Every Sunday, after the General Intercessions, something quiet but deeply meaningful happens: the Offertory. Bread and wine are brought forward either by the people or by the servers, a song is sung, and the priest begins a series of prayers at the altar. As usual, there is a nice connection with Old Testament worship that has been brought up through Christian history.

In the Temple, God commanded Israel to bring their gifts forward before the sacrifice was offered (see Lev 1; Lev 2; Deut 26). The people approached with their offerings—animals, grain, bread, wine—and placed them into the hands of the priests. Worship always began with the faithful giving something that would be taken up into the sacrifice itself. The Church continues that ancient pattern. Because the Eucharist is a true sacrifice, we too have a moment of presenting gifts to God.

The essential gifts of the Offertory are bread and wine, because they will become the Body and Blood of Christ. In most parishes you’ll also see the collection brought forward, although this is not necessary. These gifts represent the sacrifice that we all bring, which include more than the bread and wine. Our labors, joys, sorrows, and even our entire lives are spiritually placed upon the altar as a sacrifice. This is mentioned by the priest, “Pray, brothers and sisters, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God our almighty Father.” The sacrifice of the priest is the bread and wine, which will become the Body and Blood of Christ, while your sacrifice is the life that you bring to worship. 

In the Jerusalem Temple, the Levites sang psalms while the people brought up their gifts. The singing accompanied the action and lifted the hearts of the worshippers. The Church has always done the same. While the people sing, the priest quietly begins the Preparation of the Gifts. His prayers explain why this moment matters. “Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, for through your goodness we have received the bread we offer you, fruit of the earth and work of human hands, it will become for us the Bread of Life ... .the wine we offer you…it will become our spiritual drink.” These beautiful words come from ancient Jewish blessing prayers. They acknowledge that the bread and wine are God’s gifts to us—and now we return them so He may transform them into Christ’s Body and Blood. While he is preparing the wine, you’ve probably noticed the priest pouring a drop of water into it. “By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share in our humanity.” The tiny drop of water represents us. The wine represents Christ. Mixed together, they become inseparable. This symbolizes our union with Jesus in His self-offering to the Father. Again, our own sacrifices are united to the sacrifice of the Eucharist.

Incense (when used) shows that our prayer rises to God and that the gifts are set apart for something holy. The washing of hands is a sign of interior purification: the priest prepares his heart to enter the Eucharistic Prayer. He quietly says, “Wash me, O Lord, from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sins.” This is a direct quote from Psalm 51:2, expressing a desire for interior purification before offering the sacrifice.

The Offertory is not “intermission.” It is the moment when the Church gathers everything we are and everything God has given us, and places it on the altar. Bread and wine will soon become Christ Himself. But first we offer them—and with them, we offer ourselves. In the Offertory, we do what God’s people have always done: We bring our gifts, we lift our hearts, and we ask God to make our offering holy.

After the homily each Sunday, we stand and offer the Prayers of the Faithful, sometimes called the Universal Prayer or General Intercessions. Many people wonder: Why do we do this? Is this a recent addition to the Mass?

While the form we use today was restored after the Second Vatican Council, the practice itself goes back to the earliest Christian communities. Around the year 155, St. Justin Martyr described the Sunday Eucharistic gathering and noted that after the readings and the homily, “we all rise together and offer prayers” for various needs. These prayers were offered publicly and responded to by the faithful—much like what we do now. Over the centuries this element faded from the Roman Rite, though it remained in many Eastern liturgies. Vatican II did not create something new, but restored an ancient practice so the Church today could once again benefit from it.

The restored practice has a very specific purpose: to allow the baptized to exercise their priestly role by interceding for the needs of the Church and the world. After hearing God’s Word and responding to it through the homily, the faithful stand and offer petitions that arise from the needs of the community and the entire human family. The Church intentionally places these intercessions at the hinge between the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Eucharist. We have listened to God speak; now we speak to God on behalf of others. This public intercession fulfills the exhortation of St. Paul, who urged believers “to make supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings for all people” (1 Tim 2:1). It is the moment when the spiritual priesthood of the baptized becomes audible in the liturgy.

