As the Father has sent me I am sending you

Mankind must know that they have a Saviour in God, so that they can open themselves to his purifying and sanctifying action. Hence the need for Christ to have messengers among them. It is not only a logical necessity, it is the whole pedagogy of God, as revealed in the Bible.

We could imagine these envoys devoid of powers and content to say to mankind, “Open yourselves by faith to the grace of the Lord. We cannot forgive you your sins, but resort directly to his mercy; we cannot give you the Holy Spirit, but ask him.”

Christ wanted more and better. He decided that his representatives among mankind would be others of Himself, “He who listens to you, listens to me.” “He who receives you, receives me.” Whoever receives you, receives me, not only because you represent me, like the ambassador does for his sovereign; but because, in truth, I am present in you, speaking, acting; through you I purify, and through you I give life. So his envoys, the apostles and priests, do not only claim the invisible influence of Christ, but they speak and their word is effective, because it is the word of Christ; they act and their gestures are creators of the divine, because they are acts of Christ. They do not say, “Go to Christ so that he may absolve you”, nor even, “May Christ absolve you,” but rather, “I absolve you,” and “This is my Body…”

Should we therefore forego the vision of Christ in glory acting by himself on men to adopt a different conception: men, who would be “another Christ,” continuing through time and space the work inaugurated by Jesus during his stay among us? The formula “another Christ”, to designate the priest, is indeed traditional, but it must not be misinterpreted. There is only one Christ, He who is at the right hand of the Father; and when priests speak, baptise, absolve, consecrate, it is He who acts, inserting his action into their words and gestures. Here we find a way of doing things that Christ had familiarised us with during his stay among us: his divine power, to manifest itself, came through His humanity – thus He took the hand of the little dead girl and said to her, “Child, get up”; He used a little mud to restore sight; a force escaped from Him through the fringe of His coat to cure the woman subject to bleeding.

Today it is His priests that He uses to reach mankind. They are His instruments, not instrument-things, but instrument-people, free. The word instrument is unpleasant, but it has the advantage of clearly expressing that priests are in the hand of Christ, the one He uses to act. One word, however, is better: priests are sacraments of Jesus Christ; beneath their humanity it is He who is present and active: a sacrament, in fact, is a visible reality through which the invisible manifests itself and acts.

Thus the priestly body, and the sacraments at its disposal, and the activities which are its own, is throughout time and space the great instrument, the great sacrament which the glorious Christ uses to accomplish His work among mankind. Through the priestly body, He continues His mission as a prophet by speaking of God and in the name of God; through the priestly body, He continues his mission as a priest by offering His sacrifice and by sanctifying mankind; through the priestly body, He continues His mission as king by governing His people. In a word, through the priestly body, He builds His Church.

Today, as in the past, not everyone is a priest. You must be from the family of Aaron chosen by God—I mean you must be connected to the Apostles and through them to Christ, thanks to this uninterrupted chain of which the bishops are the links. Only the man, who has received the imposition of the hands of an Apostles’ successor, is invested with the powers of Christ, becomes the anointed of God, a man of God.

It remains for us to speak of the triple activity of priests: prophetic, priestly and pastoral. This is the subject of this entire notebook. It will suffice here to outline it.

The Priest—A Prophet

Statistics suggest there are approximately 400,000 Catholic priests worldwide. This implies—assuming an average priestly ministry of forty years—that 10,000 young men hear and answer Christ’s call each year. It is striking to observe that, amidst the tumult and inattention to God characterising our modern world, the Lord’s call still manages to reach those He has detected, chosen, and prepared. For twenty centuries, this same event has repeated itself: Jesus passes by, fixes His gaze upon a young man, and draws him away from his family, his profession, and his ambitions with those ever-constant words, “Come and follow me.” Like the descendants of Levi, the chosen one receives no share in the distribution of land; indeed, he is even asked—something not required of them (Levi’s descendants)—to forego romantic love and fatherhood. Yet, like them, he receives a magnificent promise, “You shall have no inheritance in the land… I am your inheritance and your portion.”

While the Lord always finds hearts ready to give of themselves, how many others reject the call! How many young men of means are held captive by their wealth! Parents reading this, I implore you: ask yourselves whether you are raising your children to be free to answer Christ’s call.

