As we continue to reflect on the legacy of Pope Francis and the recent election of Pope Leo XIV, the Diocese of Auckland embarks on a way forward into a synodal process of renewal and transformation.
In the Reshaping Letter for Parishes, Bishop Stephen Lowe introduced the upcoming Diocesan Synodal process:
"A few weeks ago, Pope Leo XIV left the closed room of the conclave and, in his first address to the city of Rome and the world, he encouraged all of us to go out beyond what encloses us… 'Together we must look for ways to be a missionary Church, a Church that builds bridges and encourages dialogue, a Church ever open to welcoming, like this Square with its open arms, all those who are in need of our charity, our presence, our readiness to dialogue, and our love.' Reshaping takes its name from the prophet Jeremiah‘s visit to the potter’s house (Jer 18:15). Jeremiah noticed that at times the potter reshaped the pot being worked on into something new. As he noted this, God said to Jeremiah, 'Like clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in mine, House of Israel.'"
The letter addresses a desire to place an emphasis on several key areas, one of which is further liturgical formation and an invitation to “develop the art of
celebrating liturgy better.” To discern ways in achieving this, four main points have been raised:
• Reconnect theology and liturgical practice.
• Celebrate with mystery, beauty, and silence.
• Promote full, conscious, and active participation.
• Align music and space to serve the liturgy rather than individual preference.
Approaching this invitation for further formation brings to mind the importance of “creativity”, meaning thereby “seeking new ways”, that is “seeking how best to proclaim the Gospel.”1 Sacrosanctum Concilium continues to provide us with the rubrics and guidance for a post-conciliar liturgical approach, further highlighted by Pope Francis’ 2022 apostolic letter, Desiderio Desideravi. The latter referencing the Vatican II’s document on the liturgy multiple times, strengthening its place in modern liturgical reform.2 So how do we move forward with a 'creative' approach to this synodal discernment, while staying true to rubrics of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy? Perhaps we can be inspired by Francis' closing remarks from the 2022 letter...
"...rekindle our wonder for the beauty of the truth of the Christian celebration..."
Reengaging with the sacramental nature of our liturgical symbols and signs, from the water that is used, to the bread and wine that is brought forth.
"...to remind us of the necessity of an authentic liturgical formation..."
Receiving theological and practical formation, such as from the Diocesan
Liturgy Centre or Catholic Theological College - Te Kupenga, as well as from supplementary resources such as academic reading, encyclicals, apostolic letters, etc.
"...to recognize the importance of an art of celebrating that is at the service of the truth of the Paschal Mystery and of the participation of all of the baptized in it, each one according to his or her vocation."
Recognising the ars celebrandi and carefully promoting full, conscious, and active participation that is balanced in both rubrical mechanismand creativity.
Let us be mindful of this time, being open to the guidance of the Holy Spirit and for new outcomes in more ways that one. Remembering that through listening and collaboration, we can discern together towards a a Church that is fit for mission today. In our prayer, we ask for the intercession of our Diocesan patron, St Patrick:
"We are the heirs of this Easter fire. May the light of Christ burn brightly in our Diocese as we seek to be reshaped by the Holy Spirit for Christ’s mission and bearers of his light for the life of the world. St Patrick, pray for us." ■
1. Pope Francis. Instruction - The pastoral conversion of the Parish community in the service of the evangelising mission of the Church, 2020, §1.
2. Pope Francis. Apostolic Letter (Desiderio Desideravi) on the Liturgical Formation of the People of God, 2022, §31.
Reflections on Pope Leo from the Franciscan tradition
Reprinted from U.S. Catholic, published on May 27, 2025. All rights reserved. Used with permission.
