Quote du Jour (Pope Francis Department): "We lose people because they don't understand what we're saying."

Should have seen this one coming but still surprised to find myself creating a special Quote du Jour Department for Pope Francis. After decades of irritation if not downright disgust with popes, I find myself eagerly awaiting opportunities to read what this one has to say.

There's a bittersweet poignancy and/or evidence of the Holy Spirit to this. I haven't been able to stomach a Roman Catholic Mass since the "new" horribly retro Roman Missal was foisted upon us. (I'm one of Those People who still signs petitions to get rid of that linguistic atrocity.) No surprise, then, that this passage from his recent address to bishops of Brazil would capture my attention:

At times we lose people because they don’t understand what we are saying, because we have forgotten the language of simplicity and import an intellectualism foreign to our people. Without the grammar of simplicity, the Church loses the very conditions which make it possible “to fish” for God in the deep waters of his Mystery.

─  Pope Francis

Life as a Clergy Wife: And a Time to...Let's Go!

Someone recently asked my husband if he'd shorten the Sunday service. He came home and told me. I've waited a respectable length of time before writing about this. Maybe an entire week.

Shorten Sunday Eucharist? How much shorter could it get? Clearly these people know nothing about their Jewish roots.

Being raised Jewish, I entered my Christian Era at a level of comfy discomfort with lengthy worship services.

When I was growing up, a typical synagogue service involved at least 90 minutes of blessings, prayers, Torah readings, and D'var Torah/Drasha (trans: homily). Add another 30-to-60 minutes for the Oneg Shabbat (Hebrew: "Joy of Sabbath." Practical reality: refreshments).

Being raised in the Reform movement, I knew our services were brief moments in secular time compared to ones Conservative and Orthodox Jews conducted. Theirs went on for hours, although it's also true their services also seemed to involve a lot of traffic and schmoozing. No silent sitting in pews.

And so it came as a shock to discover Christian worship took less than an hour to complete from opening hymn to closing benediction.

I'm referring, of course, to a typical Sunday morning when there are no baptisms, renewal of nuptial vows, or sending youth off to build houses in developing countries. Regular services seem to be done in an analytic hour (i.e., 50 minutes).

In all fairness, that recent request to shorten the service came about because there would indeed be a sending forth ceremony. Could he, perhaps, shorten his sermon?

Oh, he could do that and more. He could also eliminate the second reading; cut out some hymn verses. My suggestion:

"Save time? How about sing every other word?"

Meanwhile, shimmering in the thought bubble:

The Body of . . .Oops! Gluten Free in the World of Church

If you follow my adventures within and beyond church, you already know I can go from zero to gazillion mph when it comes to discussing gluten-free living.

Secular summation: Why are GF foods so needlessly expensive? 

Sacramental summation: Why is offering GF Communion so freakin' difficult?

I stripped gluten from my diet several years ago. A nutritionist thought doing so would reduce my fibromyalgia pain. I rolled my eyes when she trotted out the suggestion. 

"Isn't gluten free the new bright shiny?"

Celiac disease had recently become the diagnosis du jour and I already knew I didn't have that. She provided links to articles in credible journals. Giving up wheat, rye, and barley seemed easy enough. It was and within 72 hours my pain level had dropped a stunning 80-ish percent. 

I became more careful about eating anything with gluten. It was expensive at first because GF foods, especially those made under certified gluten free manufacturing processes are pricey. That was relatively easy for me to work around because I rock at cooking. 

What's wasn't and still isn't so easy is getting GF Eucharist, especially at Roman Catholic churches. Either GF hosts aren't available or arranging to receive them is brutally cumbersome or actually receiving them can be downright humiliating. 

No joke, I attended a church where those receiving GF Eucharist were told to go to the back of the bus line to wait until everyone else was served. This was allegedly easier . . . for the deacon who also made no attempt to disguise his exasperation with the situation. I no longer attend that church. And yes, I was too weary to lift that aggravation up to the Lord or lay it at the foot of the Cross.

Last year I flat-out gave up. When not receiving Communion became too spiritually painful, I decided to opt for physical pain. Impressively white martyr-ish, eh? Not really. 

