Thanksgiving: the Apocalypse Antidote

Padre Pio himself said, “It would be easier for the world to exist without the sun than without the Holy Mass.”

To believe this statement beyond a mere pious platitude about the importance of the liturgy requires a deeper spiritual vision that not only accepts the power of worship, but revels in our participation in it.

I can’t help but think of the powerful contrast between the opening credits of HBO’s Game of Thrones and the Amazon Rings of Power series. While they are eerily similar in style, there is a marked difference in their substance. 

Game of Thrones emphasizes the mechanizations of political subterfuge and backstabbing upon which the kingdom is built. The opening credits literalizes this reality by showing the various kingdoms competing for power in Westeros as constantly moving, interlocking and grinding gears and cogs as dynasties rise and fall. This world, though it contains a certain technological magic, is a machine. 

Rings of Power, for its part and its many detractions, has a movement that is not imposing but graceful. There are not wheels and bricks, but sand that rolls gracefully around the screen. This is meant to imitate the Creation of Middle Earth as it is presented in Tolkien’s incredible prequel, The Silmarillion, specifically the Creation story of the Ainalindule. 

It is only when the music changes, indicating the discord caused by Melkor, that a new substance works its way onto the screen, also showing the original source of conflict in Tolkien’s world, long before Sauren and the Ring.

These two views, one borne of a mind of metal as a certain wise Ent would say, and the other a cooperation of spirit and matter, allows for one to view reality through the lens that sees worship in spirit and truth as that which moves reality. 

This view of reality has been the norm of human history and not the exception. Though now it seems this situation has been reversed. However, there are examples of this spiritual vision of reality in the way we are coming to better understand the relationship between sacrifice and the preservation of community.

This connection was first recognized by Rene Girard in his study of classic literature, but it has also become more evident in some more popular adaptations. 

One of the most monumental recent changes in our understanding of sacrifice and its relationship to community has to be the formulation of the “mimetic theory” of Rene Girard. Along with this mimetic theory, there is also the “scapegoat” mechanism.

Girard’s mimetic theory, which comes from the Greek word “mimesis,” which means “imitation,” refers to the manner in which our desires are formed within us. 

While appearing to be spontaneous and innate, Girard argues that they are conditioned by models in our approximate environment. Those with whom we interact the most, spend the most time with, or spend the most attention on, are the ones who are conditioning what we think is desirable. 

This desire in such close quarters will escalate, which will lead to resentment within communities. The outlet for this building resentment, so that the community itself does not consume itself, is to direct it toward a victim. This victim, oftentimes arbitrarily designated as the cause of the community’s problems, becomes the scapegoat. 

This scapegoat will bear the burden of the community’s sins and be removed from the community. Historically, this would often be violent. Over generations of this practice, so Girard states, the scapegoat mechanism becomes ritualized and mythologized. 

Stories and religious practices are built around this practice. As an aside, it is especially interesting to note that it was precisely how Jesus upended this mimetic, scapegoat process through his own sacrifice on the Cross that drew Girard back to his Catholic roots.

The scapegoat mechanism was present in Israel as well. One finds a reference to this formalized practice in Leviticus 16:10 as God describes the Day of Atonement process for Moses. This scapegoat is contrasted with the one determined to be a purification offering to the Lord in Leviticus 16:9. 

One can also find a proto-type to this ritual in the story of Abraham, Ishmael and Isaac. Abraham, the priestly figure, burdens Ishmael, the object and product of his own unfaithfulness to God’s promises, with his sin and sends him along with Ishmael’s mother, Hagar, into the desert. 

Inversely, it is Isaac, the son of the covenant, whom Abraham offers to God on Mt. Moriah, but is stopped from sacrificing him by God to illustrate the change God’s covenant would bring about.

Girard’s mimetic theory and scapegoat mechanism inspired the apocalyptic application of “enlightened doomsaying.” This is essentially the natural continuation of the scapegoat mechanism in a society whereupon it has become so ingrained, ritualized and mythologized, that it becomes that which preserves the society as it is. 

The society unites around the sacrifice of whatever scapegoat is put forward in a given generation or situation and this temporary unity is what keeps society from collapsing. 