On May 7, 2025, the mendicant friar Father Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, son of Louis Marius Prevost and Mildred Agnes Martinez, became Pope Leo XIV. As the news travelled, a flood of memories stirred in my heart. In the early 1980s, we were students at the Catholic Theological Union in Chicago (CTU). He was in his final year; I was in my first. We shared academic space and the corridors where we were formed in the bold and faithful spirit of Vatican II. I confess that I really do not remember him. I imagine I might have seen him in the library, the cafeteria, or at one of our parties. I could not have imagined then that any of us at CTU would one day become the successor of St. Peter.
Grace works quietly, and the Spirit blows where it will. The Holy Spirit moved the new pope to call himself Leo XIV, a name that carries many layers of significance, and that connects the
new pope’s legacy with that of his predecessor, Francis.
In Franciscan memory, a friar named Brother Leo was Francis’s dearest companion. Even though his name meant lion, Francis light-heartedly called him his “little lamb.” He followed Francis into the solitude of Mount La Verna and wrote down his most intimate teachings, including his admonitions and Rules at Fonte Colombo. Brother Leo became a faithful steward of il Poverello’s legacy after Francis’s passing. He did not imitate Francis in every gesture but remained faithful to the spirit and ideology he had received from his close friend. He kept the flame of the gospel alive in his distinct voice.
The name “Leo” carries other resonances, too. It invokes the memory of the first Pope Leo. Leo the Great
Gilberto Cavazos-González is a member of the Franciscan Province of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and an assistant professor of spirituality at Catholic Theological Union in Chicago.
Gilberto Cavazos-González, O.F.M.
(400–461) is remembered for his lion’s strength and valour. He helped define the church’s Christological teaching at Chalcedon, speaking with a faithful and fearless voice on the hypostatic union of the two natures of Christ. Leo showed his lion courage when he persuaded Attila the Hun not to invade Italy in 452.
Another Leo who showed lion strength and courage was Pope Leo X (1475–1521). He was a Renaissance pope who made Rome the cultural centre of Europe and renewed the religious nature of the papacy. He lived in turbulent times, dealing with a church desperately needing reform. The Franciscan family saw his lion’s courage when he approved the controversial Franciscan sister Juana de la Cruz Vasquez Gutierrez as the official pastor of her town’s local
parish. Her sermons and teachings became a source of theological reflection for the Spanish Friars Minor for a couple of centuries. She was beatified in 2024 by Pope Francis.
However, Leo the Great and Leo X did not inspire Cardinal Robert Francis to take the name. Matteo Bruni, director of the Holy See Press, confirmed that Leo XIV is a deliberate reference to Pope Leo XIII, author of the 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum (On Capital and Labor), a roar that called for justice. Bruno affirms it is “clearly a reference to the lives of men and women, to their work.”
With a lion’s audacity, Leo XIII opened the church’s heart to the dignity of labourers during the Second Industrial Revolution. He is the “pope of workers” who prompted the development of Catholic social teaching.
Leo XIII was also a secular Franciscan and a great promoter of the Third Order of St. Francis. He provided a new rule for secular Franciscans, whom he saw as societal evangelizers. In 1897, Leo XIII, with the Apostolic constitution Felicitate quadam, healed a long-standing rift in the Friars Minor, reuniting its various observances and divisions under one banner of gospel
life. His act was not one of constraint but of reconciliation, not by force, but by fidelity to Francis of Assisi’s original vision in the spirit of his intimate companion, Brother Leo.
Now, in our fragmented age, Pope Leo XIV bears that same responsibility. He can call us to a harmonious unity that holds diversity, equity, and inclusion as standards of social teaching in a church that sings with many voices but one heart. Brother Leo, St. Clare, and other of Francis’s early companions reminded us that St. Francis wanted Laudato Si’ sung by all creatures as brothers and sisters in the Canticle of the Creatures. It is my hope that Pope Leo XIV will, in his way, uphold Pope Francis’s Laudato Si’ (On Care for our Common Home), Fratelli Tutti (On Fraternity and Social Friendship), and other socio-spiritual teachings.