The Church does not give an official fixed list of intentions, because the needs of the world and the local community shift from week to week. However, the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (GIRM 70) gives a stable structure that guides how these intercessions should be composed. Normally, four categories are included:

The Prayers of the Faithful are not simply practical announcements or a moment to shift our posture. They are the Church at prayer: the Body of Christ petitioning the Father for the needs of humanity. When we respond, “Lord, hear our prayer,” we join our voices to Christ, the one true intercessor, who constantly prays for the Church.

Each Sunday, after listening to God’s Word, the Church stands and professes the Creed. It can be easy to treat this moment as routine, something said simply because it is “what Catholics do.” But in reality, the Creed is an important moment in the liturgy. It expresses who God is, what He has done, and what we believe as His people—so that we may worship Him rightly.

Throughout Scripture, God consistently teaches that true worship is founded on truth. Israel was commanded to remember who God is and what He had done for them. Their most important statement of faith, the Shema—“Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord is one” (Deut 6:4)—was recited daily. It was not a theological list, but it functioned as a proclamation of identity and fidelity: We belong to the one true God. In Christian worship, the Creed fulfills and expands this purpose. Because we have received the fullness of God’s revelation in Jesus Christ, the People of God profess not only the unity of God, but the mystery of the Trinity, the Incarnation, the Paschal Mystery, and the life of the world to come. The Creed ensures that our worship is not vague or generic, but intentionally Christian. Before we approach the altar, we publicly profess the faith of the Church so that we may offer the Eucharistic sacrifice with hearts and minds aligned to the truth.

A little background. In the earliest centuries, creeds existed primarily in the context of baptism. Before entering the Church, catechumens professed their belief in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. These baptismal formulas eventually developed into what we now call the Apostles’ Creed (this is the one recited at the beginning of the rosary). The Nicene Creed we recite on Sundays comes from two ecumenical councils—Nicaea (325) and Constantinople (381)—which the Church convened to clarify the divinity of Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Heresies had arisen that denied Christ’s full divinity, and the Church responded by handing on a clear, authoritative summary of the apostolic faith: Jesus is “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God.” The Creed was not originally part of the Mass, but it gradually entered the liturgy as a safeguard of orthodoxy.

The Church continues to profess the Creed during Mass because it performs several essential functions:

We profess the Creed during Mass because worship and belief are inseparable. To worship God rightly, we must know who He is. The Creed is the Church’s weekly act of remembering, proclaiming, and celebrating the truth God has revealed. Standing together, we confess our faith so that we may offer ourselves—and the Eucharistic sacrifice—with hearts firmly rooted in the one true God who saves.

One of the most familiar moments of the Mass is the homily. After the readings, everyone instinctively leans forward and waits to hear something that will encourage them, teach them, or challenge them. This instinct is ancient. We can see its roots in the Scriptures themselves. In the synagogue at Nazareth (Luke 4), Jesus stands to read from the prophet Isaiah, and then He sits down—taking the posture of a teacher. St. Luke says, “The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on Him.” They expected Him to preach. And He did: “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” From the very beginning, God’s Word was meant to be proclaimed and then broken open so God’s people could understand and respond.

The early Christians continued this pattern. Around the year 155, St. Justin Martyr described Christian worship this way: after the readings from “the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets,” the “president of the assembly” (that is, the bishop or priest) would “offer a verbal instruction and exhortation” to the people. In other words, there was preaching—an explanation of the Scriptures and an exhortation to live what had been heard.

The Church today continues this ancient practice. The Second Vatican Council teaches that the homily is not an optional speech but “part of the liturgy.” On Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation, the homily is required. Its purpose is simple and beautiful: to break open the Word of God so the people can receive it, understand it, and allow it to shape their lives.

Many Catholics understandably treat the homily as though it were the most important part of the Mass, or at least just as important as the Eucharist itself. Modern culture plays a part in this, since in many Christian communities the sermon is the center of worship. And even as a priest, I place great effort into preaching well because it matters. But the homily is not the center of the Mass.

