Messes

At the Christmas Mass the priest talked about God's presence. He said that we often like to think of God as being in quiet, solemn, calm places like churches. But more often God can be found in the middle of messes - in a manger where a teenager is laboring to give birth, in the center of a natural disaster where people are lending help, and right in the middle of the messes in our own lives.

I'm trying to remember that this week, that I can find God in chaos. That even when I feel alone and isolated in all the turbulence, that I'm really not.

It's really, really hard, though.

I mean, when things are going well it's so easy to believe. When everything falls into place it's so easy to smile and say, "Yep, God has a plan and I can see it all laid out right here." That's actually how it felt when I met and got engaged to Mike...everything happened so suddenly, and everything lined up so perfectly, and some of the coincidences were so eerie that it made perfect sense, to me anyway, that there was some divine intervention going on. I felt like God had taken a big jagged piece of my life and, as if He were working a puzzle, turned it just the right way so it all clicked and fit together. Snap. Of course this was all supposed to happen. That's just one example, but it's a pretty good example of how I see God working in the perfect, joyous events of my life.

But what about the chaotic moments? Yeah, not so easy. When I see bad things happening to my students or to my friends it's so hard. Occasionally I can see how things might turn out for the better...for example, maybe my sister's marital problems will either wind up strengthening her relationship or free her to find her real soulmate. The big setbacks don't rattle me as much as the little day-to-day things. It's when I had an awful day at work, my car gives me trouble starting, I don't have enough money in the bank, and I come home and snap at Mike that I wonder, What's this all for? Why is this all happening to me? I can see the potential greater good in a life-changing event, but the small, seemingly pointless stuff makes me crazy.

So that's what I've been trying to do. Trying to find God and meaning in the midst of a mess.

Like I said, it's really, really hard.

Scenes from a Midnight Mass

I really love my church. I truly do. It’s a vibrant parish that actively reaches out to the community and tries to make the city a better place for everyone. Every time I go to church I realize how lucky I am.

Well…most times I go to church anyway. Like any church it’s made up of people, and any time you get a bunch of people together there’s bound to be some odd ones. Normally I can ignore them fairly well, but last night I encountered a woman who irritated me throughout the entire Mass because her particular quirk was her insistence on using wildly dramatic intonation every time she made a response.

Now, if you’ve never attended a Catholic Mass you have to realize that there are actually lots of times when you have to open your mouth to speak. There are the hymns, of course, and the familiar prayers like the Our Father, but there are also many times in the Mass where the congregation says something in response to the priest. It starts at the very beginning of the Mass, when he says, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all,” and we respond, “And also with you,” to the very end when he says, “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” and we respond with, “Thanks be to God.” There are many, many places in between as well where the congregation chimes in with a long prayer or a simple, “Amen.”

For the most part, the responses don’t change. Because it’s the same stuff week after week and year after year most Catholics wind up responding out of habit. I firmly believe that if I were comatose and a priest whispered in my ear, “May the peace of the Lord be with you always,” my lips would form the words, “And also with you” with absolutely no input from my brain. After 27 years of Masses, it’s pure muscle memory. Because everyone’s responses are so rote the intonation is usually sort of flat and uniform. It’s very obvious when someone is going too fast, too slow, or, in the case of last night, just doing something different.

Now, if the woman was just responding with a little more pep than normal, that would be understandable. The Christmas Midnight Mass is very moving. But this woman would have put a high school drama geek to shame. She copped a high, breathy, almost aristocratic voice and injected each word with extreme, inappropriate inflection.

Since she was sitting behind me I couldn’t see her, but as Mass went on I began to form a picture in my head. She sounded young, my age or younger. That would account for the dramatic flair. I could imagine her swishing her hand through the air or resting it over her heart as she gave her responses. As I listened more I began to wonder if she was drunk. Yes, that would make a lot of sense. Perhaps she’d been at a family party, had too much brandy slush, but decided to hit Mass anyway. Yeah, that was probably it. The image tickled me so much that I smiled whenever she chimed in. When it came time for the Sign of the Peace, where we shake hands with those around us, I shook Mike’s hand and gave him a little peck on the lips, and then turned around to meet the drama queen.

She wasn’t a drunken youngster. She was fifty or so, and even though she was shorter than I was she tipped her head back a little to look down her nose slightly disapprovingly. I’m not sure what she was upset about…either the kiss I shared with Mike or my informal blue jeans, I guess. I shook her hand and turned around, almost in shock. She was old enough to know better!

Eventually we finished up Mass (I managed to keep my eyes to the front and not glare at her) and Mike and I left. Once we were outside we took a moment to absorb the scene…the street glowed with light from the streetlights, our breath puffed in the cold air around us, the bells started to ring. It was beautiful. Mike took my elbow to help me across an icy patch, leaned over, and whispered, “Merry Christmas, beautiful.”

“Merry Christmas,” I replied, giving him a light kiss.

We walked in silence for a moment before he said, “So what did you think of the little Forensics meet behind us?” I burst out laughing at the mention of the high school drama competition, and for the rest of the walk home we rehashed her antics.

I really love my church. I truly do. I love the people it’s made up of, even the imperfect characters. I hope that the tolerance I showed this woman will earn me some tolerance the next time I annoy someone in church with my blue jeans or my little kisses or my tone-deaf singing. Because really we’re all imperfect. Some of us are just more annoying than others.

And so it begins...

This past Advent marked the one-year anniversary of my beginning to practice Catholicism once again. Or, I should say, going back to church...I never considered myself to be a non-practicing Catholic, but my experiences over the past year have made me realize exactly how far I'd wandered off.

This has not been a transition that's been without emotion or difficulty for me. And when something is difficult I find it pretty helpful to blog or write about it. Over the past year I've noticed several times that I started to blog about something religious and either wound up modifying it to lighten the religious content, posting it but feeling pretty uncomfortable about it, or just deleting the entry entirely. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's because I know that non-Catholics, non-Christians, and athiests read my blog and I'm afraid of offending them. Perhaps it's because most of the people I've known who have spoken frequently and at length about their religion were people who were doing so to show me how my religion was so wrong. Or maybe it's something else entirely.

I do know two things though...that I want to work through my thoughts about the Catholic Church, but I can't do so with my regular blog. So I'm starting a new blog called Gaining My Religion* where it'll be all Catholic, all the time. I'll post this entry both in GMR and my regular blog.

Hooray!




* Oh no, I've said too much! I haven't said enough.