The name Leo carries a paradox woven into Christian tradition. In his City of God, St. Augustine refers to Christ as the lion of Judah, the king who conquers, and the lamb who was slain. For Augustine, the lion is fierce and wise, strong and gentle, just as the lamb of God, who, as the Good Shepherd, is both defender and servant.
For Saint Francis of Assisi, Jesus, our brother, bore the same paradox: meek in his poverty and minority, yet almighty and glorious in his mercy. The crucified is both lamb and lion—silent in suffering, radiant in resurrection.
Pope Leo XIV now inherits this mystery, and I pray he may live it boldly: to roar when truth demands it, and to whisper when love requires it.
In recalling the social justice legacy of the secular Franciscan Pope Leo XIII, Pope Leo XIV can echo the various Leos: Leo the Great in defence of the faith; Leo X in the promotion of women in the pastoral ministry of the church; and Francis’s little lamb, Leo, in affection for his predecessor. May he be a pope who is both guardian and guide, fierce in defending the margins and gentle in drawing near to the broken-hearted, the oppressed, and the marginalized.
In his first public appearance, Pope Leo XIV referred to the memory of Pope Francis. He recalled his predecessor’s final Easter Sunday blessing and added, “Allow me to continue that same blessing.” In the spirit of Pope Francis, he invites all the faithful without fear to be “in the hands of God,” to “go forward” as “disciples of Christ” to a world that “needs His light.” He invites the missionary church “to build bridges with dialogue and encounter so we can all be one people, always in peace,” “always open to receiving with open arms for everyone.”
As Pope Leo XIV stood at the loggia on May 7, I could scarcely believe that one of us mendicant friars who had studied at CTU had just become the successor of St. Peter. I pray we may see in him a Leo who, like a lamb, walks barefoot through
the vineyard of the Lord and who, like a lion, has a mighty roar tempered by compassion. May he be a Leo who lives close to our sister, mother earth, yet speaks with the seraphic fire of heaven.
May the Holy Spirit, who inspired both St. Francis and Pope Francis to rebuild what was crumbling, now guide Pope Leo XIV to strengthen what remains and birth to Christ in the hearts of the church and the world. May the Holy Spirit help him live St. Augustine’s words, “With you I am a Christian, for you a bishop.” And may Santa María, the Virgo Ecclesia Facta, the Virgin made church, wrap him in her mantle of virtues and intercession.
Pax et Bonum, dear brothers and sisters. Peace and well-being to all. ■
Sound Reflections
To chant or not to chant?
Paul is an internationally known composer and workshop presenter. He has extensive liturgical knowledge and experience, dynamic musical skills, and a commitment to a wide range of styles in liturgy and liturgical music. He has written many commissioned works and offers events exploring many aspects of music and liturgical ministry in the parish. Many of his compositions, including “Center of My Life,” have been published by OCP.
Reprinted from Music and Liturgy – The journal of the Society of Saint Gregory, Issue 380 November 2023 Volume 49 No 3, article by Paul Inwood. All rights reserved. Used with permission.
There has been a lot of talk in recent times about chant and chants. In parishes, some places have converted from singing hymns to singing ‘chants.’ For some people, the only authentic musical expression to be used in Roman Catholic liturgy is Gregorian Chant. Both these mindsets tend to envision a particular form and style of singing. But if we take a step back, we may find that all is not quite as people might think.
Let’s start off by noticing the fact that the Latin word cantus is notoriously difficult to translate adequately, certainly in English. In the wake of the instruction Liturgiam Authenticam of 2001, our liturgical books have appeared to be somewhat obsessed with an over-literalist fidelity to the Latin text.
They usually translate the Latin word cantus as ‘chant’. A number of significant problems arise from using the word:
1. It can often imply a particular style of unmetered singing: Gregorian chant, Ambrosian chant, Jewish synagogue chant, etc, etc. We think of something not only irregular in metre but with verbal accents and musical accents often not combining but existing in a tension. All this gives to this kind of chant a particular other-worldly atmosphere which is why it is often considered appropriate for liturgy.
