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WELCOME TO LITURGY AT ST. CECILIA'S For more information click on one of the following:
LITURGY AND PRAYER AT ST. CECILIA 'S
The common prayer life of believing Christians is at the heart of any parish community, and at St. Cecilia's this is no exception, as we believe the liturgy is at the center of our mission as a parish. As believers and followers of Jesus Christ, the liturgy is the primary source of strength as we celebrate our faith and seek to follow him more faithfully. The quality of our liturgies has always been a hallmark of who we are. We welcome all parishioners and visitors to respond to the invitation to give thanks to our God through the many expressions of liturgy and prayer here at St. Cecilia's.
Our coming together on the weekends to celebrate Mass is the starting point and climax of our weekly life as a parish community. The Eucharist is the ongoing heartbeat of our life at St. Cecilia's. We also provide many other opportunities for prayer and worship throughout the various seasons of the liturgical year. These include sacramental celebrations, the Church's Holy Days, and other important celebrations and prayer experiences such as All Souls Evening Prayer, Thanksgiving, the Feast of St. Cecilia, Advent Evening Prayer, Lenten celebrations of the Way of the Cross, Taize' prayer and many other opportunities for prayer.
We believe that our small, intimate, and beautiful worship space provides a wonderful sense of community and connection, and every time we gather, we strive to be a hospitable and inclusive community. We have a strong involvement of parishioners of all ages, and we are especially proud of the many young people who serve as acolytes, lectors and in our music ministry. Our worship space is totally accessible to those who are physically challenged; we also have a system in place for those who are hearing impaired; and coffee and doughnuts after both Masses on Sunday provide a weekly time of ongoing connection for each other.
Our pastor, Fr. Mike Byron, provides us with strong prayerful leadership, and we are very blest by his preaching that truly touches our lives and experience as parishioners. His homilies are usually posted here on the website, offering an opportunity to share and deepen the challenge of God's Word beyond our weekend celebrations. Our weekend Masses are also the occasion for important sacramental moments such as Baptism, Anointing of the Sick, RCIA and Confirmation rituals, blessings and other important threshold moments for members of our community.
In keeping with St. Cecilia being the patron saint of music, we are particularly known for being a singing community - we raise the roof here at St. Cecilia's! Under the leadership of our music director, Jeanne Dold, and our singing pastor, Fr. Mike, we see music as an important and powerful way to pray. We are a community with a diversity of musical tastes - we sing and pray with everything from chant and traditional hymns to the most contemporary styles of music being composed for the church today. We are excited about our new Yamaha piano, and our parish hymnal, Gather Comprehensive: Second Edition , provides us with a rich resource of songs, hymns, psalms and acclamations that help us to sing, celebrate and express our faith. Our choir is a very dedicated group of singers and believers who help fill the church with a beautiful sound, and we have many who generously serve as cantors and instrumentalists as well.
St. Cecilia's is also dedicated to outreach and the sharing of our space for occasional liturgical music concerts and ongoing workshops and events on liturgy and music, serving as a site for annual workshops co-sponsored with GIA Publications and The Emmaus Center for Music, Prayer and Ministry. These workshops have brought together many parish liturgists and music directors throughout the Archdiocese, and those from other Christian faith traditions.
Most importantly, we honor the call of Second Vatican Council that the gathered community be formed, supported and empowered in their "full, active and conscious participation" in the liturgy. This value is primary above all others in regard to our liturgical life here at St. Cecilia's.
Liturgy is truly the engine that keeps us going as a parish community - we invite you to join us in our praise of God each weekend. Saturday evening Mass is at 5:00 p.m., and our Sunday schedule celebrates the Eucharist at 8:15 and 10:00 a.m. Know that ALL of you are always welcome. Come and pray with us!
What follows are some of the more intentional ways to be involved in liturgy here at St. Cecilia's:
Together with staff members Fr. Mike Byron, Jeanne Dold, and Marge Virnig, we have a very active liturgy committee, which oversees the overall worship life of the parish. This committee meets once a month throughout the year to determine and evaluate the overall liturgical policies and direction of the parish; to do the major planning and preparation for the liturgical seasons and other special liturgical celebrations; to help the pastor and music director plan and vision for the future; and to provide ongoing formation for our various liturgical ministers and the parish community at large. The monthly meeting times, meeting minutes, and important liturgical calendar items are published regularly here on the website. David Haas presently serves as chairperson for this committee. If you have any questions about the committee's work, or are interested in joining, contact the parish office. Click here to access the Liturgy Committee Minutes for
There are many opportunities for parishioners to become involved in the various liturgical ministries here at St. Cecilia's. Members of our parish staff and others in the parish provide initial training and ongoing support and formation for all who are involved. For more detailed information regarding these liturgical ministries, contact Marge Virnig at the parish office (651-644-4502, ext. 24) or at: marge@stceciliaspm.org .
