope told us words that we would never forget: "Today I can say to myself: You are Mexican!"

The morning he returned to Rome, I stopped near the nunciature. I was surrounded by men in a jacket and tie, because from there we would go to work. When the popemobile came out, the only way to see the Pope, for the last time, was jumping over the crowd. Something very curious and at the same time very beautiful happened. Without thinking about it and without asking for permission, we began to jump leaning on the shoulders of the two next to us to get higher. When we fell down, those next to us did the same, leaping while leaning on our shoulders. And so, like pistons that went up and down, all in a jacket and a tie, jumping and helping us jump, we were able to say goodbye.

I didn't go to the office as I should. I preferred to rush to my house to watch his farewell at the airport on TV. John Paul II brought back the lyrics of a song and left us all with tears in our eyes: "I'm leaving, but I'm not leaving. I'm leaving but I'm not absent, because my heart stays here."

A few weeks before getting married, during that trip of the Pope, I made the decision that my first son would be named Juan Pablo, so that one day, when Karol Wojtyla went to heaven and became a saint —I had no doubt he would—, my son would have a great patron saint to watch over him.

We got married in February and in June we moved to the United States, where we have lived ever since. Three years later, in 2002, our son was born in February and his name was Juan Pablo. The Pope then announced that he would go to Mexico in June to canonize Juan Diego, to whom our Lady of Guadalupe appeared. His Holiness kept her a special love because her dark skin reminded him of his beloved Black Madonna of Cheztochowa. We then decided to travel to Mexico and take our little Juan Pablo so that the Pope would bless him as he passed through the streets.

We did so. I was shocked to see the same thing always happened. We stood on the sidewalk surrounded by thousands of people, under the summer heat, waiting for hours for the Pope to pass in his popemobile. After so long, our baby was desperate, crying at the top of his lungs because of the distress caused by the heat and by being surrounded by so many people screaming. Every time the popemobile approached, people began to scream even louder and our little Juan Pablo cried with more desperation. But when Pope John Paul II passed in front of us, our baby became instantly peaceful despite the fact that the cries of the people were to the maximum at that moment. Every time we saw the Pope, our baby entered into peace after crying desperately. Without a doubt, he himself felt the shadow of Saint Peter, which covered him as the Holy Father passed through the street.

I knew that would be the last time I would see the Pope in person. He also knew it was his farewell from Mexico. It was sad to see him leave on his plane for the last time. But sadder was the day he died, April 2, 2005. Like millions of people around the world, I was glued to the television for more than 24 hours watching what was happening in St. Peter's Square, until Cardinal Leonardo Sandri announced that John Paul II had passed away —That was the saddest day of my entire life.
I fell in love with John Paul II at the age of 8; at 19 he made me decide to devote my life to the apostolic work; about to get married, he renewed my conviction in my Catholic faith; and being a father, he blessed and gave peace to my baby who bore his name. My personal life, my life of faith and my apostolic life were marked by the Pope's visits to Mexico and by his teachings throughout his pontificate.

My second child, Marcos Iván, had just been born in 2006, when a redemptorist priest invited me to lead a pilgrimage with him to Poland "Following the footsteps of the pilgrim pope." We went to Cheztochowa and the basilica of Divine Mercy. I enjoyed every moment visiting his apartment in Wadowice, imagining how he lived with his father and brother and I sat for a long time contemplating the ceiling of the church where he was baptized, appreciating the paintings that represent each of his encyclicals. Of course, I didn't leave there without trying a delicious kremówka papiezka! The Pope's favorite dessert. We went to Kalwaria Zebrzydowska, as Karol Wojtyła did with his father and also to the cathedral of Krakow, which was his cathedral as archbishop.

On that trip, John Paul II would to lead me to another Polish saint, marking a cornerstone in my apostolate: Saint Maximilian Kolbe. A day before the last in Poland I was able to contemplate the cell in which he died in Auschwitz —I felt something very strong in my heart, not knowing what it was. The next day, we celebrated Mass in the chapel built by Maximilian in Niepokalanow, where he celebrated Mass. Serving at the altar, I felt the call to consecrate myself to the Immaculate Conception and join this way the Militia of the Immaculata. It is since then that my apostolate of evangelization has been done through radio, the written press and the internet, following the example of Maximilian Kolbe.

