The Most Wonderful Time of the Year: Daylight Savings Time

If you ask me -- and even if you don't -- this is the most wonderful time of the year. This = Daylight Savings Time and I love that it gets dark earlier. Plus, given my goofy "sleep" schedule, it's equally likely to be dark when I wake up.

While everyone else is setting up their S.A.D. lights, I'm doing a happy dance because not only is sunset is earlier, but the gray film I've affixed to almost every window becomes even more gray. Yay!

I've been following the bemoaning and a-groaning in Twitter, which includes semi-annual hysteria about being on time -- or not -- because of the time change. "Fall back" means gaining an extra hour of sleep, although I like to think of it as getting an extra hour to futz around on a Saturday night.

The church folks in my network have other concerns, like the one in this tweet:

I rolled my eyes and let a ladylike laugh-snort escape. Right, let's not show up early for church by mistake. What on earth would we do with all that extra time? What might God do with us?

Yet Another Sunday of Not Going to Church

It's Sunday and I'm not going to church. Opting out has nothing to do with this afternoon's walk-through of our new house, tomorrow morning's closing, or our move in three days. I haven't been to church in a very long time. 

That's not entirely true. 

A few weeks ago, I visited a Presbyterian church as a "secret shopper" for a clergy friend under consideration for a call. Many months earlier, I left an Episcopal worship service before Communion. I walked out backwards, a technique perfected while working as a pastoral associate and then as a lay liturgical minister. It would be more accurate to note that I haven't attended Mass at my parish in a very long time. 

Why not? 

I love my parish. Being run by Jesuits practically guarantees smart sermons and competent liturgy. It also guarantees a community that takes seriously the Ignatian meme, "people for others" by actively serving those in need. As for the building, the beautiful sanctuary does indeed evoke feelings of sanctuary. Gorgeous music. 

So what's my problem? 

For one thing, the new, which is to say throwback to old, language of the Mass. We're almost a year into this linguistic carnage but other, more pressing issues like censoring religious sisters and getting involved with U.S. partisan politics currently have Roman Catholics in an uproar. And while I'm also steamed about that stuff, at least I can stop reading all about it. If I attend Mass, I have to hear a liturgy that reminds me of . . . nothing good.

For another, there's the gluten-free Host hassle, too long to get into here and now. Stay tuned. 

Do I miss Mass? 

The last time I allowed myself to go deeply into my feelings about not going to Mass and not receiving Communion, I ended up sobbing myself into near-hyperventilation. 

Well over a decade ago, when asked why the h-e-double hockey sticks I was becoming Roman Catholic, I lobbed the shot back with, "Can't become a lapsed Catholic until I become a Catholic." 

Big laughs all around. At the time. Now? Not so much. Lord, have mercy.

Quote du Jour (Religion Department)

This cri de coeur is from Reverend Brian Merritt, Senior Minister at The Palisades Community Church in Washington, DC.  His fierce faith, wicked good humor and creativity is a constant source of thought and joy. I met him via Twitter and then, many months later, had the privilege of meeting him in person. This quote appears at the end of his post, "I A) Hate B) Love the Church" recently appearing on his blog, Shekinah Glory.


So, I will continue upon this road until my God diverts my path. I contain within me an immense anger with the church’s wicked, slothful and wasteful use of people and resources. I hate to see people’s excitement, joy and energy being sapped by petty and dying gasps.

Still, I am a part of this body, this organism that claims to value life. It is a group that yearns for love, mercy, justice, peace and freedom as an outgrowth of that life that they have found. More often than I am willing to admit it is this same church whose members rescue my faith and me numerous times. If these saints can show me mercy what then is my excuse?

─   Rev. Brian Merritt

Week of Prayer for Christian Unity 2011

Guess what? We're supposed to be praying for Christian Unity from January 18th through January 25th!

Probably a good idea, even if this annual attempt at generating [Choose: a) more; b) some; c) any] positive regard among Christians wasn't already scheduled. Is it my imagination or are the right and left hands of the Body of Christ smacking each other around even more than usual these days?

Christian Unity? What the heck, why not? Here's my contribution to this week's conversation: instead of making up more/new prayers, how's about we do a little lectio divina on these key passages from the Nicene Creed:

We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.
We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.

Please note (again): the "c" in catholic is not capitalized for a reason.

Shooting at Church

I was raised in a home where an entire dining room credenza was devoted not to tablecloths and silverware, but instead to my father's camera equipment. Much of our family refrigerator was annexed by little boxes of film. Today I own a camera so insubstantial, I can almost hear my father (of blessed memory) grunting with derision.