Below are some of the ways in which one can become more involved in the liturgical life here at St. Cecilia's.
Lectors share their gifts to proclaim the Word of God, not only at our weekend masses, but also at the many sacramental and other celebrations that take place during the year. Women, men, young and old - all are welcome to be a part of this important ministry, where we encounter the stories and wisdom of our faith.
The Ministry of Eucharistic Minister
Eucharistic Ministers not only assist Fr. Mike in the communal sharing of the bread and wine at Mass, but they are to be a living sign of how all of us are called to be the "Body of Christ" every day of our lives. In addition to sharing in this important table ministry at Mass, many also choose to help bring the Eucharist to those in our community who are sick or homebound.
Sacristans have a vital role in helping the details of the liturgy go smoothly. They assist in many ways: coordinating the various liturgical processions and collections; and they help to set up and clean up before and after the liturgical celebration itself.
It is very important that all parishioners and guests feel welcome when we gather to worship, and our ministers of hospitality are at the front line in helping to create a friendly and hospitable atmosphere. They help create a sense of welcome; they also coordinate and make sure all receive the bulletin, coordinate the collection, and assist those seeking a place to be part of our community.
The Ministry of Acolyte (Server)
This ministry is open to youth and adults, male and female alike, to help with the various ministries throughout the liturgy: in the processions of the cross and candles; assisting with the Sacramentary (the book of prayers at Mass), and many other responsibilities during the celebration of the Mass.
We are very proud of our parish music ministry, and there are many opportunities to share one's musical gifts here at St. Cecilia's: as a member of our wonderful choir; as a cantor to help lead the assembly in song and in the proclamation of the responsorial psalm; or as an instrumentalist to help add solemnity to our musical prayer. The choir rehearses once a week (except for the summer months), and rehearsals for cantors and instrumentalists are scheduled with our music director, Jeanne Dold. We also have a youth choir for children of all ages, who sing at special liturgical occasions throughout the year. For more information about our parish music ministry, contact Jeanne at the parish office (651--644-4502, ext. 28) or e-mail her at: jeanne@stceciliaspm.org .
This is a subcommittee under the direction of the liturgy committee, and their charge is to help create a visual environment for our community to pray. Through their creative work they help provide an atmosphere that reflects and gives unity and attention to the celebration of the various liturgical seasons and to our prayer together.
Homily 7/13/08
This past week I had the pleasure of driving through the high hills of Yellowstone National Park , and as I was there the local newspapers were remembering that it was 20 years ago right now that wildfires burned up nearly a third of that beautiful place. The devastation is still obvious all these years later. Those trees that weren't knocked over or obliterated by the fires are still charred barren sticks that point to the sky—mere skeletons of the living, breathing fires that they once were. But the papers noted something else too—something that was equally obvious as I toured through those mountain roads. They said that, contrary to all kinds of initial expectations, almost all of the forests have begun to re-grow—in far less time than was originally thought. And it's true—if you travel the park today, even the most devastated areas are covered with a lush carpet of green grass and young sapling trees—growing up right in the shadows of the timber. In fact, I learned that some of those trees produce pine cones that can't break open and spread their seeds except when a high-intensity fire consumes them—they need the destruction in order to be fertile. So a whole new generation of forest is growing up in Yellowstone today—not in spite of the fire, but because of the fire. There had to be death so that life could abound.
That may seem a little counter-intuitive, but it is a very Christian reality. The way we believers see it, life is not scarce or rare or illusive—it's everywhere, all the time. God is not stingy with his gifts; God is abundantly generous with them—but the gifts often come with the need for us to let go of what we thought was permanent and ultimate—but wasn't/isn't. An ecosystem like Yellowstone can't survive unless some trees die once in a while, and enduring life for us humans cannot be realized except through death…not only physical, literal death—although that's true too—but through a whole lifetime of renouncing false claims to enduring life…which is its own kind of dying.
