Antelucan. Today an esteemed colleague shared this new word with me. I reciprocated with one I had recently discovered: Aphotic. His is preferable.
It is Pentecost Sunday. We are reminded that the Church – founded two millennia ago by our Lord and inspired by his Holy Spirit – continues her pilgrimage to the Parousia, the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. Scripture informs us about the eschaton – the end of time and the final judgement – and we Christians believe we are journeying towards it. We understand that with the redemptive act of Jesus Christ salvation has already been accomplished and the kingdom of God is within us, but, as implied in the Lord’s Prayer, the kingdom has not yet fully arrived. This is the ‘already, not yet’ paradox of our faith which has prompted centuries of religious commitment and theological study. And, yet, how easily in these so called post-modern times we ignore it and succumb to the regnant mindset that there is no “mysterious, hidden plan which God predetermined before the ages” (St. Paul). How effortlessly we surrender to the false allure of prevalent nihilism and the undemanding default of intellectual vacuity.
My friend’s new word has prompted this Pentecostal reflection. We believers would do well to consider that we are antelucan. Ours is a march towards the light, the light of the final dawning. We are not aphotic. We do not wander in darkness because we are guided by the light of the Gospel.
But, how do we stay on this forward path? Is it enough to lead moral (or, in today’s parlance of natural law agnosticism, ethical) lives? Is it sufficient to be kind and charitable? Undeniably these virtues are essential. But, as important as Jesus’ second great commandment is to love others as ourselves, we should remember that his first is to love God above all else. Our love of God manifests itself in our good works, to be sure, but there are many moral and charitable atheists. Beyond upright living and good works believers express their love of God through prayer.
Prayer, most commonly practiced as petitional (‘give us this day’) or penitential (‘forgive us our trespasses’), is preeminently worshipful (‘Hallowed by thy name’). Prayer does not change God or in any way add to God, infinite and immutable as he is. Rather, in some ‘unfathomable and inscrutable’ (St. Paul) way it changes us, his creatures whom he created in his image, and in so doing advances us individually and collectively on our journey to him. When offered routinely by religious communities (including families) prayer is especially effective in this regard. Isn’t it interesting that prayerful people seem to possess a certain serenity, a certain sense of purpose?
Qui bene cantat bis orat: he who sings well prays twice. As readers know this declaration is attributed to St. Augustine. Whether petition, praise, contrition or thanksgiving, prayer offered in song is immeasurably (even more than Augustine’s ‘twice’) enhanced in its efficacy. Hymns are a legacy from our Jewish roots and sacred music has been a treasure of the Church since that first Pentecost.
Somehow it seems more than a coincidence that on this Pentecost Sunday in addition to learning the lovely word antelucan I also received a recording of the music sung on this feast day at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Parish in Chicago from 2011 through 2018. May I suggest to you that it is a heavenly antidote should an aphotic mood ever waylay you in your personal advance to the light.