Two Very Different, Yet Similar, Examples

We see two powerful examples of this in recent movies. The first is the thriller “Apocalypto,” which follows the escaped Mayan prisoner, Jaguar Paw, as he seeks freedom and deliverance for both himself and his family. In an early tense moment of the film we experience the human sacrificial rite of this empire in its ugliness and its effectiveness. 

After Jaguar Paw is captured by raiders in the first act, we see them mercilessly escorted along a treacherous path toward the capital city, whereupon they are “dressed” and marched up the ziggurat. We see as some are ceremoniously executed by the high priest, who says their blood is feeding the community’s hungry god. 

It is when our hero faces his own fate that an eclipse darkens the sky and fear falls over everyone that the motivations of the leaders are revealed. It is explained that the god’s thirst is satiated and there is no more need for sacrifice.  

One could dismiss the historical example of the Mayans as cynical politics. The sacrifice only “worked” because the priestly cast convinced the lower class that this is what was necessary, so their acquiescence is purely arbitrary. 

Even if one accuses this as a sort of dog-wagging-the-tail scenario, it must still grapple with the fact that this action had a unifying, pacifying function to the people. At the risk of sounding overly pragmatic, it worked because it worked,

However, one is also presented with a seemingly more authentic cosmic presentation of this same concept in the recent M. Night Shyamalan production, “Knock at the Cabin.”

In this movie, a family is confronted with a group of strangers who ominously appear, weapons in hand, saying voices have called them together and sent them to this cabin. They are told that one member of this family must be sacrificed in order to prevent the destruction of the world. 

The family, obviously refusing, then witnesses some global tragedy that seems to manifest right after their refusal. Then, one of these ominous strangers is killed by the other members of the group, acting as a substitution of sorts for the family’s lack of pure sacrifice. 

Without spoiling any more, it is clear the story communicates to viewers, and it is becoming more apparent to the main characters, that sacrifice, and a pure sacrifice at that, is what prevents disaster. 

While these two examples could easily be written off as Machiavellian or fantastical, as Catholics we can recognize at least a grain of truth in them.

In fact, our faith is based upon the very idea that sacrifice as such, and a very specific Sacrifice, is that for which the whole Cosmos was created and by which the Cosmos continues. 

“For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” Colossians 1:17

“In the Eucharistic sacrifice the whole of creation loved by God is presented to the Father” Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 1359

This ultimate sacrifice for which the whole world was made has also historically been called “Thanksgiving,” which is the English translation of where we get the word Eucharist.

In every classic biblical presentation of the Eucharist, whether that is the miracle of the loaves and the fishes followed by the Bread of Life discourse in John 6, multiple Last, Supper, accounts, or St. Paul’s recounting of this formula in 1 Corinthians 11, he always gives thanks and then breaks. 

While it certainly is important to emphasize that Jesus showed gratitude in his life, especially gratitude to God, it is an over-simplistic reading to not recognize the formula that is being transmitted by the Gospel writers and St. Paul. 

“Eucharist means first of all ‘thanksgiving.’” Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 1360

The sacrifice of Jesus does not invalidate the unifying and sustaining function that sacrifice has always had in human history. If anything, it is just another “law” that Christ came not to abolish but fulfill. This is the deeper law to reality, or deeper magic to quote a famous Christ figure. 

Similarly, ancient communities needed to repeat this sacrifice in order to continue to restore unity amongst the people. So it is with the sacrifice of the Mass, though instead of merely repeating the sacrifice, it re-presents the same one because that which was sacrificed retains its unitive power. 

Interestingly, a novel written before Padre Pio’s famous words were ever spoken recognizes and dramatizes his same sentiment.

The climactic moment of Robert Hugh Benson’s apocalyptic novel, Lord of the World, a *cough, cough* Voyage Classic by the way *cough, cough,* sees our hero, newly elected Pope of the dwindling Church on earth, hiding in the neo-catacombs as the Antichrist descends upon them. 

It is as he is saying a Mass of thanksgiving that they are bombarded by the worldly arsenal and Armageddon, including the eschaton, truly descends. 

There is a related saying that finds its origin long before Padre Pio’s recognition of this spiritual reality. In the Jewish Mishnah, there is an ancient saying of the Rabbis that when the Messiah comes, all sacrifices will cease, except the thanksgiving sacrifice. 

It truly was this sacrifice of thanksgiving that was preserving the world, but also what ushers in the New Heavens and the New Earth, where all that remains is Thanksgiving, is Eucharist, where Christ is all in all.