That pilgrimage to Poland culminated in Rome, visiting the original burial site of John Paul II in the crypt of St. Peter's Basilica. We were able to visit it after celebrating Mass at 7 in the morning. It was not yet open to the public, so I was able to pray in front of it for a long time. I will never forget how, before the tomb of John Paul II, I felt inside me exactly the same as I felt every time I saw him pass through the streets in Mexico.

The next day, I would meet Benedict XVI and it was like a change of baton. John Paul II had prepared me to dedicate the rest of my life to an apostolate of evangelization in the media, which I would now begin under the pontificate of Benedict XVI, to now continue with Pope Francis.

​My personal story with St. John Paul II has been one of endearing friendship, deep love and abundant learning —It was John Paul II who taught me to be passionate about my faith!
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Mauricio Pérez is a computer scientist, journalist and writer. He works in a computer network technology company and is dedicated to evangelization through the media as an apostolate. He has received five national awards of Catholic journalism in the United States. He was born in Mexico and has lived in the United States since 1999 with his wife and two sons.

In many dioceses throughout the United States, parishes are being consolidated or combined in groups of two, three and even four. A lack of priests make it hard to cover all the pastoral needs. In addition, dioceses struggle financially as tithing diminishes, while attendance to Mass keeps dropping. Closing churches and consolidating parishes might help manage the resources and make the pastoral work of priests more efficient, but this measure just won't help to increase the participation of the lay faithful and their attendance to Mass, let alone increase the number of priestly vocations. What's the root of the issue? A problem of faith.

In 2019, the Pew Research Center revealed something alarming: 7 out of 10 Catholics in the United Sates don’t believe Jesus is present in the Eucharist —To them, consecrated bread and wine are mere symbols of his presence. This lack of faith can be perceived, Sunday after Sunday, in so many churches that don’t fill up during the Eucharistic celebrations. 

Every time we Break the Bread, God our Father sends out his Holy Spirit to transform bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. Only for those who are certain in their mind, and convinced in their heart about this, attending mass is not an obligation, but a vital need. As Pope Francis warns in his recent apostolic letter Desiderio desideravi, on the liturgical formation of the people of God, “Christian faith is either an encounter with Him alive, or it does not exist” (Number 10).
For those of us who still believe, it is clear that we experience such an encounter with the living Christ in mass, which we attend with four purposes: to adore God (latreutic), to give him thanks (eucharistic), to ask for his forgiveness (impetratory), and to offer up our lives in sacrifice (propitiatory).

For those who have deserted mass and even for those who still attend, but thinking consecrated bread and wine are nothing more than just bread and wine, it is clear that their life lacks of that encounter with the living Christ, whom they are unable to sense.

What has led us to this lack of faith? Persistent liturgical abuses, shallow liturgies, homilies that talk about everything but the Gospel —which is the Living Word of the Living Logos— have contributed, without a doubt. Who can seriously believe Christ is truly present when Mass is celebrated that way?  "(Liturgical) abuses contribute to the obscuring of the Catholic faith and doctrine concerning this wonderful sacrament”. Thus, they also hinder the faithful from “re-living in a certain way the experience of the two disciples of Emmaus: ‘and their eyes were opened, and they recognized him’” (Congregation of Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, Instruction Redemptionis Sacramentum, 6).

Another factor is the insufficient sacramental catechesis. Many catechists don't receive a thorough preparation, and many just volunteer for the year their child gets ready to receive their first communion, loosing continuity and dept. In addition,  liturgical formation, both of the clergy and of the lay faithful is undeniably deficient. This poor formation leads to those liturgical abuses and shallow celebrations that make it difficult to believe that Chris is truly present. There is always a temptation of falling into a spiritual worldliness (Pope Francis, Evangelii Gaudium 93-97). This matter that has caused great concern to Pope St. John Paul II, Pope Benedict XVI and Pope Francis, who issued last year an apostolic letter devoted to the liturgical formation of the people of God, Desiderio Desideravi: “We are in need of a serious and dynamic liturgical formation” (Desiderio desideravi 31).

What do we do? Taking this situation to his heart, some bishops in the United States proclaimed in 2020 a diocesan Year of the Eucharist, in an effort to give focus to the Most Holy Sacrament. The COVID-19 pandemic came in between and made it hard to live such local jubilees when churches needed to be closed. But also, many priests didn't follow through in some of these dioceses, preventing parish communities from even knowing such jubilees were taking place.