My camera is small, it's digital, and the flashlight function is never on because I prefer shooting with available light. Still, given some reactions, you'd think I'd entered the church sanctuary with a 4 x 5" view camera and a 150 mm lens mounted on a tripod, studio-quality lights, a roll of seamless, umbrellas, light panels and a studio chair. Or, an Uzi.

Now that I've settled into the rhythm and humidity of life in Baltimore, I've taken to wandering around shooting local sights and sites. I have a thing for architectural detail and there's no shortage of that in Charm City. I also have a thing for church sanctuaries, especially ones that but for the cross are almost indistinguishable from sanctuaries found in older synagogues. Yes, I have a camera and I'm not afraid to use it.

Evenly matched at this point are churches where I've felt welcomed by clergy and ones where I've been glared at ─ by lay ministers. Adult altar servers seem particularly territorial, prompting me to wonder if they skip the "forgive us our trespasses" part of the Lord's Prayer.

This past Sunday, I dealt with the hostile stare of one candle-snuffing old dragon by smilingly sweetly* and cooing, "You have such a beautiful sanctuary here." She remained grimly unresponsive, thus prompting me to wonder whether Jesus had gone down the wrong way during Holy Communion.

*For real.

Gentle Reminders as We Approach Holy Week

In some parts of the world, these:

Are perfectly acceptable substitutes for these:

"All Are Welcome"...as if we bother to notice.

Thanks, once again, to Paul Campbell at People for Others for providing blog fodder. This morning he posted a review of In the Land of Believers: An Outsider's Extraordinary Journey into the Heart of the Evangelical Church. Gina Welch, the author of that book, having embedded herself in a Baptist megachurch, was oh-so-surprised to discover "a movingly ample capacity for selflessness and generosity" among those church folk.

Paul's questions: "Would she have come to a similar conclusion if she had attended and become involved with a huge Catholic parish for more than a year? What conclusions might she have drawn about Catholics from worshiping with them? Any thoughts on this?"

First, please murmur after me:

Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
Kyrie eleison

There, now I feel better.

Not to swipe at the church with too broad a brush, but had Welch attended a huge Catholic parish for a year, it's doubtful she would have been noticed, let alone welcomed. We may be singing "All Are Welcome" with soppy gusto, but that's about it in far too many parishes

Somewhere along the way "evangelization" and "evangelism" became icky words among Catholics. Evangelization seems to have become a holy-owned subsidiary of the, uh, evangelical churches. And when, pray tell, did the schism between radical hospitality and evangelization happen?

My best worst guess is that Welch would have spent a year being herded into a pew and up to Communion by a dour (because that's what piety looks like, right?) usher. Had she bothered to attend the monthly "social" after Mass, she would have spent it standing in a corner clutching a cup of bad coffee and a store-bought donut.

At some point during that year, she would have been subjected to the Bishop's appeal video in all its bad-production-values glory. She would have been invited to a "ministry fair" offering her opportunities to serve without revealing how that service might be anchored in faith, let alone the Gospel.

If she drove to church, she would have had the experience of being nearly run over in the parking lot during the post-Mass stampede to get kids to soccer practice and their parents out to the malls. Okay, so maybe she'd get to play Bingo...but with no one her own age. I suspect she would have ended her year wondering: who are these people and where is God?

But because "I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of Life," I hope she would have encountered faith nevertheless ─ perhaps in light streaming through stained glass windows or candles flickering in the quiet dark; while gazing at images of Christ crucified and risen indeed.

How do I remain Roman Catholic? Simple but not easy.

Love my God, love the Lord, grateful for the grace-filled gift of faith. The Roman Catholic church? Not always thrilled with that institution. Over the years, I've discovered a few things that help me keep attending.

Whenever I'm feeling bummed about what is -- or isn't -- going on within the RCC at this point in history, I do one or all of the following:

• review the history of the papacy. By now, I can almost lip sync sections of Upon This Rock: A History of the Papacy From Peter to John Paul II, eight hours of lectures by Thomas F. Madden. I'm currently reading William Manchester's, A World Lit Only By Fire: The Medieval Mind and the Renaissance. While it's not exclusively about the papacy, his commentary about the Avignon situation is a welcomed breath of fresh fetid air, as are sections about the de Medici and Borgia papacies. I'm sure I'll return to them again and again.
  