Turns out a small piece keeps the fibro pain down to a manageable 2-3 on a scale of ten. Tolerable since my normal pain level runs at 5-6 on any given day of goofy barometric pressure changes.

The next challenge became instructing clergy to offer a smaller piece of Eucharist, something routinely done so nursing home communicants don't choke to death on Jesus. But this, too, has proven to be a hassle at times. But it's not a hassle at St. Mark's Evangelical Lutheran Church in Baltimore.

I especially love the swift, heartfelt mea culpa Pastor Dale Dusman delivers if he forgets to break what has already broken for us. Last Sunday's sounded like this: "The Body of . . . oops!"  

We both cracked up laughing at the altar rail and thanks to the endorphin boost, I was (relatively) pain-free for the rest of the day.

News Flash from the USCCB about Our Lord and Lamb

News Flash*

Jesus is the Lamb of God, 

end of narrative.

* "The Angus Dei should not be prolonged unnecessarily...

nor may other texts be added to this chant." 

Read all about it here.

Litany of the Saints

Please join me
in savoring eight minutes and nine seconds away from the ecumenical fray...

Prayer 2.0

Self-mortification may now be forbidden by the Roman Catholic Church, but that has never stopped me from self-flagellation for almost always being late for prayer.

By being "late for prayer" I mean being late for formally convened morning (Matins), evening (Vespers), and night (Compline) prayer. I'm always on time for spontaneous utterances of gratitude, grief, or petition to God.

If you stay at a monastery where the Liturgy of the Hours (LoTH) is chanted, I'm the retreatant running -- silently, of course -- down the halls, through the cloister walk, and slipping into her seat midway through the first psalm. I've also replayed this scene in suburban churches and city cathedrals. My practice of being late for practice is interfaith as well as ecumenical. During the ashram years, for example, I was late for morning meditation and evening Aarti.

My seemingly chronic lateness for devotions even happens in the sanctified privacy of my hermitage. Now, thanks to twitter, I've stopped making myself oh-so-wrong for being oh-so-tardy for devotions. I joyfully participate in Prayer 2.0, which currently involves following TheUrbanAbbey. The Abbess posts morning and evening prayer in 140 character tweets.

Goofy? Not at all.

I seem more inclined to pay attention to what I'm praying when I have time to read, repeat, and digest it at my own pace. Something about this medium compels me to sit still long enough to contemplate, "Lord come to my assistance, make haste to help me," rather than hastening on to the next line in what might otherwise become rote prayer. Indeed, I've been jolted out of rote prayer because The Urban Abbey uses a variety of Anglican and Episcopal resources, including prayers from the exquisite New Zealand prayerbook.

I love how Prayer 2.0 frees me from the constraints of praying morning prayer at some dreadful hour -- sacred for some; ungodly for me. Meanwhile, having the call to prayer pop up on my computer monitor has become a powerful incentive to simply stop whatever I'm so busily doing and attend. It's the 21st century and, mea mongo culpa, the screen prompt has more impact than church bells, allowing me to pray in a very disciplined undisciplined way.

All I Want for Christmas is a Thurible

Truth to tell, for Christmas I'd like the whole My Mass Kit which, in addition to a Thurible, includes a Crucifix, Chalice, Finger Bowl, Purificator, Cruets, Candles, Paten, cloth Corporeal, and "foam Hosts." I love that the kit includes 12 pieces. How symbolically cool is that?

My Mass Kit is being marketed for "boys 3-12" and I know the (current) rules, so wouldn't dare imperil my eternal salvation by playing Roman Catholic priest. I might, however, be tempted to play Episcopal priest.

It's far more likely that I'd use My Mass Kit to practice being a Catholic altar server because I'm still a little shaky about which linens go with what and when the cruets make an appearance. This is not something I learned when I was growing up...and attending Temple Sinai.

Since I've already treated myself to a holy day gift of the Sonocino Talmud on CD-Rom, I hope My Mass Kit is affordable. Apparently, the retail price has not yet been determined.


I first read about this just-in-time-for-Christmas product on Catholic Sensibility and then tracked back to dotCommonweal where the comments and David Gibson's replies are even better than his original post. Check 'em out!