The sacrifice is.

The Church teaches clearly that the Eucharistic Prayer—when Christ’s sacrifice on Calvary is made present—is the “center and summit” of the entire celebration. The homily prepares us for that moment; it does not replace it. This was the understanding of the early Fathers of the Church as well. St. Augustine, one of the greatest preachers in Christian history, tells his people again and again why he preaches: so that they will be properly disposed to approach the altar. His goal was not simply to inform or inspire but to purify, encourage, and awaken the hearts of his listeners so they could participate fruitfully in the sacrifice of Christ. The homily opened their hearts; the Eucharist transformed them.

Of course, we’ll talk more about the Eucharistic sacrifice in future sessions of our Massterclass.

For our Catholic Massterclass today we’ll talk about the readings proclaimed during Mass.The proclamation of the Word of God has always been part of Christian worship. St. Justin Martyr, who lived in the 2nd century, mentions that something is always read from what we would call the Old Testament and also from the “memoirs of the apostles”, which is the New Testament. The exact structure of the Biblical readings has had a few different forms over time, but it’s always been there. Our current structure provides us with three readings, or four if you count the Responsorial Psalm. I’ve spoken about the layout of the readings in previous sessions of the Massterclass, so I won’t repeat what I said then. It is, however, worth our time to recall what St. Paul says: “All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work” (2 Timothy 3:16-17). Having the Biblical readings in our worship is helpful for us because it keeps us close to God’s spoken voice, training us in righteousness, and it reveals God’s glory. Even if the readings sometimes feel distant or difficult to grasp, the Word of God still accomplishes what it intends (cf. Isaiah 55:11). Hopefully we can all understand that the reality of having the Sacred Scriptures is a gift, even if we don’t understand everything, which leads us to respond, “Thanks be to God!” at the conclusion of each reading.

And among all the readings, none is more sacred than the Gospel. We stand for the Gospel out of respect for the life of Jesus, which is the primary subject of the Gospels. Because of the sacredness of the Gospels, the priest quietly prays two brief prayers—one before and one after proclaiming the Gospel.

The first one is said as he bows before the altar on his way to the ambo: “Cleanse my heart and my lips, almighty God, that I may worthily proclaim your holy Gospel.” There could be a reference here to the Call of Isaiah from Isaiah 6. The Lord brings him to the Temple where Isaiah sees the Lord in all of His glory. Isaiah realizes he is a man “of unclean lips” and begins to be worried about not being worthy to be in such a holy place. An angel brings a burning coal from a fire and touches it to Isaiah’s lips, cleansing him and making him ready for the mission God is about to give him as a prophet. The priest recognizes what a privilege it is to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the congregation for the glory of God, so he asks the Lord for a similar purification from his own sinfulness, so that he may proclaim the Gospel worthily and well. The next time you hear the Gospel proclaimed at Mass, remember these hidden prayers of the priest, and silently make them your own.

The second silent prayer immediately follows the proclamation of the Gospel. While the congregation is proclaiming, “Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ,” the priest kisses the Gospel passage out of respect for the Word and says, “Through the words of the Gospel may our sins be wiped away.” He is asking that even the proclamation of the Gospel would have such an effect in our lives that it would lead to the forgiveness of our sins, so that we may all be worthy to stand in the Lord’s presence in His holy temple.

After the Sign of the Cross and the greeting, the priest says, “Let us pray.”

When the priest then prays the Collect (pronounced KAH-lekt), he “collects” all those individual prayers and unites them into one voice before the Father. That’s why it’s called the Collect: it gathers — or collects — the prayers of the faithful into a single, solemn petition.

Each Collect follows a classic, time-tested pattern:

Address to God the Father – “O God, who…”

A reason or attribute – recalling something about God’s nature or saving work

The petition – asking for a specific grace or transformation

Conclusion through Christ – “Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son…”

This structure beautifully mirrors how we approach God in prayer: we acknowledge who He is, recall His goodness, ask for what we need, and present our prayer through Christ in the Holy Spirit.