2. The word ‘chant’ can also imply a particular technique of singing: for example, the Gregorian chant tonus in directum is a simple melodic formula onto which you can graft any text you like, within reason. Gregorian psalm tones themselves are a more elaborate way of doing the same thing. They often have an
Paul Inwood
incipit or beginning, a reciting note, and a termination. Anglican Chant is another type of tone formula with a clearly-defined rhythm, making use of four-part harmony. It, too has a reciting note and a termination. In all these cases, we talk about ‘chanting’ a text, meaning a way of suspending the words under the music, rather like nappies on a washing-line. Chant in this sense is a vehicle or a mechanism for conveying the text. When we talk about chanting a text, what we often mean is fitting the words to a tone.
3. For Roman Catholics, the word chant often implies unaccompanied monodic singing, as opposed to polyphony or accompanied figured music.
But cantus, while it can mean all those things, does not necessarily mean ‘chant’ at all. What it actually means is ‘something sung’, from the Latin cantare, to sing. In English, there is another word used to describe something that is sung: that word is ‘song’. The Latin for ‘song’ is, in fact, cantus.
At this point some may protest that there are other Latin words, such as canticum (from which we get the word ‘canticle’), cantio (just an alternative for cantus) or carmen (which refers to a song with a poetic strophic text). While this is true, there is no getting away from the fact that cantus means
‘something sung’, or even just plain ‘singing’. Even the instruction Musicam Sacram (1967) uses the word ‘song’ for cantus (see paragraphs 31-36).
For some people the word ‘song’ is itself problematic. It may have resonances of art song or lieder, or of the secular world, such as the French chanson And mentioning this can remind us that other languages have the same translation problem when it comes to cantus – it’s not just an Anglophone issue.
Before Vatican II, we used to talk about the Introit or entrance chant. That continued in the years immediately following the Council, but then there was a move away from those terms. Today, the word ‘Introit’ is now normally reserved for a Gregorian chant setting of an antiphon and psalm verse, though occasionally people refer to a ‘choral Introit’, for example if they are using a polyphonic setting.
Instead of Introit or entrance chant, we initially used the term ‘Entrance Hymn’, especially as what we tended to sing was often hymnic in form. Rapidly this morphed into ‘Entrance Song’ or ‘opening Song’, particularly if the sung item was not actually a hymn accompanied by the organ but a freer song-form accompanied by guitars. Quite quickly ‘Entrance Song’ became a generic term for this sung item at the beginning of a celebration, regardless of its style or idiom. In more than a few
places, ‘Entrance Song’ was replaced by ‘Opening Song’, emphasising its role in the celebration (especially as some places did not always have an actual entrance procession but moved toward gathering rites and other ways of beginning).
The latest translation policy, however, has attempted to return us to the word ‘chant’, which it sees as more dignified, more traditional, more church-y. ‘Chant’ may be a useful shorthand term, but if we use it, it’s important for pastoral musicians to know that our liturgical books currently use a translation of the word cantus that does not accurately reflect the meaning of the Latin word. So when the Roman Missal talks about the ‘Entrance Chant’ (GIRM 43, 47, 50, etc.), it doesn’t mean an actual chant, or a piece of Gregorian plainsong. The Latin is cantus ad introitum which simply means ‘the thing sung at the entrance’, whatever that thing may be.
GIRM 62 talks about ‘the Alleluia or another chant’. Once again, the Latin is Alleluia vel alius cantus, in other words ‘the Alleluia or whatever is sung in its place’. It does not mean that you have to sing something that is in chant style.
We often refer to the ‘chants’ between the readings’ as another shorthand term to designate the Responsorial Psalm and the Gospel Acclamation, but this doesn’t presuppose that those items will necessarily be sung in chant style. On the other hand, we do use the
term ‘ministerial chants’ to indicate the things sung by the priest or minister, including the dialogues between priest and people, all frequently sung in a chant style.