Throughout the history of the Christian church, there have been various voices that have tried to tell us that salvation (life without God) is expensive, rare, difficult, offered only to a few, available only through the narrow channels of church control or through the attaining of arcane knowledge. But that's not true. Salvation is an open door, an invitation to absolutely anyone and everyone who will respond. It is offered to the many, and available to all who would welcome its demands. But it does , in fact, come with demands. To say yes to God's invitation to enduring life means saying no to whatever would presume to stand in as an imposter—whether that be wealth, health, power, reputation, or fleeting success/good fortune. That's the demand—a dying to what seems as though it ought to be permanent and absolute, but which is not, in fact, either permanent or absolute. Our gospel today is a story about a God who is not stingy with the offer of life and salvation, but who is instead generous to a fault. The sower of the seed in this parable of Jesus is the one who throws out the offer of life to anybody and everybody. He strews the seed on the path, on the rocky ground, amid the weeds—absolutely anyplace where it might grow, however unlikely some of the circumstances might be. No doubt a lot of seed is wasted in his hand—but far better that than in not being generous enough. The invitation to life with God is everywhere, every day. Yes, it demands a kind of dying in order to accept it, but there are none among us who are excluded from the invitation. So if we find ourselves outside the purview of God's gracious welcome into eternal happiness and companionship, it's not because of any reticence on God's part—it's not because of any hesitation on God's side to be generous. Rather, to be invited in to God's abundant life is a gift that meets us at every moment of every day—yes, it comes with a demand for a certain kind of dying, but only in order that we might live more abundantly, together. Fire can not only be destructive; it can be purifying and generative. It can be the cause of life.
What is it in our own hearts that has to burn down so that the seeds of new growth might take root? Where should death come to what is false in us, so that something new and good might spring up? In this and every Eucharist we celebrate a savior whose enduring life came not in spite if his death, but in and through his death. Let this be our pattern too.
Homily 7/27/08 I've been reading a great novel lately that involves reminiscence about the presidential campaign of 1972. The narrator of the book is a man who is about my age, but who was a teenager back then, and who is now reflecting on his lessons learned in power politics back when he was close to the action in New York as a young person. At one point he says this: “Think of a moment when a man begins to imagine himself as president of the United States . One of the hallmarks of our politics now is that we tend to elect those who can campaign over those who can lead; it's an obvious point, but I've been pondering it…For a man on the rise in politics, power first comes through character. After that, power begins to grow from its own essence, rising no longer exclusively from the man, but from the office itself…And here, of course, is where corruption begins: for power contains an irresistible urge to further itself: There is always the next race. But when finally there isn't any more, when at last there is no more ambition to quell, no more striving to follow as a guide star, then a politician must make a transformation that he may have no more ability to make than he has to grow wings and fly. He must change his personal ambition into ambition for his country. It's luck of the draw, of course, who can make that change and who can't.” It happened this week that I read those words in the novel on the same day that I began to reflect upon today's scriptures—and they both call out the same question, namely, what is it that is ultimate for us—that for which we are willing to subordinate absolutely everything else in life so as to have? What is the “that” which, once we have it, there isn't anything more for which to strive/look? What is that singular personal success in life that is the reason for everything else that we are willing to sacrifice in order to attain it? (I can't repeat this at the 10 am mass this weekend, because my father will be here, but on the day of my mom's burial recently, he was his usual eloquent self. He said that he has always believed that every person aspires to be a “success” at some one thing in his or her life, and that for him the singular success he attained was convincing my mom to be married to him for 50 years. That's the question that our readings hold out to us today; what constitutes success , as a Christian person?) What is it that's worth saying ‘no' to anything/everything else for the purpose of clinging to? What are we living for? In the end? There are many ways to answer that question. Some would say money. Some would say power. Still others: pleasure, reputation, convenience, a life of ease. But those are all pretty empty pretty fast, in the absence of love and community. That's not true only because Jesus said so; it's just…true…which is probably why Jesus said so. But long before Jesus, it was Solomon, the King of Israel, who figured that out—and for which God congratulated him in today's first reading. As we heard, the Lord asked Solomon in a dream to make a request—anything he might desire, and to know that his wish would be granted. It was, in effect, an invitation to name that for which everything else in his life was in service. What, in the end, was it all leading to, as the desire of his heart? And Solomon gave a very impressive answer: i.e., an understanding heart. “Lord,” he said, “Give me the gift of knowing what is right and true and good…what it is that any sincere