May 12, 2002

This is the day we have waited for these many months, when the new tabernacle will be blessed. After September 11 when all things seemed desolate, it became obvious that Christ had been put into a corner of culture. Restoring the Blessed Sacrament to the heart of the sanctuary is a vivid expression of renewed confidence in God alone. This has recently been done in the chapel of the North American College in Rome, where I was ordained to the diaconate. It has also been done in the chapel of our own Archdiocesan seminary in Yonkers.

Our parish is uniquely located in the epicenter of the universe (I speak as a New Yorker) to make an impact on society by what we say and do. We are stewards of the location God has assigned to us, and will be accountable to Him for it. I think you will find that the new Tabernacle is worthy of the beauty of our church, whose fabric is the result of the sacrifices of many faithful people over the years. Nothing can really be worthy of the inestimable gift of the Real Presence of Christ, but we offer our best.

The same Christ told us that if we cast our bread upon the waters it will come back sevenfold. That is happening here. We risked a little in raising money for the tabernacle when we are still encumbered with debts. It turns out that we raised a splendid amount for the tabernacle, and at the same time giving for other obligations increased. This is not to say that we are yet where we should be: some Catholics in our land seem to be the only people left who consider the one dollar bill a major monetary denomination. But God knows from what we give, and he blesses any offering small or great that comes from the heart.

Once when we were alone together after Mass, Mother Teresa of Calcutta told me that "the thing that makes me the saddest" is the casual and thoughtless way some people make their communion. The Prince of Lies has terrorized our nation with violence and he has terrorized our Church with scandal, and all these sorrows begin when he attacks our Eucharistic Lord. But he can no longer touch Christ, and that is his agony.

Every day in the Church of St. Aloysius in Oxford, England, where I used to preach on Sundays, J.R.R. Tolkien had devoutly prayed before the Tabernacle. He wrote to one of his sons: "Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed SacramentThere you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves on earth."

Fr. George W. Rutler