One of the banners that those who are in favour of actual chant frequently wave is a statement in Sacrosanctum Concilium that at first sight appears to give Gregorian Chant primacy over all other forms of liturgical singing. The statement in question runs: ‘The Church acknowledges Gregorian chant as specially suited to the Roman liturgy: therefore, other things being equal, it should be given pride of place in liturgical services.’ (SC 116) This is echoed in GIRM 41: ‘The main place should be given all things being equal, to Gregorian chant, as being proper to the Roman Liturgy.’
The question is, what exactly does the phrase ‘other things being equal’ or ‘all things being equal’ mean?
We find a significant aid to interpreting SC 116 in paragraph 50 of Musicam Sacram, already mentioned, where this statement is once again made: ‘Gregorian chant, as proper to the Roman liturgy, should be given pride of place, other things being equal.’ (MS 50a) However, the key is the context. Section 50a is a subsection of paragraph 50, which begins ‘In sung liturgical services celebrated in Latin:’ followed by subsections (a), (b) and (c).
In other words, when you are celebrating in Latin, Gregorian Chant should be given pride of place, but this does not hold good if you are not celebrating in Latin.
Just to be clear, I am no enemy of Gregorian Chant. I grew up with it and love it. It is a vital part of our heritage as Roman Catholics. Nevertheless, it evolved in the context of a different kind of liturgy from the one which generally obtains today. Then, liturgy was largely non-participatory, in Latin; today it is or should be highly participatory and frequently in the vernacular.
Because Gregorian Chant is part of our tribal identity as Roman Catholics, this means that we need to use it more carefully. We can’t assume that God will be gloried by ‘dropping chant into every liturgical slot.’ Indeed, in today’s context, where so many different backgrounds and ethnicities come together to celebrate, there is a strong argument in favour of stylistically ‘mixed grill-type’ liturgies which do not have a uniform style of musical content but where many different and varied idioms combine to make a many-faceted whole. This would mean that you might well find that there are some things in a celebration which
you don’t much care for. However, the other, positive side of that coin is that, no matter what an individual’s tastes, background and expectations may be, everyone ought to be able to find something in a celebration with which she or he can identify.
So we can certainly continue to use Gregorian Chant in our liturgies, but perhaps more sparingly, and more tellingly, than in preconciliar days. Rather than a panacea for all our liturgical ills, it becomes one valuable resource among many upon which we can draw as we prepare our celebrations.
One brief example: for the procession to the altar of repose at the end of the Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord’s Supper, we could use the traditional Pange, lingua chant melody, still well known by many people, either with its original Latin text, or perhaps with an up-to-date vernacular translation such as the English one by James Quinn, SJ, or perhaps the two in alternation. We could do this even if there was no other Gregorian Chant in the entire celebration.
By using chant in this way, we can remain joined to our roots, while at the same time moving onwards in our mission to take Christ to the world.
This article was developed from a talk on Processional which Paul Inwood gave at the 2022 meeting of Universa Laus. ■
The Australian Pastoral Musicians Network and the National Liturgical Council are delighted to invite you to our 2025 National Liturgy and Music Conference.
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Home altars make liturgical living personal
These devotional corners can be intimate physical spaces for the remembrance of God.
Reprinted from U.S. Catholic, September 2024 issue, Volume 89 No. 9. All rights reserved. Used with permission.
My mom told me about an occasion when a devout evangelical woman first saw the religious images sprinkles about our home. “These are idols!” my mom’s friend exclaimed. My mom retorted something along the lines of, “Do you not have pictures of your parents in your house? Frames with graduation pictures/ Photographs of people you love?”
I learned from a very early age that the statues in my house were not idols; they were reminders. The power of a reminder should never be understated, though. Such is the heart of the home altar: an intimate physical space for the spiritual remembrance of God.