person ought to long for—because its not clear that what I want and what is right to want are the same thing.” Isn't that what is, after all, at the heart of any real religion...The ability to discern what exactly is the good which we all should want? Isn't that which is so illusive? Anybody who would truly call him/her self “religious” does so because they have come to understand that there is a something that is at the center—a reason for our being here, to which absolutely everything else must give way. To be honest, we all have a center like that. The so-called “religious” people are the ones who have bothered to try to name what it is. What is , exactly, the treasure buried in the field, of which today's gospel speaks? What is that pearl of great price, for which a merchant sells everything that he has in order to purchase? What is the “that” that gets identified and saved and cherished from among all the “stuff” that the fish-net hauls in during a typical day of trolling? If it's not love, what in the world could it be? If, in the end, it's not about cherishing the people and the communities who are dear to us, then what exactly are we doing here, and what are we working so hard to attain? It would seem that, after all, if it's not about love—then it's about something fairly corrupt—like the place of politics, of which the novel I'm now reading speaks…that which is always about the next race—that which is about that next fleeting thing that I can do for me and my preferences. Like the presidential candidate, all of us are confronted—ultimately—with the question of whether our power and our passion is oriented for our own self-advancement, or whether it is for something bigger than that. Eucharist is our weekly reminder that it is always about something bigger—and more enduring—than that.
Homily 8/3/08
One of the students in my summer course this year at St. John's University is a Franciscan priest from Sri Lanka . We got into an excellent discussion in class one day this week about the significance of being sensitive to cultural diversity in doing ministry. He spoke about the universal law of the church which commands fasting on certain occasions during the year. His comment was, “Fasting doesn't make any sense to people who have no food, so in some of the villages they observe fast days by saving up what little they have to eat, and having a feast on that very day…a way to keep the day holy by doing something unusual.” I then reported my own story about living at a church in Boston during graduate school. During Lent, of course, we were obliged to abstain from meat on Fridays, so frequently the pastor would decide to serve up a dinner of stuffed Maine lobster—a delicacy that usually fetches about $30/plate at the better restaurants of New England . I don't think he got the concept. Making people eat seafood as penance doesn't make any sense to people for whom seafood is both common and exquisite. Tuna helper isn't exactly the same thing.
Both of these anecdotes point to a common reality though: namely, religion can't presume to extend an invitation to salvation, can't presume to “save” people, without being curious about what it is they need to be “saved” from or “saved” for . And what counts for pious practice in one context might be meaningless in another. It's true that our Lord has offered us the gift of salvation—salvation from sin, death, evil…that whole laundry list of threats that St. Paul articulates in today's second reading…anguish, distress, persecution, famine, and so on. But just as fasting as penance only makes sense to people who are used to having enough to eat, and just as eating fish as penance only makes sense to people who are accustomed to eating meat for dinner, so the sharing of Christ's compassion in concrete and specific ways only makes sense if it involves addressing people's actual human needs and longings…which, of course, requires us actually to get to know and understand them. A drenching rain shower this summer, for example, would mean something very different in Eastern Iowa along the Mississippi River, from what it would mean in the tinderbox of Northern California, where it seems everything is on fire.
It can be an occupational hazard in trying to do Christian ministry to presume to know what other people need without bothering to ask them, because it's what we think they need. And by “ministry” here I don't mean mostly the formal activities that church employees perform. I mean the way that ordinary Christian believers try to live out their religious commitments day-to-day, as parents, as children, as partners, as employees, as citizens, as members of faith communities, as friends. The hazard is in presuming to know too much about the life situations of those to whom we would presume to minister, those whom we would presume to “save” or with whom we would presume to “share the gospel.”
Today's beautiful first reading from Isaiah urges, “Come to the water.” But it's not a general invitation; it's specifically addressed to people who are thirsty. Not everybody is. Some already have enough to drink. And the ones who are invited in the same reading to eat lavishly and to drink wine and milk are not people in general; they are the people who have no money—those who otherwise could never be able to afford a banquet. And in the gospel today, Jesus' gift to the crowd wasn't just some sort of generic spiritual offering or blessing. No, they were hungry--literally—and far from any place where they could get food. To be a bearer of the gospel at that time and place and circumstance was not to be a preacher or a teacher: It was to give them something to eat. Jesus' gifts always corresponded to what was lacking. Salvation, for him, was always quite specific, and it still is. Don't give me more rain if I live in Iowa . Don't tell me to fast if I live in Sri Lanka . Don't impose a penance of seafood if I live in Boston .
