In voluntate tua Domine universa sunt posita - all things are subject to your will, O Lord, and nothing can withstand your power: for you have made all that is, the heavens and the earth and all that they contain: you are Lord of the whole Universe.
The text of the very fine Entrance Chant we sang today is taken from the Prayer of Mordecai, given in the Greek version of the Book of Esther. Mordecai prays on the eve of a planned genocide of his people. In particular he prays for Esther, his younger cousin, whose guardian he is. Perhaps she will be able to speak to the King, and save them all from death? Next week we will hear also the prayer of Esther herself, as she prepares for her royal audience, in the wonderful Offertory Chant: Recordare mei, Domine.
Both these Chants are found in the oldest Antiphonal manuscripts of the Mass we have, dating from the end of the 8th c. and the beginning of the 9th c. As a matter of fact you can listen to both of them on our Tempus per annum CD! To focus on today’s Introit: Mordecai may be in desperate straits, but here he contemplates in wonder the greatness and goodness of God. King Ahasuerus and his evil minister Haman may be planning our imminent destruction, but they are nothing before God, whose power infinitely exceeds theirs, and who is always to be worshipped.
The Gregorian composer has set his text rather low, and with quite a restricted musical range: mainly structured around the minor third interplay between Re and Fa. Sometimes he has us rise up a note above this, to Sol, and then briefly one note higher yet, to La. Occasionally also, we dip - momentarily - down one note to Do. But throughout what the ear notices is the subtly recurrent semi-tone interval between Mi and Fa, so characteristic of the 4th mode, so evocative of mystery, of interior prayer, of desire for what is not yet possessed. As we sing, with Mordecai we address God directly, but as if awe-struck in the presence of his divine majesty. So in the first place our Chant, our prayer is a confession of faith. The appeal for help is left for now unspoken. As today’s Collect has it, God may give what we do not even dare to ask. Perhaps even his generous mercy will far exceed anything our limited minds could have imagined.
In today’s second reading, St. Paul strongly exhorts us always to pray, and to be bold in asking God for whatever we need or want. The translation we heard, happily soon to be replaced, began by advising us: There is no need to worry (4:6). One might be tempted to retort that there jolly well is plenty to worry about. We could imagine drawing up a list of things to make us worry. Once you start, it would be hard to stop. Probably we’d struggle to decide which item should come first in order. But of course St. Paul didn’t say there’s no need to worry. What he actually wrote was a command: Do not worry about anything. Why so? Because we’re always in God’s hands. Because we have Jesus Christ our Lord. Because we know that all things work together for good for those who love God (cf. Rm 8:28).
When Jesus contemplated God’s will, he saw clearly how this would involve his rejection, betrayal, abandonment; the false witness, the unjust judgement, the mockery; the scourge, the wood, the nails, the lance, and finally his terrible death. And through it all he saw God’s love, God’s omnipotence, God’s will for salvation, God’s reaching out in mercy to sinners; and - far beyond what any human mind could have imagined - God’s greatness, and God’s goodness. None can resist God’s will, sang Mordecai. Those who crucified Jesus certainly seemed to be resisting God’s will. Yet all their deepest wickedness was turned by God to the highest possible good; all that horrible suffering endured became our greatest source of consolation; the apparent triumph of evil became the source of its own final undoing.
When we find ourselves confronted by our own powerlessness, or helplessness, in face of so many worries, and difficulties, and fears, St. Paul invites us not just to resignation, but to the peace of Christ. Maybe indeed, as happened to Mordecai, our prayer will be answered. Maybe by God’s grace and mercy what we fear won’t actually happen, and instead very wonderful things will come our way. But not always; at least not always in this life. The martyrs really did die. But they did so trusting completely in Christ’s ultimate victory; and confident of their own share in the final triumph of good over evil, of light over darkness, of life over death.
Sometimes it can seem our life is on the verge of falling apart entirely. In such circumstances, and indeed in all circumstances, it’s a good idea to make a very deliberate act of entrusting everything we have, our future, our hopes, our fears, our entire selves into the hands of God. We can make that entrustment also specifically to Jesus, or to his Sacred Heart, or to his Merciful Love, or to his holy Mother. Yesterday in a very public way our brother Benedict Joseph put his entire life into God’s hands. With him, at any time, and indeed very frequently, we can sing the Suscipe: Receive me Lord, (or) Uphold me Lord, according to your promise, and I shall live. Never let me be confounded in my hope (Ps 118/119:116).
In voluntate tua Domine - all things are subject to your will, O Lord, and nothing can withstand your power. The liturgical tradition we inherit has set the text of Mordecai’s prayer specifically as an introduction, an entry, to the mystery of the Holy Eucharist. So we sing these words entirely in the light of Christ. We sing them as we come to worship God though Jesus Christ our Lord: whatever our circumstances, whether in prosperity or adversity. We sing them as we come to listen to God’s word. We sing them as we recall what God has done for us in Christ; as we come to invoke his Holy Spirit, and to receive his blessing. And once again we find, to our astonishment, that the more we give ourselves to God, to Jesus, the more he gives himself to us - Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity - always for our good, and his own glory.