Home altars trace back to the early church, what is often called Paleo-Christianity. The first Christians did not gather in basilicas or cathedrals, and the first Eucharists were not celebrated in carved altars under apses. Christianity saw its dawn in the dining rooms of houses and among loved ones. The remnants of what we call home altars can be traced to theses house churches. Archaeologists discovered in Dure-Europos (in what is Syria today) the earliest example of a house church. It contained third-century frescoes depicting Christ the Good Shepherd and other gospel stories. Art is, after all, a way to catch glimpses of God’s nature.
Devotional corners do not need to be elaborate. Throughout history, the common home altar has been a simple cross or crucifix. In some traditions, the cross is displayed in a manner that signifies the east, the direction prayer. For Catholics, the crucifix is a powerful sacramental and a key element
Dani M. Jiménez from And Her Saints is a queer writer and illustrator from Costa Rica. She spends her time illustrating the holy in a way that is affirming and representative of those on the margins of society.
in prayers such as the Via Crucis or St. Francis’ prayer before a crucifix. The Catholic home altar can also be expanded to include other things, such as the family Bible, a relic, an icon, holy water, or blessed items.
In Latin American Catholicism, there is a huge emphasis on home altars, and they reflect a syncretism of Indigenous belief with colonial Spanish Catholic practices. It could also be said that these altars are gendered practice: In an article for the Texas State Historical Association, the Tejana author Teresa Palomo Acosta says that “[women’s] maintenance of domestic altars has provided them a central, self-made role in worship, art, and culture by emphasizing an intimately based faith that strongly connects their daily lives with the sacred.” Altaristas (as these women are known in Spanish) reclaim some of the power lost to patriarchal church institutions. They honour their Indigenous heritage together with la Guadalupana, specific regional devotions, and pictures of family members.
Growing up in Central America, my family’s altars were not always obvious. The shelf that held sleeping St. Joseph in my grandmother’s living room was an altar, though I didn’t know it then. In my childhood bedroom, I had a corner of religious objects I was not allowed to get rid of – off-brand Precious Moments statues, a children’s Bible falling apart at the seams, and other memories
of a hyper-religious childhood –even though I was well into my edgy anti-theist adolescence. Unknowingly, I begrudgingly made a corner for God, the only corner of my room in which God was allowed to reside.
My altars became intentional as I reached adulthood and reconciled with my Catholicism. I never viewed myself as an altarista, though; I felt like I lack the artistry of some women. For me, the corner of my bedroom is a disarray of objects, both religious by nature and utterly prosaic. However, while the exterior may be unkempt, things have an order and a reason in my head. I am a lifelong, profoundly anxious homebody. The unpredictability of the outside, its loud noises, crowds, and constant movement tend to cause me to have embarrassing meltdowns. So I shut the world out. The stagnancy of safety can fell like a curse, though, as if I were a prisoner of my own making. Amidst that lifelong struggle, home altars have delivered me.
When I look at my prayer altar in my bedroom, I see memories imbued with God’s presence. I have to small bottles of water from the river Jordan, brought to me by my dear friend Lydia. She lived in Jordan for a season and handed me these bottles when we met in real life for the first time. Lydia wrote on each lid of these bottles in black Sharpie: “DO NOT DRINK!!!” It makes me giggle to this day. These are not vials of holy water, but their connection to a person
I reassure so dearly makes them divine in their own right.
My writing buddy, Madison, despite not being religious at all, gave me a wooden icon of St. John the Evangelist, the patron saint of writers. The prayer engraved on the back side of the statue echoes every conversation we have had, and I hold it dearly. It is a sign of true friendship and love I will never overlook.
On this same prayer altar, I have the Divino Niño statue my aunt bought on her last pilgrimage to Colombia before her cancer finished metastasizing. Next to it, I have a rosary from my great-grandmother that dates to the 1930s. It is made of traditional crumbled roses and miraculously still carries the slightest scent. A rosary my friend Silas gave me sits beside it.