And don't tell me to be a servant if I'm already being oppressed and don't tell me to behave or to believe this way or that without first getting to know me, and to understand the things in my life that threaten my hope, threaten my trust in God, and in my fellow human beings. Don't presume to know what “salvation” means for me before you bother to step into my world. The salvation that is given to us in Jesus is, in one sense, singular and universal. But it takes as many particular forms, on the other hand, as there are Christian believers. Some people need to know God's grace by being invited into a Christian community right now. Some others need to experience the very same grace by being left alone, for a time. Some need to be open to the salvation of God by being the recipient of charity, and some need to be opened to the salvation of God by being made to be charitable. Some need food. Some need shelter. Some need a friend. Some need to find quiet space and solitude. Some need to be shaken up a bit in order to find God in others, and some need to find God by stepping away from so many commitments to others. The crowds that came to believe in Jesus in the gospel today did so because it was late, and they were hungry, and they were given something to eat by this rabbi who was telling them about God. Perhaps a few of those whom we meet this week will be literally hungry or thirsty for food and drink, but most probably won't be. Instead, they will probably be longing for a different kind of salvation—a more metaphorical kind of food and drink.
They will be lonely people, in search of the salvation that is someone who listens to their story. They will be sad people, in search of the salvation that is someone who will sit with them in their grieving. They will be sick people, in search of the salvation that is someone who will care for them, even if only to sit in a chair by their bed. They will be awkward and nerdy people, rejected by others, in search of the salvation that is someone who will simply tell them that they are OK—as they are. They will be self-important blowhard people, in search of the salvation that is someone who will call them to honesty, who will name their debilitating pride out loud, whether they welcome that or not, so as to free them from self-absorption. They will be arrogant people, in search of the salvation that is someone who will remind them that real living is about community, so as to free them.
“Salvation” doesn't end up meaning very much to anybody if it's not wedded to the very specific moments of our days. When Jesus came to preach about it, he didn't use only words —in fact, he didn't use mostly words. He gave people food, and health, and hospitality—that's what it meant to offer tokens of the kingdom…and it still does today. As our bread and wine are presented to become salvation again today, may we, who mostly have enough food and drink to ingest—be reminded that this nourishment is meant to be translated into one thousand very concrete and individual ways this week through which we translate life and salvation to others.
Homily 8/10/08
Most people I know who make a reasonable effort to cultivate a mature spiritual life discover at some point along the way that they have learned to recognize a certain sacred space in their lives. It doesn't have to look like anything in particular, and it doesn't have to be overtly religious. It's just a space where God is sensed to be more powerfully present than in other spaces…where the spiritual vibes are usually a bit stronger and where it just feels more right and easy to examine the matters of the soul. For a lot of people, that space is a tangible, physical place, a location where one can return in order to speak with God and think about life. It could be a chapel, or a retreat center, or a monastery, or even a little prayer corner in one's home. It could be a big rock overlooking a river, or a lake cabin, or a mountain top or a park bench, or art gallery. For other people that space is not so much a spot on a map, but is rather found by travelling to a particular personal disposition, one that comes from engaging in specific behaviors, perhaps meditation or centering prayer, or the rosary, perhaps the liturgy of the church. Or it could be walking in the woods or floating on a boat or being in spiritual conversation with friends. It's harder to be intimate with God, it seems, when He is imagined to be everywhere in general but no one place in particular. (That difficulty, of course, comes from our end of the relationship, not God's.) And it's not only individuals who have their sacred spaces, whether physical or internal. Groups do too: families, parishes, even whole religions do. Two of our readings today speak of such spaces, first being Elijah's journey to the so-called mountain of God , named Horeb. We know it better as Mount Sinai today. If you go there you will find one of the most ancient Christian monasteries in the world at the foot, and if you dare to hike to the top (a fairly difficult climb) you'll find another chapel up there once you arrive. Very sacred space. And then the gospel today has Jesus and the disciples out on the Sea of Galilee — literally in this case. That body of water was at the very heart of Jesus' earthly ministry until almost the very end of his life. If you go there today you'll have a hard time keeping track of all the churches and shrines you'll find. Very sacred space.
