Moving to Substack

 I am moving on and trying my hand at the writing game on Substack.  Please come along with me.

Mild Musings

Learning to Listen

It seems you just never know when what appears to be a good idea is going to go badly. When the thought of beginning the new year by honoring Mary on her day of solemnity occurred to me, I was certain that only goodness would result.  It turns out that there were alternative learning goals at play. I am slowly coming to understand that all the voices in my head have merit and deserve my attention, even those that appear to be distracting me from desired results.  

Since my church home would not be having mass on January 1st, I opted for a return to the local diocesan church to celebrate Mary..  While I consider myself a “practicing Catholic” the practice is definitely on my own terms: MY church with the priests I prefer, singing the newer songs, and homilies that feed my spirit.  It is this closed-mindedness that created my urge to return to the neighborhood church.  If I was going to call myself Catholic, I had to be able to stand behind the word and everything it entailed.  I decided a day in advance where I would attend, located the time of mass and refused to entertain any negative notions of changing my mind. I was convinced that those wayward thoughts were distracting me from my spiritual goal.  I committed to the 9 AM mass and felt good about honoring Mary as my first act of the new year. 

I walked in the door and immediately felt that negative notion again when I saw older ladies in the vestibule paying homage to the priest of whom I had never laid eyes on before.  It could be that he was completely innocent but I doubted it. I just didn’t like the hierarchical feeling I was getting of HIM and us.  I tried my best to ignore it and found a seat on the side (out of visual range of the priest and near enough to the door if I felt the need to flee).  The priest made an announcement about an opening song located on page whatever.  It had no meaning to me because there were no hymnals around.  It turned out I could have sung it because it was “O Come All Ye Faithful.” But this was an O Come All Ye Faithful in name only.  It turns out that even a joyous Christmas song can resemble a funeral dirge when sung slowly enough with no accompaniment.  Strike 2.  

As I walked in, I had been awed by the size of the creche that was located, oddly enough, directly behind the altar.  Actually, it was impossible not to see it, it took up most of the space and could easily be called imposing.  But then I began to take in the rest of the environment.  Angels suspended from above, one on a tapestry and the other in tulle, outlined in gold and blinking lights.  There were gigantic wreaths on each side of the chapel also draped in chasing lights that are typically only seen on the exterior of houses.  Where am I?  What has happened to my neighborhood church?  I know that the liturgical Christmas decor is white and gold  but I’ve never seen it accentuated with so many blinking lights.  I could only imagine the impact this might have on excited children on Christmas Eve thinking only about the first Christmas gift to be unwrapped.  

The readings were done by a gentleman dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans and then came the homily which seemed to have come verbatim from the fourth grade CCD catechism.  Come to church, honor Mary, be good.  I was just about to tune completely out when, lo and behold it got worse.  The offering baskets appeared.  You’re collecting money on the Solemnity of Mary? I looked for the door but Jesus held me in my seat with, as usual, his timely words of advice.  You came for Eucharist, you’re so close.  Stay and hang out with me for just a few minutes more.  Jesus does have his way with words.  The Eucharistic Minister processed in with the ciborium like a scene from “The Crown” but I just couldn’t see the humor (or honor) in any of it.  All I could think was this is why the young have left the church and why I choose to worship at the University.  

Somehow I managed to receive the consecrated host but not before it was held dramatically above my head and ceremonially dropped into my cupped hands. I don’t think this was what Jesus had in mind at the Last Supper.  I returned to my seat and prayed for the church, the pope and anyone else I thought might find this all as ludicrous as I did.  Eucharist, prayer, final blessing?  Can I go now?  Oh no.  The pastor can’t pass up any chance to remind the congregants of his status so now he takes center stage.  For the life of me I have no recollection of his message although I suppose his presence was the object.  It was now that I headed for the side door as the priest encouraged us all to sing “What Child is This?; again, acapella.  The result was not a pleasing sound.  I breathed deeply as I emerged from the sanctuary and stepped into the chilly air.  This was for you, Mary.  Blessed are you.  

On the way home, I worked at finding the lessons learned.

• There is no need to feel obligated to go to mass because the Church put it on a calendar  

• Listen when the bishop says the obligation is lifted as the holy day is on a Monday.

• There is no need to search for an alternative church when you already have what feeds your spirit.

• The next time you tell a friend of your worship plans and she raises her eyebrows, think again.  

• Even what appear to be negative distracted thoughts have an important message to tell you

• The prayer life you have in your back bedroom is better than all the giant creches and lit angels in the world.

• Honoring Mary does not require a special building

• The Eucharist is always worth the wait