22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time; St. Adalbert's.
One year at Notre Dame’s
baccalaureate Mass, I was the person tasked with purifying the vessels after
communion. As I was purifying the main, celebrant’s chalice, I noticed whose it
was. It had belonged to Fr. Sorin, Notre
Dame’s first president, who had left his home country of France to make the
long dangerous journey to Indiana to found a school, taking risk after risk to help
this school survive and then grow. It
wasn’t the chalice he’d received at his ordination, but one he’d been given on
one of his ordination anniversaries by a benefactor. The precious metal alone must have been worth
a pretty penny, the craftsmanship and artistry more, and the history behind it
probably made it the most expensive thing I’d ever held, and certainly the most
expensive thing I’d ever swilled water around in and drunk out of. The most expensive thing I’d ever held, but
not the most valuable: for a little while before I’d embraced fellow Christians
in the sign of peace (how we long to be able to return to that), and a shortly
after that I’d held the body of my Lord briefly in my hand, before I consumed
it. “What could we give in exchange for
our life, or the life of anyone?” Jesus
asked. Nothing, we could give nothing so
valuable as a life. What would he give
for our life? Everything. He would give his clothing, his blood, his
body, his very life, to lead us into eternal life.