• pay more attention to other liturgical churches. This past week, for example, I've been following (via Twitter) some of what's happening during the Episcopal Church's triennial General Convention. I've been enjoying tweets from Episcopal clergy and lay leadership about the mixed blessing of participatory democracy. Church governance skirmishes among Lutherans also provide a comforting perspective.

• reread key passages in scripture. Depending on what's bugging/bumming me about the Church, I either go directly to Chapter 15 in Acts of the Apostles or Chapter 3 in St. Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians. For the long view of human agency, I reread Genesis in its entirety. Sometimes twice.
  

Ministry: What's Mood Got to Do With It?

The Lector and EMoE schedules are constructed months in advance, so I never know how I'll feel when it's my turn to serve. Truth the tell, I'm often not in the mood to get up, wash up, and show up for the 12:10 weekday Mass.

By 11:30 am, I'll have had a half dozen conversations via different media. I'll have forgotten to eat and be hypoglycemically cranky. I'll be loathe to drive, although living within walking distance of church probably wouldn't make a huge difference in my mood -- or my ability to show up on time.

This morning, I posted this thought on Twitter: "Wonder what God has in mind for me today & how it will be revealed."

My open embrace of divine providence? Pretty much shut down by the time I got into my car. Plus, the prospect of reading what was scheduled didn't elevate my mood at all.

So, imagine my delight to race in late to find: 1) the credence table had already been set up by another parishioner; 2) because it's the Feast Day of St. Catherine of Siena, I'd be proclaiming special readings; and 3) Friday night's movie had been changed from Chocolat to The Bells of St. Mary's. "You announce that," said the Chief Operating Priest, "you're standing closer to the ambo."

Hard to feel anything but joy while reading, "God is light; in him there is no darkness at all" (1 John 1:5) and "Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name" (Psalm 103:1). These words, during today's homily about St. Catherine of Siena, generated grateful relief: "She proved that prayer and activism go together."

Today, God has revealed how faith has nothing to do with mood. Nor, should my mood determine if, when, and how I serve God and the people of God. I wonder how often God will have to re- reveal this revelation to me. According to the Lector schedule, probably Sunday morning.

Polka Dots and Pearls

I'm getting ready for church. Oh what to wear on this bright, sunny, and threatening-to-hit 90 degrees third Sunday of Easter? I peer into my closet and briefly consider a flowered pencil skirt. It gets rejected immediately when I see dots flashing before my eyes.

Those dots would be polka dots. It's a no contest, no brainer. I'm going to wear black capri pants with white polka dots, black patent leather flats, and pearls.

You know how I feel about flip flops? I feel all that and more about polka dots. Polka dots look like laughter tossed against fabric; always playful even when symmetrical. They remind me of pop beads; button candy on paper.

Both button candy and pop beads were popular during the 1950s before everything became a life-threatening allergen and kids weren't allowed to choke a bit to learn a lesson. (And, didn't we Boomers turn out okay? Never mind.)

Polka dots have danced in and out of style since around 1840, although most people remember polka dots from the 1950s and again during the 1980s. In 1988, my Don't Mess dress was red with white polka dots. My kinder, gentler version was in Navy blue.

I buy clothing with polka dots whenever that fabric is in vogue and will wear polka dots even if fashion dictates otherwise. And, so what? Love polka dots. For church, I accessorize with pearl jewelry. Not only do pearls look great with polka dots, but they're appropriately reverential if you think them through to Matthew 13:45-46. Amen.

Life as a Personal Aide: Liturgical Version

Being a personal aide to someone with quadriplegia is a blessing. Being a personal aide to one who is also a disabilities rights activist is a kick in the butt. I know, I know...I should be grateful that I can stand up to get my butt kicked. Ruth, after all, cannot.

The latest kick in my able-bodied butt has to do with realizing how tough it can be for people with disabilities to receive Communion. While it's fine with me if anyone in a wheelchair or on crutches wants to come up the aisle, I've noticed how it's clearly not fine for others.

And so whenever I have the privilege of distributing the Eucharist, I walk forward to meet people with disabilities. I do not expect them to roll or hobble all the way up to me. I'll also serve seated people with disabilities first, kneeling to make eye contact, and taking our sweet Jesus time in the process. I do this not to get them "handled" or "out of the way" but to honor the courage and strength it took for them to get there at all.

Guess what? Religious organizations are not required to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). Our worship and religious education spaces -- and the bathrooms that go with them -- do not have to be physically accessible. Our churches, synagogues, and mosques are under no legal obligation to provide American Sign Language translation or braille worship aids. If any of these accommodations are made, it's because someone took the moral high ground and then scraped together the funding to make accessibility possible.