Called and anointed with the holy chrism—accompanied by the outpouring of the Holy Spirit—the young apostle sets out wherever Christ, through His Church, sends him. The specific mandate accrediting him to a particular community must not mislead us; through his ordination, the priest is spiritually sent out to humanity as a whole. He does not approach the segment of humanity that becomes his field of action as a tourist, nor does he live among them as a stranger; rather, he enters into it, making himself present in the fullest sense of the word; he embraces their sorrows, labors, and ambitions, and he takes responsibility for them. Father Lebbe gave up his Belgian nationality to become a naturalised Chinese citizen. Father Damien eventually contracted leprosy while living among lepers. This follows the example of Saint Paul, who declared that he became a Jew to the Jews and weak to the weak, in order to win them all for the Gospel. Is it not this same spirit that dwells in the hearts of today’s priests as they immerse themselves in the thick of humanity—amidst the most destitute masses—whether in our own lands or in distant regions?

To be all things to all people while remaining set apart—because one is a man of God—is the paradox of the apostolic life. A man of another world living in the midst of this world, a man of God and a man of the people: the priest will always experience in this tension. His faithfulness lies in denying neither God nor humanity.

As one who is sent, he must bear witness to God in a world that does not know God. “It is remarkable,” Léon Bloy (a French novelist, critic, and polemicist, a fervent Roman Catholic convert) observed, “that in an age when meticulous information has become the world’s Sorceress, not a single individual can be found to bring people news of their Creator.” Priests belong to the lineage of the prophets. To them, too, the Lord declares, as He did to Jeremiah, “You shall be my mouth.” Like the prophets and like Jesus Christ, they stand among humanity as defenders of God’s holiness and zealous guardians of His glory. Yet they are also—and above all—witnesses to His love: “God is Love“—this is the Good News they are called to proclaim. It is good news—though terrible for some—because if God is Love, then whatever refuses Love cuts itself off from God. Indeed, another aspect of their mission is to root out sin and denounce it—not, certainly, to condemn people, but to invite a sinful world to turn to the only Saviour.

It follows from what we have just said that their preaching is not a proclamation of personal, original ideas, but rather of the Word of God as contained in the Holy Scriptures, as understood and taught by the Church, and as they assimilate it through prayer. “Servants of the Word of God“—one of the finest claims to fame.

It is not an easy mission. The Word of God is like red-hot iron; it sparks discontent, hatred, and rebellion. Consequently, the priest often faces the strong temptation to water it down so as not to displease people. Or to remain silent—though Jesus said, “If they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.” Or even to try to blend in, “After all, I am no better than anyone else!” Elijah sighed on a day of discouragement. Yet the apostle can neither remain silent nor retire, “Woe to me,” Saint Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “if I do not proclaim the Gospel.”

To speak in God’s name, one must know God’s mind and stand before Him, as Elijah did, “As the Lord lives, before whom I stand.” A prayer by Saint Augustine beautifully expresses what this persistent quest for divine thoughts should mean for the priest, “As far as I was able, as much as You gave me the power to do so, I have sought You. I have desired to see in which I believe; much have I striven and laboured. Lord my God, my only hope, never let me tire of seeking You, but make me seek Your face with constant ardour. Give me the strength to seek You—You who have enabled me to find You and have given me the hope of finding You more and more.”

He who persists in this search may well say, like (Georges) Bernanos’s country priest, “When, by chance, the Lord draws from me a word useful to souls, I feel it by the pain it causes me.” For the Word of God within the apostle is like a child taking shape, stirring, and longing to be born. More than once, he will experience what Saint Paul did, “My preaching relied not on the persuasive language of eloquence, but the Holy Spirit manifested Himself in it with power.” Admittedly, not everyone will be convinced; yet, in those who welcome it, the priest’s word will become “Spirit and Life.” Through his lips, Another will have spoken.

The Priest — A Priest

Through the priest—His missionary and His prophet—Christ reaches out to people across the globe. He proclaims the God of Love to them, and the truth that they are sinners—and thus cut off from Him—yet that salvation is possible thanks to the great Event of human history: the Paschal event, His death and resurrection. And He calls them all to share in His glory.

But there is no path to Him other than sacrifice, and no sacrifice other than that of the Cross.

For the Jews, there was only one place for sacrifice: Jerusalem and its Temple. Likewise for Christians: Calvary. Yet, while sacrifices were multiplied at the Temple because they were radically imperfect, Christians have but one sacrifice, for it is perfect. In this sacrifice, Jesus Christ is both priest and victim. Through this sacrifice, He expresses—in human flesh—the interior offering and infinite love of His heart as the Son, “From all eternity, there was indeed an infinitely adorable God, but there was not yet an infinite worshipper; there was indeed a God worthy of being infinitely loved and served, but there was no man—no infinite servant—capable of rendering infinite service and love. You are now, O Jesus, that worshipper, that man, that infinite servant—infinite in power, quality, and dignity—able to fully fulfill this duty and render this divine homage. You are that man who loves, worships, and serves the Supreme Majesty as He is worthy of being loved, served, and honored.”