Each Collect expresses the theme of the liturgical day or season.

The priest prays the Collect with hands extended — a gesture of intercession, representing Christ the High Priest. The people respond “Amen,” making the prayer their own.

The word Collect comes from the Latin collecta, meaning “gathering.”

In summary:

After the Sign of the Cross and greeting, the Mass continues with the Penitential Act, a moment of humble preparation to enter the sacred mysteries. We begin not by pretending we are worthy, but by admitting that we are not — and trusting in the mercy of the God who calls us here. Maybe you remember last Sunday’s Gospel about the Pharisee and the tax collector. The tax collector stood off at a distance, beat his breast, and said, “Be merciful to me, a sinner.” We take that into our worship, for Jesus was clear that his approach was the righteous one.

The priest invites everyone to acknowledge their sins in silence, followed by one of three approved forms, the most familiar being the Confiteor (“I confess to almighty God…”). As we recite the Confiteor, we strike our chest just as the tax collector in the Gospel did. This is not a replacement for sacramental confession, but it truly disposes us to receive grace. The General Instruction of the Roman Missal notes that the priest’s prayer that concludes the rite — “May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life” — is an absolution, though “it lacks the efficacy of the Sacrament of Penance” (GIRM 51). Still, as the Catechism of the Catholic Church explains (CCC 1436, 1458), venial sins are forgiven through the penitential act when we sincerely repent. This simple, honest moment clears the way for us to encounter the Lord with renewed hearts.

Immediately following this act of repentance, we cry out for mercy in the Kyrie eleison (“Lord, have mercy”). These ancient Greek words, among the oldest in the Mass, are not gloomy but hopeful — the plea of those who know God’s mercy is greater than their sin.

Then, on Sundays outside Advent and Lent, our tone changes from penitence to praise. We sing the Gloria, beginning with the angels’ hymn from Christmas night: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will.” Having confessed our unworthiness and received mercy, we are now free to glorify God with joy. The Gloria praises the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, marveling at God’s holiness and goodness. It is not a request for anything, but a song of pure worship — a foretaste of the praise of heaven. The Gloria has been present from the beginning, and our current form of it has been virtually unchanged since the 9th century! One of things about the Gloria that I always like to mention is that it is so clearly focused on proclaiming God’s glory, which is yet another reminder that we are here for Him. Maybe some of us are getting a little tired of being reminded of this reality, but it’s one that has been unacknowledged too often in the past and we need the reminder.

Together, the Penitential Act and the Gloria form a rhythm of the Christian life itself: repentance leading to rejoicing, humility giving way to worship. Every Mass begins this way because every encounter with God begins this way — with mercy received and glory given.

What most people would understand to be the official beginning of Mass is the Sign of the Cross, something all Catholics are taught to do from as early an age as possible. Interestingly enough, almost no other Protestant denomination makes the Sign of the Cross, even while they may begin “In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” When we trace the Cross upon ourselves and invoke the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, we proclaim that:

We belong to the Trinity, the God we are about to worship.

The Sign of the Cross draws a clear boundary: what follows is holy. It marks the moment when we step from the ordinary into the sacred — from daily life into divine worship. Just as the priest and people crossed the threshold of the church to enter the building, the Sign of the Cross marks the spiritual threshold into God’s presence. Our physical act of tracing the Cross on our bodies reminds us that we are bodily creatures and the Cross is meant to be something we fully embrace by way of suffering and acts of self-denial, for it is through the Cross that salvation comes to us.

