Welcome to Lent 2024, when I try something new: Instead of a column devoted to parish business, a column of bonus content enriching our new message series on sacrifice.
We think of sacrifice as “giving up something I have in order to get something I want.” Basically, sacrifice means loss. So if someone told us, “It’s time to make some sacrifices,” we respond, glum and anxious, “Oh, boy …” But back in ancient Israel, or for the Jews of Jesus’s time, that was not so. Tell an ancient Israelite or a first century Jew, “It’s time to make some sacrifices,” and they’d respond, “Oh, boy!” Often, regularly, sacrifice meant meat.
Hamburgers, bacon, chicken fingers, steak for dinner, ham on a sandwich, or even a humble hot dog — most of us eat meat most every day. But for our ancestors in the faith, daily food was basic grains and starches, supplemented with vegetables. Meat was rare, a special treat. Let’s read from the first book of Samuel, chapter 1, verses 1-5.
There was a certain man from … Ephraim. His name was Elkanah … He had two wives, one named Hannah, the other Peninnah; Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children. Each year this man went up from his city to worship and offer sacrifice to the LORD of hosts at Shiloh … When the day came for Elkanah to offer sacrifice, he used to give portions to his wife Peninnah and to all her sons and daughters, but he would give a double portion to Hannah because he loved her, though the LORD had closed her womb. (1 Sam 1:1-5)
Ephraim is in ancient Israel. This short story shows that Elkanah and his family had some abundance. If they had barely enough to survive, they would not have made a yearly trip to Shiloh; they would have spent that time on their farm. Elkanah’s family took the ancient equivalent of a family vacation in the big city because they had some prosperity in their life, some abundance. And when they did, Dad (Elkanah) offered sacrifice. It was a highlight of the trip, when everyone had a lot of meat to eat. We can notice how meat was a special treat, because Elkanah gave Hannah a double portion as a sign of his special love for her.
Sacrifice, for Elkanah’s family, wasn’t focused on loss. It meant more than giving up what they had in order to get what they wanted. Sacrifice was when they remembered how good God had been to them. Sacrifice was when they experienced His goodness in an abundance of delicious meat.
And, I bet that sacrifice was when they shared abundance with others. Check out Psalm 22, verses 26-27: “I will offer praise in the great assembly; my vows I will fulfill before those who fear him. The poor will eat their fill.” Why will the poor eat their fill? Because someone has fulfilled a vow. The vow was to offer an animal sacrifice. The poor got invited to share the sacrificial meal. In fact, God gave laws about some sacrifices so that you couldn’t save the food (Leviticus 7:14-17; Exodus 12:20). Those laws pushed people to celebrate, and to invite others to the celebration. Now, not every sacrifice involved a meal. But many did, and so they understood, better than we, how sacrifice remembered, experienced, and shared abundance.
Remembering their wisdom, let’s listen again to the Church’s teaching on Jesus’ Last Supper, Cross, and Mass. “At the Last Supper, on the night he was betrayed, our Savior instituted the Eucharistic sacrifice of his Body and Blood. This he did in order to perpetuate the sacrifice of the cross throughout the ages until he should come again … [the Mass] makes present the one sacrifice of Christ the Savior” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, nn. 1323, 1330). How are these sacrifices more than a time to give up what we have in order to get what we want? How are they expressions of abundance? How could we notice it?
Here’s an idea. At Mass, when someone from our community brings forward bread and wine for our sacrifice, remember the joy God gives you!