For the past few years, transportation issues have prevented Ruth from attending and participating in the Mass. Maybe that'll change now that she has the van. Maybe not. She's understandably tired of the eye rolling, dramatic sighs, and sotto voce muttering about being in the way that frequently accompanies her appearance in the power chair.

I'm not sure taking the manual chair is a solution, although God knows I'd welcome the opportunity to mutter "repent" and "get out of the way" while navigating it up the nave with her in it. Might be a great way to kick off the new liturgical year.

As for that sign of peace thing...

In addition to coming up with 72 different possibilities for closing the Mass, those attending the 2005 Synod of Bishops on the Eucharist had other important things to discuss -- like the timing and reach of the sign of peace. The Pope asked them to contemplate the former; the bishops extended their inquiry to include the latter.

As reported at Whispers in the Loggia:

"Cardinal Arinze said that in addition to its timing some have suggested that the sign of peace be limited to an exchange between the Massgoer and those in his or her immediate vicinity. He said that in some churches today, the sign of peace is extended to the point that it becomes 'almost a jamboree.'"

Clearly, the bishops haven't attended many Jewish synagogue services in general or ones that are even more exuberant expressions of community. (Simchat Torah comes to mind. ) I'm doing a lot of reading about first century Jewish-Christians for my next book and do not believe that either Jesus of Nazareth or Jesus the Christ envisioned his Body as represented by stiffs.

The Mass is ended, now...

Even though I've recently contemplated changing my blogger handle to "Cranky Catholic," I'm grateful for my chosen faith (Christianity) and much of the religious practice thereof in Roman Catholicism. Today, I'm grateful for the latest blog fodder I retrieved from Whispers in the Loggia.

Since 2005, there have been discussions about new options for the final words of the Mass. Frankly, I was always charmed and moved by "Ite, missa est," translated as, "The Mass is ended, go in peace." Apparently, many attending the 2005 Synod of Bishops on the Eucharist thought Catholics were hearing, "go and rest." Like that would be a bad thing in these times of multi-tasking and God-doesn't-even-know-what on Sundays.

Because many of the bishops wanted to make the church's evangelization mission more clear, here are the new options for dismissal, chosen by the Holy Father:

-- "Ite ad Evangelium Domini annuntiandum" (Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord).

-- "Ite in pace, glorificando vita vestra Dominum" (Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life).

-- "Ite in pace" (Go in peace).

You know what's coming next, right? My suggestions (in English):

-- Go in peace and don't run over anyone in the parking lot.

-- Go and reveal Christ by actually behaving like a decent human being.

And your suggestions would be? (Use the comment box below!)

Read *her* rant!

You don't have to be raising children to appreciate Ironic Catholic's recent post, "Theological Rant 5.0: Youth evangelization isn't rocket science." Any and every adult can serve as a role model; that goes double for those serving as pastoral associates. Of her many fine points, this is probably my fave:

"Stop using teens as volunteer fodder for every dang aspect of parish programming [so] they can check off the Confirmation checksheet. Because frankly, the Israelites didn't like being slave labor either."

And it should comes as no surprise that I loved her points about how what happens in the home generally has more impact on kids than what goes on in the building we call "church." Hope you'll click over to read her great rant.

More Mass Adventures

Maybe not growing up with the Mass is what makes it an adventure just about every time I attend. Sometimes it's a completely Inward Ho! experience, other times it is not. Last night's Vigil Mass was mostly an Outward Bound adventure.

Having worked on a parish staff I know when something is seriously amiss. I've learned to recognize the stride of speedy reverence that deacons, lectors, and extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist use when entering or exiting the sanctuary because of some snafu. I've become conversant in the body language priests use when they're pleased, peeved, or bored. There's even more to observe if the choir is floor level. Very distracting. Occasionally amusing. Usually invisible to the masses at Mass.

And so it came to pass that a variety of cues captured my attention last night. Sure enough, from where I was sitting, I could see a deacon scurrying out the back way to roust whichever priest had forgotten to get up, wash up, and vest up. The deacon returned, so did a priest -- eventually.

Meanwhile, I noticed a couple of things. First, the parishioners seemed blissfully unaware. No rustling or obvious watch checking (even after 15 minutes) or yakking or looking around. I, of course, was looking around but noticing I was doing so led to my second revelation. "Wow," I thought, "this situation is not my fault and not my problem to fix." Transcendent bliss. Inward ho!