So it's absolutely right and good that we hold out specific places of the earth and places of the heart as especially meaningful for meeting God. But there can be a dark side to those spaces too, and it is this: Anytime we are moved to reserve particular occasions or places as “holy,” anytime we begin to associate God's presence or action with any specific created thing, there can arise the destructive temptation to think we're on the road to capturing God in our understanding, thinking that we might begin to be able to empty God of mystery—at least a little. It's that temptation that leads us and others to imagine, for example, that if God is in that place or that experience, then God is probably not so present in other places and experiences. We start to think of God as being subject to the same constraints as anybody else, when it comes to acting in our world. It is we who have difficulty finding God every place and all the time, but that's not a problem for God. How is that possible? I don't know. He is Mystery. It's not that God doesn't want to be known to us and in love with us: He does . That was sort of the whole point of that Jesus thing. But even in Jesus, God doesn't want to be “figured out” by us, as if we ever could do such a thing. But we sure like to try.
And maybe that's why it's good for us to hear today's readings, because each of them presents us with mysteries to ponder, which is different from being presented with riddles to be solved. When Elijah is told that the Lord would be passing by the cave on the mountain, wouldn't it have been natural for God to present himself in power and violent force and fire? Doesn't his presence in the small, quiet voice seem fairly unlike the God we know? But even the posing of those questions gets turned back on us: How much about God do we presume to know anyway? How easy is it for us to speak about what seems “natural” or “likely” for God to do? Who do we think we are? We are not told in this reading just how Elijah was able to know where the Lord was; only that he knew. Apparently his intimacy with God was deep enough for him to have been aware of just whom he was dealing with in their relationship—enough to know that it's dangerous to try to predict the “how” of God's creative work with us, and it's wrongheaded to presume to know in advance what is sacred space and what couldn't possibly be.
And in today's second reading, Paul's letter to the Romans, he is trying to understand what was one of the most vexing religious mysteries of his day, and it still is for us Christians today. Paul, this man born Jewish, this ardent defender of Jewish faith, who literally had to be blinded and knocked to the ground in order to be converted to Christianity, this Paul is trying to figure out just how to think about the Jews now that we have embraced Christ. After all, as he says today, it was God who chose them in the first place. What is God up to? “They are Israelites, Paul writes, “They are the ones adopted by God himself as children. They were the ones given God's covenant gifts, the law, the glory, and the promises. Theirs are the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and theirs is the religion of Christ. Jesus himself, of course, was never anything other than Jewish until the day he died. So how can it be that this new faith of resurrection seems to be calling people away from the very faith of Jesus of Nazareth? Fortunately, Paul too knows something of the mystery who is God, and so he won't presume to have answered this mystery too quickly. He knows what he doesn't understand as well as what he does, and the one thing he does know is that God doesn't take back his promises or his gifts. I wonder how the last 2000 years of history might have looked for Jewish people if most Christians had been as humble in the face of mystery as Paul was. Paul seemed to know his own sacred space, but didn't presume to know about everybody else's.
And our gospel today also invites us into mystery. In this story of the boat crossing the sea, isn't it odd that none of the disciples is afraid of the rough waters and the wind before Jesus shows up, but they are terrified upon seeing him? Everybody knows that only ghosts walk on water, right? And surely God is bound by the same laws of gravity as St. Peter, right? Huh? God is? In just what kind of savior do you believe? One who is powerless over the forces that mortals are subjected to? One whose word cannot be trusted beyond the apparent evidence? What kind of God is that? Jesus told Peter to trust his word and step out of the boat, and Peter's response was as if to say, “Yeah, but…” Our living and mysterious God is far beyond all the “Yeah buts” that we'll ever encounter. That is a mystery to which we either, in the end, surrender ourselves because of our trust in his love, or we begin to confine God to the limits of our hopes and our understanding. There isn't much need for a God at all under the rules of the second option.
Our sacred spaces, all of them, are privileged places for being opened out into the Holy One who is God and who will always be Mystery—more loving, merciful, powerful, creative, and surprising than we could ever dare to imagine. In this God, dead people can live. Bread and wine can become Christ. Amazing. Let us be sure that that's the God we encounter in sacred space, and nothing less.
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Church of St. Cecilia 2357 Bayless Place St. Paul, MN 55114 Contact Us Phone: 651.644.4502 Fax: 651.647.1445 Email: info@stceciliaspm.org |