W
Warrenton
Guest
Interesting question.
Christ warned that we “do not know what time it is.” In the OF mass this past Sunday, Christ continues the theme of time in the parable of the laborers in the field - regardless of whether the worker arrives at sunrise, noon, or even, all receive the same pay.
This strikes the “earlier” worker as unfair.
And in human justice, it is unfair. But, as Christ repeatedly reminds us, the ways of the Father are not our ways. Thus Christ warns us, we do not know what time it is. But we need to know.
Regardless how early we think we arrive, in God’s time, we are the hindmost worker. In other words, we are perptually running late.
The fate of the one who fails to heed the king’s invitation, however, is worse still. That one shall be cast into outermost darkness: hell.
There is one place where one can get a sense of the right time. That is at the old mass.
Within the changeless precinct of the mass, one can know what time it is, because time there stands still, or at least as still as mortals can make it. Fixed, it serves as the true point for reckoning: the beginning and the end.
Catholics for at least 1700 years have reckoned from that point, and in substantial substance, probably for longer. It is the method by which saints and sinners reckoned their relationship to God. Each generation, ours included, passes away like the grass. The mass remains as the perpetual reference to the faithful: the kingdom of God is at hand.
To me, the old mass is the absolute expression of unchanging Truth: time is passing, and I must repent, be saved or be forever lost. Only one name saves, and none come to the Father but through the Son.
What change is excessive, like how much wine makes one drunk, is perhaps not carved in stone. As the desert Father remarked, if there were no Satan, three cups of wine would not be overmuch.
Because I am such a sinner, I need the message repeated the same way - just like the call of St. John the Baptist. Perhaps, with our Lady’s intercession, I will learn before leaving this world. To learn it, however, it must be repeated the same way, because I am so late in coming to the vineyard.
Once a week, if I can get to the right church, I am reminded what time it really is.
Christ warned that we “do not know what time it is.” In the OF mass this past Sunday, Christ continues the theme of time in the parable of the laborers in the field - regardless of whether the worker arrives at sunrise, noon, or even, all receive the same pay.
This strikes the “earlier” worker as unfair.
And in human justice, it is unfair. But, as Christ repeatedly reminds us, the ways of the Father are not our ways. Thus Christ warns us, we do not know what time it is. But we need to know.
Regardless how early we think we arrive, in God’s time, we are the hindmost worker. In other words, we are perptually running late.
The fate of the one who fails to heed the king’s invitation, however, is worse still. That one shall be cast into outermost darkness: hell.
There is one place where one can get a sense of the right time. That is at the old mass.
Within the changeless precinct of the mass, one can know what time it is, because time there stands still, or at least as still as mortals can make it. Fixed, it serves as the true point for reckoning: the beginning and the end.
Catholics for at least 1700 years have reckoned from that point, and in substantial substance, probably for longer. It is the method by which saints and sinners reckoned their relationship to God. Each generation, ours included, passes away like the grass. The mass remains as the perpetual reference to the faithful: the kingdom of God is at hand.
To me, the old mass is the absolute expression of unchanging Truth: time is passing, and I must repent, be saved or be forever lost. Only one name saves, and none come to the Father but through the Son.
What change is excessive, like how much wine makes one drunk, is perhaps not carved in stone. As the desert Father remarked, if there were no Satan, three cups of wine would not be overmuch.
Because I am such a sinner, I need the message repeated the same way - just like the call of St. John the Baptist. Perhaps, with our Lady’s intercession, I will learn before leaving this world. To learn it, however, it must be repeated the same way, because I am so late in coming to the vineyard.
Once a week, if I can get to the right church, I am reminded what time it really is.