Christ presented this perfect sacrifice to the Father not in His own name alone, but in the name of all humanity. What, then, remains for mankind to do, since a sacrifice—a perfect tribute to the holiness of God—has been offered on their behalf?

The sacrifice of Christ is indeed perfect, and in one sense it lacks nothing; yet in another sense, it lacks everything. It was offered for all mankind, but each person must still ratify it, lay hold of it, and make it their own. “You need a priest,” Jesus Christ tells every person, “I offer you My services. You need an offering; I place My Body and Blood in your hands. But do not forget that My sacrifice cannot become yours without your own interior offering—and in that, I cannot take your place.”

The Mass is precisely this unimaginable offer from Christ. It is His sacrifice placed at our disposal; for under the species—or appearances—of bread and wine, it is the Body and Blood of Christ that are offered, and under the appearance of the priest, it is Christ Himself who officiates. It is, in truth, the sacrifice of the Cross re-presentedand renewed. Let those who believe in Christ come to it—not as to a spectacle one merely watches, but as to an action in which one cooperates. Let them truly grasp it, make it their own, and offer it as a sign of their own interior offering. The righteous of the Old Law had only turtle doves, lambs, and bulls to offer; those who believe, however, have the Lamb of God. The Jews had only men as mediators; those who believe have the Son of God.

The approximately 400,000 Masses celebrated daily—whether in great cathedrals or in humble country churches, amidst polar ice or in the heart of Africa, or even in concentration camps—represent the sacrifice of Christ gradually becoming the sacrifice of all humanity. Christ’s sacrifice took place on Calvary; it was the supreme Sign of His interior offering and the great Act that summarised every action of His life. Day by day, it becomes the great Sign of the interior offering of all Christians—the great Act in which all human laborus and loves, all joys and praises, are gathered up. It is celebrated everywhere and carried to the ends of the earth so that nothing may be left out; it is renewed daily so that men—constantly drawn by earthly concerns—may be daily restored to communion with the Father, and so that their everyday actions, whether small or great, may be united with the sacrifice of Christ. Just as all people are meant to form a single Body in Christ, so too are their countless actions meant to form a single Act: the Sacrifice of Christ.

As in any sacrifice, Christ’s sacrifice involves a twofold movement: one ascending and one descending. As we have seen, all human offerings converge within it to reach the Father. From it flows the life that Christ desires to give to humanity in abundance. Through Eucharistic communion—and through all the other sacraments and blessings that prepare for and extend the Eucharist—Christ’s interior life is communicated to humanity; it is the Spirit of the Son who enters into them to raise up the Son’s great hymn of praise and to celebrate His eternal thanksgiving, His Eucharist.

For twenty centuries, this great liturgy has been celebrated; spreading from place to place, it reaches every race and every civilisation. It is the very liturgy the prophet Malachi predicted to his contemporaries, “From the rising of the sun to its setting, in every place, a pure sacrifice is offered to my name, for my name is great among the nations.” And if the world endures, it is to allow Christ’s sacrifice to penetrate ever deeper into the universe—into its farthest corners and its very depths—so as to raise up everywhere the great sacrifice of praise and to bring about a vast movement of liberation from sin and of ascent toward the Father. This is the Paschal mystery of the world.

The priest—that humble child of humanity among us—is the one granted the privilege, through the glorious Christ acting within him, of being the agent of this wondrous transformation of the universe.

The Priest—A King

The Church of Christ—whose Eucharistic sacrifice we have just seen to be its source, centre, and defining act—is essentially a spiritual, invisible reality, graspable only through faith. Yet, in one respect, it is also an earthly reality and thus subject to the demands of human societies. It cannot do without an authority that enacts laws and regulations, exercises judgment, and maintains an administrative structure.