What I did literally and figuratively pick up as my problem was an interesting piece of parking lot trash. After watching parishioners walk over or around it and after nearly leaving the church property myself, I went back -- to pick up the empty flattened box of Trojan Ultra Pleasure premium latex condoms.

No, I did not place my thoughts elsewhere. I let them roam through the mind field all evening.

The Joys of Adult Conversion

Embracing Catholic Christianity as a sentient adult has its blessings. Currently topping my list is the blessing of not having been raised Catholic and therefore unable to do anything liturgical by rote. For me, liturgy is not at all what the symbolic interactionists would call a "world-taken-for-granted." [Note to self: spend some time thinking about how to reconcile prior training in and affection for this phenomenological approach with B16's teachings about the perils of moral relativism.] Okay, back to the Earth plane.

I, for one, could not lip-sync the Mass, although I can recite most key congregational speaking parts in a heartfelt way. I'm not too proud to admit being at a near total loss when expected to proclaim anything other than A or B options for the mystery of faith. Anyone standing near by might wonder if I'm saying, "WhenweeatthisbreadandhumunahhumahJesusblahblahglory." Not to worry all you Cradle Catholics, I'm determined to learn C and D long before it's time for my own funeral Mass.

So can you imagine what happens when I'm asked to be an Altar Server?

Sometimes this happens when I show up to read for the noon Mass. And if you think it's a young priest who invites me to serve him as he serves us, you'd be wrong. I'm granted this privilege by a man who really is old enough to be my father.

I do not take this privilege for granted. I cannot do it by rote. I always think I've messed up something sacred and he always kindly tells me I've done "fine job." I always say, "thank you, Father" and mean it. I also resist adding that I'd probably do an even finer job if I were wearing an alb and a huge pectoral cross and was eight years old.

The God is Good Department

I always mean to follow as much of the Office as is humanly possible and have, to my own self-shock and awe, become someone who packs her prayer journal and copy of Magnificat in her purse or briefcase.

Sometimes I'm able to read silently while someone, somewhere is reading aloud. More often than I'd like to admit, these spiritual aids never get hauled out during the course of my busier days. Yesterday was one of those days, so I was very much looking forward to choir practice where I'd get the dual benefit of what St. Augustine once characterized as praying twice. I also desperately needed oxygenation after spending the entire day in either a conference room or car.

I arrived ten minutes early and settled into one of my favorite pews where I opted for some lectio divina. So enthralled was I with the luxury of being alone in a silent church, that I lost track of time. When I finally realized no one else was showing up for choir, I sat a bit longer and then left. Thirty minutes had elapsed, which has got to be some kind of record for me sitting still without adult supervision.

Having received exactly what I needed, I drove home thinking, "God is good!" Allelujah, amen.

Finding a Place to Belong

Barbara, who characterizes herself as a "Catholic in crisis," writes to say that her core identity as a Roman Catholic is exactly what stops her from leaving for an evangelical or Pentecostal church. "I can’t bring myself to follow the lead of so many to find a closer experience with God, to find a place to belong. Its been a struggle for me for about 2 years." She asks if I have any advice.

These sorts of conversations with cradle Catholics always ramp up my gratitude for arriving at Catholicism during adulthood. By then, I'd pretty much figured out that to be a "good" Catholic I'd need to distinguish:

• religion from faith;
  
• religious identity from cultural identity;
  
• being catholic from being Catholic, and
  
• parish life from the Body of Christ.

Being raised Jewish puts me at an advantage because Jews have spent millenniums grappling with such nuances. My Jewish legacy absolutely entitles me to answer her questions with questions:

• What do you mean by "closer" to God?
• What do you mean by "belonging"?

Whenever I get my knickers in a twist over something that's going on with the People of God or church leadership, I take a break from them and focus on God.

I suppose I'll always retain Judaism's insistence on direct dialing, but as a Catholic this means I focus on Holy Communion. Call me human, but I cannot commune with them unless I'm in communion with Him. You will not find this central focus on Eucharist at an evangelical or Pentecostal church.

As a practical matter, you'll need to find a parish where you can focus on coming to the table of the Lord and being nourished there. Go someplace where you're not distracted by community maneuvers or whatever you may have heard about the pastor. Practice lectio divina with the Mass readings du jour. Pray to God for signs. Gently place your two years of desert wandering within a lifelong journey of faith.

As for "belonging" in the sense of participating in a parish community, I'll have more to say about that in another post. Just yesterday, I had a conversation with someone about the whys and hows of leaving one parish for another. I seem to be having a lot of these conversations lately. So glad that tomorrow is Laetare Sunday!