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops has taken the Pew study to their hearts, launching the National Eucharistic Revival movement, to restore in our country the understanding and devotion of the great Eucharistic mystery. It spans along three phases: diocesan revival (which ends this month), continued by a parochial revival (through July 2024), followed by a year of Eucharistic mission (through Pentecost 2025).

On Corpus Christi 2023, the parochial revival phase begins. It's intended to foster Eucharistic devotion at the parish level, strengthening our liturgical life through faithful celebration of the Mass, Eucharistic Adoration, missions, resources, preaching, and organic movements of the Holy Spirit. Its success depends on the commitment of bishops, priests, and the lay faithful. Eucharistic missionaries are needed for this initiative. You may learn more at www.eucharisticrevival.org 

As we celebrate Corpus Christi, the solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, let’s not lose our amazement for the beauty of the Eucharist, neither our hunger to be satisfied with the Bread of Heaven that has within it all sweetness.
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Mauricio Perez is a Catholic journalist and author. He holds diplomas in Sacred Liturgy by the Pontifical Liturgical Institute at the Anselmianum in Rome, and the Pontifical University of Mexico.

Did you pay attention in Mass today? We celebrate Good Shepherd’s Sunday. Now, WHO IS THE GOOD SHEPHERD ACCORDING TO TODAY’S MASS? Without thinking, an immediate answer would be, “Jesus is the Good Shepherd”. Well, not exactly.

Actually, in today’s specific Mass, the one portrayed as the shepherd is God the Father, while Jesus is portrayed as “the gate”: “Amen, amen, I say to you, I am the gate for the sheep.” (Jn 10:7). We must not overlook two things in this affirmation:

1. Jesus says "Amen, amen", "In all truth I tell you", which is a formula he always uses before making a solemn statement, so the fact that he is the gate, is utmost important.

2. This is one of the 7 times in Jn when Jesus speaks of himself using God's name: I AM, once more, stressing the importance of him being a gate to the sheep.

The Responsorial Psalm in this Mass is Psalm 23, which reminds us of God the Father as the shepherd who gives us repose in verdant pastures.

The Prayer after Communion, following the same motif, makes the point of the Father being the shepherd once more: “Look upon your flock, kind Shepherd, and be pleased to settle in eternal pastures the sheep you have redeemed by the Precious Blood of your Son.”

It will be later, in Jn 10:11, when Jesus will speak of himself as “the beautiful shepherd” (ὁ ποιμὴν ὁ καλός in Greek), but not today.

​The fact that Jesus is the gate for the sheep is represented in properly designed churches through their main door. The main door of a Church is a symbol of Christ the gate, so doors shall be designed in a way that reminds us of Jesus as we enter and exit the sacred space.

I am convinced that one of the main reasons 76 percent of Catholics in the United States don't believe in the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist is the shallowness of a big number of liturgical celebrations as well as the numerous and audacious liturgical abuses that have proliferated all over. Nowadays, attending a liturgical celebration free of errors, if not of abuses, is strange. It might seem simple: just follow all​ the rubrics in the Missal. Nonetheless, this doesn't happen ordinarily. How can we make people truly believe Jesus is present in the Eucharist when the sense of reverence before the sacred mysteries doesn't exist? Who will believe bread and wine really become the body and blood of our Lord when priests, deacons, and extraordinary ministers of the holy communion alike handle the sacred species so nonchalantly? Who will take seriously the fact that Mass is a Eucharistic sacrifice when so many jokes are heard from the altar and the attention seems to be centered in the choirs, who receive a big applause at the end as if they were the pop idols of the moment?

The faith crisis the Catholic church in the United States is going through, demands a sense of utmost reverence and sacredness as well as liturgical correctness. Mainly, from priests, as celebrants of the sacrifice of the altar, during which they act in persona Christi. Yet, when it is nearly three out of four Catholics who won't believe in the Real Presence in this country, it won't be surprising to accept the fact that among those, there are also priests and deacons, who can recite by heart all the Eucharistic dogmas, but who won't believe Jesus in their minds when he says, "This is my body. This is my blood."

Traveling to Mexico for Christmas, as I do every year, I had a great and joyful surprise on the third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday. For the first time in my life, I attended mass at one of the parishes close to the home where I used to live. My parents began attending Mass at this parish lately, and dad insisted I would love it -I gladly went to Mass with them.