We must now address the governing authority of the priestly body. Many of the faithful react with indifference when this priestly function is discussed. While the importance of the other two functions—the prophetic and the priestly—has not escaped them, they view this third function merely as a necessity to which they must resign themselves. And yet, Christ is no less at work in His priests when they govern than when they preach and officiate. The bishop who leads a diocese is not—as some imagine—a mere bureaucrat or police prefect. Through him—as he leads, admonishes, counsels, and initiates—it is Christ who acts, and every action of Christ is sanctifying. He is not an intermediary who stands in the way, but rather the means by which the members of his diocese are united to Christ. It is understandable, however, that Christians might struggle to discern Christ’s presence in the hierarchy’s power of jurisdiction. For in its exercise, this power involves a greater human element—as the history of the Church amply demonstrates. Nevertheless, submitting to it in a spirit of faith opens one to the life-giving influence of Christ.

I have spoken as though the Church’s royal function consisted solely of legislating, administering, and commanding. It is indeed that, but with the highest of purposes: the sanctification of souls, the unity of the faithful, and the achievement of the Mystical Body. But it is not merely that. It is, first and foremost, a pastoral task. “You shall shepherd my people,” God said to David, “the king after his own heart.” “Feed my lambs… feed my sheep,” Christ said to Peter when entrusting the Church to him. It is an ancient biblical image, cherished by the Jewish people, who remembered their nomadic origins—and above all, that shepherd, at once fearsome and fascinating, who led them for forty years through the desert toward the Promised Land. It aptly expresses the apostle’s need to lead those entrusted to him to the springs of Life—the Word of God and the sacraments; to defend them against errors and dangers, and above all against the Enemy who prowls around the flock, seeking whom he may devour; and to watch over the charity that serves as both the law and the bond of the Christian community, united by the Eucharist.

How can the priest find the patience and strength to discharge all these responsibilities faithfully, if not by uniting himself in prayer with the One from whom he received them? Moses would withdraw into the solitude of Sinai to learn God’s desires; Christ would slip away to the mountains at night to open Himself to the Father’s will. Prayer is the primary duty of every shepherd.

Though responsible for the community, the priest must nonetheless know each member of his flock by name. He is an educator, and true education is always individual. His task is not complete until the soul has attained holiness. Indeed, the title of “Father”—more than that of king or shepherd—best expresses this aspect of the priest’s mission and reveals his soul. Is it not precisely for the sake of this spiritual fatherhood that he is asked to forego human fatherhood? His fatherhood must not be too imperfect, so that he may say, like the Lord, “Whoever sees me sees my Father also.” Above all, his fatherhood must be merciful, for the injunction, “Be merciful, just as your heavenly Father is merciful,” is addressed primarily to him.

From the Pope down to the humblest parish priest—in all those who share in the Church’s power of jurisdiction—the faithful people should be able to find the image—or rather, the effective love—of the One, whom the Letter to the Hebrews calls “the great Shepherd of the sheep.”

This royal-pastoral office, like the prophetic office, is entirely oriented toward the priestly office. If the priest proclaims the Word of God, it is to summon the faithful to the Eucharistic sacrifice; if he teaches and governs, it is to help the Eucharistic bread bear fruit within the faithful and thus lead them back to the sacrifice of Christ, in which they will participate more perfectly. The Mass stands at the centre of the priest’s activity, just as the sacrifice of Christ stands at the centre of the life of the universe.

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This Son of Man whom Daniel foretold, whom Saint Stephen beheld standing at the right hand of the Father—one day all humanity will see Him “appearing on the clouds of heaven, with great power and glory.” It will be unexpected and sudden, “like the lightning that flashes from the East and shines to the West.” The dead will rise again. And He will gather the vast multitude of the elect. Exercising its effectiveness, the power of His sacrifice—which was, as it were, concentrated in His glorious Humanity—will transform “our lowly body into a body like His glorious body” and renew the entire universe. “Then the Son will hand over the Kingdom to God the Father… When all things have been subjected to Him, the Son Himself will also be subject to the One who subjected all things to Him, so that God may be all in all.” (1 Cor 15:24, 28)

“So that God may be all in all.” A striking statement for anyone who remembers the inaccessible God of Sinai, the thrice-holy God of Isaiah. Thus, a day will come when God and man will no longer be distant from each other, but intimate: man in God and God in man. From the least to the greatest, each will live the very life of the Eternal Trinity—begotten by the Father, illumined by the Word, exulting in joy and love in the Holy Spirit.

And it will be the unfading glory of the priest—man of God, man of the people—to have been, through the power of Christ acting within him, the artisan of this unbreakable union between God and humanity.

Henri Caffarel, L’Anneau d’Or, “Introduction à la connaissance du prêtre” [Introduction to Understanding the Priest], nos. 63–64