Lovers of the Mass, and especially lovers of the theology of the Mass, are under a great debt of gratitude to Dom Romanus Rios, O.S.B., for his article in The Clergy Review of November, 1942,’ on “ Sacrifioium Quod Immolamus.” Our gratitude would have been still greater if the valuable list of words had been referred to their place in the Mass.

His two concluding sentences ofier an inducement to clear up some theological difficulties. He writes: “Lainez, S.J., when presenting his Votum on the Eucharistic Sacrifice defined the Sacrifice of the Last Supper, the Sacrifice of the Cross, and the Sacrifice of the Mass, each by itself and in its own way as a verum et plenum sacrificium. He was merely echoing the traditional Catholic doctrine as expressed particularly in the Secrets of the Mass.” (Clergy Review, November, 1942, p. 487.)

(1) The theological difficulty betokened by these words of Lainez called forth this plain decree of the Council:—Si quis dixerit, blasphemiam irrogari aanctissimo Christi sacrificio in Cruce peracto per Missae sacrifioium, aut illi per hoc derogari—anathema sit. (Sess xxii. De Sacrificio Missae, Can. iv.) Many minds, both inside and outside the visible Church, were perplexed by the words of those theologians who, rightly enough, maintained the sacrificial character of the Last Supper and of the Mass.

Theologians of the Church scrupled to call the Last Supper a sacrifice. To them it seemed that if the Last Supper was Christ’s redemptive sacrifice, then the Passion and Death were not Christ's redemptive sacrifice

In our age of frenzy and unrest, when peace and tranquility are threatening to leave Europe altogether, it is a good thing to reflect for a while upon patience, and thus reflecting to recover that spirit of quiet and detachment, which is an essential condition of our spiritual regeneration.

Patience is not a popular virtue. It lacks the splendour of charity, or the persuasiveness of humility. Its light pales beside the brilliance of an heroic virtue such as courage. To the superficial observer its attraction is only slight. This low estimation of patience is not unfounded in fact. St Thomas Aquinas teaches that this virtue is not only second to the theological virtues; it ranks lower than prudence and justice, fortitude and temperance. For these either establish man in the good life or restrain him from the more serious obstacles to virtue, while patience only enables him to suffer evil without being unduly cast down by it. Thus patience appears as an almost negative quality, no more than a necessary condition for the practice of virtue and the development of the spiritual life.

Yet patience is by no means an insignificant virtue. God Himself attached to it a promise which is well worth pondering, “In your patience you shall possess your souls.’’ The Church, in her wisdom, reminds us of that virtue in the very periods of the liturgical year, which are marked by slow development rather than by outstanding events. The “Dominus autem, dirigat corda et corpora nostra in caritate Dei et patientia Christi” of the Apostle is a prayer appropriate to that hidden life of the spirit, which continues quietly under the surface, whose fruits will only be revealed in the next world.

The importance of human life is seen from the end towards which it tends. That which gives a human being his unique value and place in the symphony of creation is his possession of an immortal soul made by God, for God, and whose duty it is to become “worthy of the vocation wherewith we are called,” which is the “lot of the saints in light.” This is the dominant theme interwoven throughout the fiery melody of God’s love for the human soul, and the integrating principle for all human activity. The fecundity of the divine self-contemplation is made manifest in His creative love which has ordained all things so that they form a far away reflection, a passing shadow of those riches of beauty and order whose plenitude is in Him. “For the invisible things of Him, from the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made; His eternal power also and divinity.” The social structure, therefore, composed of a community of persons mystically united through charity, one in grace yet diverse in operation, whispers of the Trinity of Persons in God. The very fact that we all partake of the same divine life obliges each, through charity, to serve and participate in the necessary Mass of his brothers sanctification, in order that we may become “a chosen race, royal priesthood, holy nation.” And the fundamental unit of this greater unity is the family, natural and supernatural, both motivated by the same principle of love, though differently directed as to the immediate end, and each affording to its members an ideal and natural context for the plenary development of those powers within the person whose need of fulfilment occasions their unity.