Following the Sign of the Cross is the first dialogue between the priest and the people: “The Lord be with you.” “And with your spirit.” We find phrases similar to these in the Old Testament whenever God was about to give someone a mission that was much bigger than they could handle. We even see this in the Gospel of Luke when Gabriel comes to visit Mary: “Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with you…” From there he told her that she would bear God’s own Son in her womb - a much bigger mission than she could handle, but God’s grace and presence with her could bring it to completion. When the priest says, “The Lord be with you,” there is an acknowledgment that we are entering into a mystery that is much bigger than we can understand: our own mystical participation in the Paschal Mystery and heavenly worship. God’s grace and presence is necessary for us to understand and fully engage our worship of Him. Your response to the priest, “And with your spirit,” is an acknowledgment that God has given the priest a much bigger mission than he can naturally carry out, but God’s grace and presence in his core makes it all possible to be fulfilled. God’s grace makes the priest capable of acting in the Person of Christ as he leads everyone in heavenly worship on earth. Incredible!

Just as with the Sign of the Cross, a gesture is included with the words. The priest extends his hands as he speaks to the people, as though saying to them, “I’m here for you, with you.” Remember, the priest is acting in the person of Jesus, and the dialogue is meant to be a dialogue of love. For the priest to say, “The Lord be with you,” is really for Jesus to be speaking through him in love. As a little note, the Roman Missal doesn’t list the people as extending their hands in return while they say, “And with your spirit,” so there is no need for you to do so.

When the priest enters the sanctuary at the beginning of Mass, one of his first actions is to bow to the altar and then reverence it with a kiss. (Whenever the tabernacle is in the sanctuary, the bow to the altar is replaced by a genuflection.) This gesture is rich with meaning, even though it is often quiet and unnoticed.

The altar is the central symbol of Christ in the church. It is not just a table where bread and wine are placed—it represents Christ Himself, the “living stone” rejected by men but chosen by God (1 Peter 2:4). It is also the place of the sacrifice, because on it the Eucharist is offered, which is one with the sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross. For this reason, the altar points us both to Christ and to Calvary.

By bowing to the altar, the priest acknowledges Christ’s presence and honors Him with a gesture of humility. When he kisses the altar, it is an expression of love and reverence for Christ, who is both the priest and the victim of the sacrifice. In ancient times, altars were built over the tombs of martyrs, so the kiss also recalls the communion of saints who gave their lives for Christ and share in His victory.

The priest’s kiss, then, is a greeting of Christ and a recognition of the holy mystery about to unfold. It ties together Christ, the Cross, the saints, and the Eucharistic sacrifice into a single act of reverence. By beginning Mass this way, the priest shows that everything to follow is centered on Christ, whose love is at the heart of our worship.

At the beginning of every Mass, the priest walks in while the people stand and sing. This might seem like a simple way to “get things started,” but in reality it connects us with a deep biblical pattern of worship.

In the book of Exodus, we read that whenever Moses went into the Tent of Meeting to encounter the Lord, “all the people would rise and stand, each at the entrance of their tent, and look after Moses until he had gone into the tent” (Ex 33:8). Moses entered God’s presence on behalf of the people, and they stood in reverence, watching and praying as he went. They remained outside of the Tent while Moses encountered the Lord, but they were attentive to the reality before them.

When David was king and the place of worship had moved into Jerusalem, he instituted the practice of chanting with music during the worship. Later, in the Temple of Jerusalem, the priests would enter the holy place to minister before God while the people and Levites outside joined in song and psalms of praise. The movement of God’s minister into the sacred space was never silent or casual — it was surrounded with prayer and music.

This pattern continues in the Mass, but now in its fullness. Jesus is the new Moses who enters the true dwelling of God — heaven itself — to intercede for us. The priest walks to the sanctuary in persona Christi, in the very person of Christ, and so it is most fitting for the people to stand as he enters. At the same time, the priest walks forward also as a representative of the baptized, who share in Christ’s priesthood by their baptismal identity. The people are not left outside, as Israel once was, but are invited to participate in Christ’s own offering.

That is why the entrance is not usually silent or passive. The whole assembly joins in song — whether a chant or a suitable hymn. The Church intends this entrance chant to echo the psalms of old, or at the very least to lift our hearts and minds to the worship of God. By standing and singing as the priest enters, we show that we are a pilgrim people, led by Christ into the presence of God, and united in the worship about to unfold.