For whatever reason, the etiquette prior to the commencement of Mass has been contemptuous. That is, by my accounts. Gossip. Scatterbrained conversation. Restlessness. Nothing that had anything whatsoever to do with reverence towards God. I could be mistaken, but I am of the accord that when an individual enters the inner sanctum of a church, such would be the opportune time to prepare for the beauty of what will undoubtedly present itself. You know, taking advantage of that interval to dispel any anxiety prior to the service. Calming oneself. Ridding the mind of selfish and indulgent thoughts: "Gosh, I could have slept in this morning… the ball game will have started before Mass is over…um, I could be doing anything else."
My senses had been assaulted. Matters could only escalate.
On the one hand, I was in the company of nincompoops lacking veneration. Conversely, I also was confronted with the typical wandering thoughts of my own spiritual journey: Am I doing enough? (No!) Do my prayers pass muster? (I don't know.) Was I in the right frame of mind when executing the Sign of the Cross over my chest? (I hope so.) The total disregard of my fellow churchgoers had me all jumbled. Yet, I had been cognizant of why I was there. Actually, I was eager to be present. Why? I wanted to worship God in a particular way. Not to socialize or make a grand show, but rather to offer myself.
My immediate thoughts amounted to: Gosh, who was I about to share the Bread of Life with? Where were their hearts? We were about to receive Jesus -- in our thoughts we should be laying prostrate on the ground in a gesture of humility, of unworthiness. Nothing else in that moment should matter, just us and God. Would my connection with Jesus be nullified because dorks were mucking up matters? Would God be disappointed because I had the opportunity to address their lack of gallantry, but instead chose to mire myself in pity and righteousness? And, why ••• why wasn't the Holy Spirit chirping away in their ears to “shut up”?
Normally, I would have walked away from any elevated level of nonsense, but doing so would result in missing out on the reception of the holy sacrament. No way. The Eucharistic celebration is one of the beautiful observances that drew me to Catholicism. Abstaining from such because of a few knuckleheads hardly seemed rational. In turn, perhaps I should have thrown a tantrum and stomped away in a flurry of protest. (Unfortunately, I suspect many would not be the wiser to my absence.) But, and here is a huge proverbial “but”, who am I to judge (Matthew 7:3 NLT, “Why worry about a speck in your friend's eye when you have a log in your own")?
While the priest receives confessions from penitents, the assembly utilizes that window to recite the mysteries of the rosary. Oftentimes the depth of prayer can be hugely intense and thought provoking. But, there are those days when I glean nothing. On Father's Day, for instance, whew, on Father's Day I achieved a level of bitterness not anticipated -- a couple congregates were periodically whispering during the prayer, albeit, at a low whisper. Even so, talk about disturbing. (No pun!) This lack of social grace burned my chaps. It's a wonder that a dark cloud did not descend on us or a bolt of lightening did not seek me out specifically, leaving behind a smoldering pile of ashes where I was seated. Poof! 'Where did Karl go"? I was livid.
When confessions had finished, the priest entered, donned his vestments, and Mass commenced. However, considering everything that transpired prior to his entrance, I could not seem to focus. Segments of the prayers resonated, but most escaped me. I was so discombobulated that I errantly recited the Lord's Prayer (Last Supper). That was absurd, I have known the sequence of that prayer since being knee high to a grasshopper. I might as well have been speaking in tongues! Thank the heavens I had studied the readings earlier in the morning; otherwise, I would have missed the message. This is not to say that all went smoothly thereafter. Not at all. To my bewilderment, I blanked out during the homily (sermon). The words went in one ear and out the other, lost in outer space, floating somewhere in the cosmos.
If you have not figured it out, the lack of solemnity being exhibited was eating away at me. It was easy to understand why Jesus cleared the Temple of malefactors by overturning tables (Matthew 21:12-13). Oh, how I wanted to open the gates to a torrent of chastising words. Though, permitting my vocal expressions to lash out at these individuals would abruptly fly in the face of that whole love your neighbor as you love yourself tenet (Mark 12:31). But, gosh, I could not help but wonder whether it would have been acceptable to look for a loophole. Consider this: if I discontinued loving myself for a few moments, could I not have then justified unleashing the whip of my tongue? In other words, if I didn't love me, there would be no basis in loving them! Okay, okay, I was really grasping at straws, but haven t you ever fancied similar acts of retaliation?
What about rebuking them with Mother Superior's infamous wooden ruler? Gee whiz, I am beginning to sound like an old, crotchety, fuddy duddy.
Conclusion: In the days which followed, I took time to reflect on the lack of harmony and reverence during Mass. Whether I like it or not, these perceptions are wholly my problem, not theirs. They are embarking on their own particular journey at a pace that suits them. Possibly on different roads! It is unfair of me to impose my own expectations upon them (no matter how much smoother the universe would be). Quite simply, I need to practice patience, humility, and understanding. Perhaps, I should have gone to confession, too!
June 2011
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