Father Rutler, The Wife and Me
It doesn’t get more solemn than the Solemn Palm Sunday Mass we attended yesterday in New York, from the grand opening procession, through the chanted Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ According to Matthew, the incense, the Gregorian Chants by that spectacular choir and organist and the stunning silence of the recession.
Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus!
I said to Mary afterwards, “I love this church. It’s the most peaceful church I have ever been in anywhere.”
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Father George Rutler is a most remarkable man. He mixes easily in the highest councils of the land. He thinks, and he writes wonderful books containing great thoughts. He conveys his message globally on EWTN. It is not unusual to spot famous people at his Masses. He is, among other things, the “unofficial chaplain of National Review.“
And he is the pastor of a church, just like hundreds and hundreds of other priests. He guides his parish flock. He pays attention to detail and is a respecter of the great traditions of the Catholic Faith. When he preaches the Gospel, you know he believes every word of it. When he consecrates the host, you know he knows that he is in the presence of Almighty God.
His parish church, the Church of Our Saviour on Park Avenue in New York City, four blocks south of Grand Central Station, exudes sanctity at any time of day. In slightly over an hour last Friday, Mary and I experienced quiet reflection, the Angelus, noon Mass with a fine little sermonette on the life of St. Patrick, Stations of the Cross and Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament. Father Rutler has his congregation well-trained. As he gently swung the thurible back and forth, the incense carrying his prayers to heaven, he alternated between English and Latin, with multiple voices echoing the responses in the appropriate tongue. (I did pretty good except for the middle of the second half of the Pater Noster, which I can never get right, though I present a strong finish.)
Afterwards he slipped gently out of the sanctuary, leaving the Blessed Sacrament exposed for worship, and quietly stepped into the confessional, where a long line soon formed.
For all his fame, he seems at heart a humble parish priest as we used to know them, bringing the mercy of God to his people one soul at a time. And that’s what I really like about him.
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And after the Solemn Mass on Palm Sunday he said to me, “Are you still judging? Justice Scalia had a bunch of us over Friday night for brandy and cigars. I had a great time! Didn’t get home until after midnight!”
Frankly, I like that part of him too.
