Wonders Never Cease

The Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time was anything but ordinary at our chapel last Sunday morning. Mass was celebrated by our recently arrived parochial vicar, formerly pastor of a downtown parish and spiritual director of American seminarians in  Rome. His sermons are always interesting, doctrinal, edifying, and often quite amusing. This Sunday's was no exception, and even included an anecdote about the Lutheran exegete (and pupil of Bultmann) Ernst Käsemann, under whom our priest had studied. Good enough, but the best was yet to be.

The final "hymn" was "The City of God," which I dislike for both its sappy music and its even sappier theology. As I ground my teeth, I noticed that Father had remained at the entrance to the sanctuary, facing the congregation. What's going on? I wondered. Is he staying there so we won't leave before the song is over? Did he forgot to make an announcement?

When the hymn was over, Father interrupted the postlude to tell us that we were all Pelagians; "Let us build the city of God," the song had us exhorting one another; we'd do it all ourselves. After a brief explanation of Pelagianism and the observation that St. Augustine must be rolling over in his grave, Father took up his station at the chapel entrance, and we all filed out. I was flabbergasted—and overjoyed.

I hope Father continues to comment on the musical fare. If he needs some examples, I've got a little list . . .