The demeanor of the priest as he approached the altar in the entrance procession, struck me. He was focused on the altar and not on greeting the faithful -I could sense he was one of those who take Mass very seriously -And I would be right.

I could see him incensing the altar, the crucifix (thrice), the image of Mary (twice), and of the patron saint (twice). I noticed the Reading explanations were read from a lectern, while the ambo was properly reserved for the Readings, the Gospel, the Homily, and the Universal Prayer. The homily was precise and to the point. The Eucharistic Prayer grasped my attention. The reverence of the priest was evident, and would reach its climax during Consecration. The celebrant priest elevated the consecrated host first, followed by the chalice, and kept holding each in the high for a long period. I could sense the contemplative silence of the faithful, who amidst the stillness, focused their attention on the host and the chalice as the priest held them with utmost reverence. I was moved by the delicate way the priest handled the host and made it rest on the paten, very carefully, as if it could break on his hands. It was clear the priest knew and felt in his hands he was holding no one else but Christ himself, a fact he reaffirmed with the two genuflections after the elevations. The priest did not just touch the floor with his knee and bounced back up to his feet. On the contrary, he remained touching the floor with his right knee for a long period, adoring Christ, present in the Eucharist.

The priest's reverence before the Most Holy, who had become present in his hands by the power of the Holy Spirit after being sent by the Heavenly Father, made me feel a lump in my throat. After communion, I could observe the priest was taking the same care as he handled the sacred vessels during Purification, evidently not taking any chance whatsoever of spilling any particle of the body or the blood of Our Lord.

This happened to be only the second Mass correctly celebrated, with no flaws or liturgical abuses, from beginning to end, that I have attended both in the United States an Mexico in the past 10 years.

Don't take me wrong. It is not that I am some sort of liturgical critic, who focuses on every subtle detail, as a film critic does, to make a commentary on every Mass I attend. No. But it happens that, by means of speaking, writing, and teaching about Sacred Liturgy, the same as speaking so extensively about liturgical abuses as part of my apostolic work, I have developed some sort of sixth sense that detects instantly when something is wrong. It is similar to the skill I have developed as editor of a Catholic magazine. By means of thoroughly chasing typos, spelling, and grammar mistakes before the magazine is sent to the printer, I cannot help but noticing errors of this kind every time I hold any kind of publication in my hands, even when my intent is not to chase errors but to read its contents.

Just the same, as Mass progressed, I could notice the priest was following every rubric in the Missal to a T, including the hand positions, the corporal inclinations during the Eucharist prayer -so commonly disregarded by priests-, and the sacred silence after the readings, the homily, and communion. Indeed! Both the organ and the cantor kept silent after communion.... Believe it or not.

I certainly couldn't care less about liturgical orthodoxy for the sake of fulfilling the rubrics and the prescriptions listed in the General Instruction of the Roman Missal. That would be pharisaic and pedantic. My interest rather, as well as my passion about forming the faithful in liturgical correctness, is helping to safeguard the sacredness of the sacred mysteries that unfold at the altar during the celebration of Holy Mass. For sure, the pristine celebration of this Mass helped the faithful to have a full experience of God throughout the liturgy.

When Mass was ended, I came to the priest. I introduced myself and thanked him for the Eucharist. I also praised him for the pristine liturgy he had just celebrated and asked him for an interview to chat more about this experience. He gladly accepted.

I went back two days later in the evening, and held with Fr. Carlos a delightful conversation, sitting in a pew outdoors, going deep into each of the parts of his liturgical celebration that had struck me. I was not interested in asking Father why Mass has to be celebrated correctly. I was rather interested in exploring the feelings that burst in the heart of a priest who takes the Holy Mass so seriously. Every time I present my lecture At the Lord's table, understanding the Holy Mass, I focus on the ways Mass shall become an experience of God to the faithful, as we actively participate from the pews. But I had never pondered how priests experience God as they go through the celebration. This was the best chance to reflect on the latter, hand in hand with a priest himself.

I offered Fr. Carlos to record the interview in video for my YouTube channel, or in audio for my radio program. He preferred me to publish it in writing. Every answer from the priest merits an article on its own. So I will being to translate each answer Fr. Carlos shared with me and will publish them with a commentary of my own. This is the first of a series of articles that, without a doubt, will benefit all those who know the Holy Mass is the personal experience of God par excellence.

Be passionate about our faith!