He used to sift through his Episcopal church’s second-hand knickknacks basket, and long before I made plans to go to Boston to visit him, he had found and kept a rosary for me. Alongside this rosary, Silas embroidered me a Magnificat patch to wear on my jacket. This rosary on my altar is a sign of trans joy and community love.
Finally, my altar has things you might consider bizarre, like my dead dog’s tag or Lady Gaga’s Joanne next to a CD player. People have said that my shelf is a junk shelf more than an altar, but I couldn’t disagree more.
Father Timothy Radcliffe writes that the spirituality of the home is not about elaborate rituals: The core of a home altar is not about fancy decor, shiny new icons, or even thematic adornments that match the liturgical year. It is about making room for God and looking for God in the abundant blessings you may already have.
One of my favourite contemporary spiritual authors is Episcopal priest and self-identifying “spiritual contrarian” Barbara Brown Taylor. In her words, I find a solace usually reserved for letters by medieval mystics. One of her books, An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith (HarperOne), is about honouring the miracle of everyday life, understanding creation itself as an altar where one can encounter God in innumerable ways. The line between profane and sacred is nothing but a matter of perspective. Taylor encourages us to build little altars in our hearts or in the world around us so that we may commune with God in the unlikeliest places. Our lives, understood as beacons of love, community, and service, are altars of which we are priests.
For me, home altars remind me that God is among the little things and in the devotion between kindred souls. Souls I have been blessed to find, through time, space, and lifetimes, my fellow creators and lights of my life. ■
Pastoral Ministry among Maori and Pasifika in the Third Millennium
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Book Review: Preachers, Pastors, Prophets: The Dominican Friars of Aotearoa New Zealand by
Susannah Grant
In Preachers, Pastors, Prophets, historian Susannah Grant delivers a compelling and nuanced portrait of the life and ministry of the Dominican friars in Aotearoa New Zealand. This is not a sacred history, it is a human history.
Susannah Grant traces the journey and mahi of the friars from the visit of Fr PaulAntoine Léonard de Villefeix OP aboard the Saint Jean Baptiste in 1769 through their multifaceted ministries in Aotearoa New Zealand —as pastors, theologians, university chaplains, itinerant retreat leaders, social justice advocates, and more. This book shares a glimpse of the church in Aotearoa New Zealand exploring what could be achieved in a post-Vatican II church with friars, sisters and lay people collaborating.
The Second Vatican Council called the Church to solidarity with those in need. The friars responded, accompanying a diverse range of people, building communities of faith and action. This book shares how the friars preached the Dominican motto Veritas (truth), through their words and actions. It does not shy away from addressing difficult topics, including abuse in the church. It brings to life the prophetic preaching of Dominicans over many decades.
This book is a story of family and community. Susannah Grant’s style of writing is engaging and takes you on a journey. This book will make good reading for those interested in religious history, New Zealand’s cultural fabric, and the complexities of faith in action.
Reviewed
by Teresa McNamara, Lay Dominican ■
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101 Staff Prayers and Reflections
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liturgycentre@cda.org.nz
We provide:
» Resources to support liturgical ministries, including books with Sunday & daily readings and reflections on the readings.
» Guidebooks for various ministries including sacristans, the preparation of liturgical environment, art, and architecture.
» Sheet music for choral ensembles & accompaniment.
» Formation opportunities for liturgical ministers.
» Website with Prayer of the Faithful, Liturgy of the Word with Children, Readings in Te Reo Māori, and Monthly Music Suggestions.
Workshop Formation for...
» Ministers of the Word
» Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion
» Liturgy Committee Members, Sacristans, Altar Server Trainers
» Leaders of Children's Liturgy of the Word
» A Walk through the Mass
» Lay Leaders of Liturgical Prayer
» Music Ministry: Building a Reportoire
» The Musician's Role (Choral Ensembles, Accompanists, Cantors)
» Managing ONE LICENSE Reporting & Copyright
Please contact the Liturgy Centre to discuss what formation you would like to provide for your liturgical ministers: liturgycentre@cda.org.nz