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!)

Oh dear G-d...

"Don't they have anything better to do?"

"What could they be thinking?"

Thanks to yesterday's announcement (as reported by CNS) from the U.S. bishops' Committee on Divine Worship, I received these questions and variations thereof all day. How would I know what they were thinking? I'm thinking, "thanks for the blog fodder."

But I'm also thinking about the Tetragrammaton and, as the statement points out, the opportunities for catechesis, not to mention vocabulary building. Because of the next book I'm writing, I'm also thinking about the timing of their statement. I'll have more to say about that soon.

I especially zoomed in on what the the rep from GIA publications had to say about their editorial policy against the using YHWH/Yahweh in their materials. They established their policy in 1986 because of "sensitivity to concerns among observant Jews about pronouncing the name of God."

"You know," I wrote to someone last evening, "if they want to honor and respect the tradition of observant Jews, they should be writing 'G-d' not God."

Her response was swift and to the point, "That will be hard to get people to do!!"

So was mine, "No s**t."

Missal Missiles

Until now, I haven't commented on proposed changes to the Roman Missal, the U.S. bishops' recent deliberations, or the USCCB announcement about what will go into effect circa 2011. Other commentators have done a great job. A Concord Pastor provided fine reportage in his post. I also liked David Gibson's Pontifications post.

Not that I'm devoid of opinion on the matter.

Am I ever without an opinion? Heck no, even my dreams are opinionated -- which might explain the bruxism. So here's what I'm thinking about the changes, at least half of which I plan to ignore by muttering sotto voce what I learned as an adult convert. I'm thinking two words: "Latin Mass" ...but without the priest celebrating Ad Orientem.

As a result of growing up with Hebrew prayers and chanting in Sanskrit during my yoga years, I'm all for worshiping in a foreign language. I can say with confidence that doing so provides access to a powerful experience beyond the rational mind. Plus, returning to Latin could end up being ironically democratizing. Let's level the praying field so that no one knows what's being said. Quod erat demonstradum.

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.

Feast Day of St. Benedict of Nursia -- July 11

Although it's highly unlikely I'd last longer than one cycle of the LOTH before getting booted out of a Benedictine monastery, I'm a fan of The Rule of St. Benedict.

I'm such a fan of its durable wisdom that during the ashram years I bought copies of McQuiston's contemporary interpretation of The Rule for everyone on the senior management team there. Hot flash: Like the Church, ashrams have senior management that, like the Church, only a bold few refer to as such. (See: Ch. 5 of The Rule for reasons why I wouldn't last longer than one cycle of the LOTH.)

What I love is the wise way St. Benedict integrates and balances prayer, work, and service into daily life. I love the core ethic that, "All who arrive as guests are to be welcomed like Christ..." (Ch. 53:1)

What I do not love in The Rule includes these lines from "The Tools of Good Works":

• Not to utter words that are foolish and provoke laughter. (Ch. 4:53)
• Not to love much or unrestrained laughter. (Ch. 4:54)

Was he kidding?

Also not keen on St. Benedict's views about sleeping arrangements (Ch. 22) or disciplinary measures (Ch. 23-26, 28, 30) which explains, in part, why I'm drawn to hermitic rather than monastic life. Still, this hasn't stopped me from treasuring personal retreats at Holy Cross Monastery.

Scenes From an Ordination

As grace and early arrival would have it, I happened to grab an aisle seat at this morning's Ordination. Not only that, but my friend ended up next to me when it was time for him and eight other ordinandi to hit the cathedral floor. With very little effort, I could have knelt down to whisper, "May the Lord bless you and keep you." I didn't, of course, opting instead to silently pray this and the rest of Numbers 6:24-26 before joining the ongoing chant.

It may be a while before we discuss what it was like for him to be prostrate for the five minutes it took to chant the Litany of Supplication. Fine by me. I'm still processing the experience of my second ordination. During the rites, I was aware of being distracted by my internal conversation. The abbreviated version went something like this:

Me: "So just because of that scripture passage Catholics think only men should be deacons?"

Me again: "Oh relax, you already get to do most of this stuff without promising to obey the bishop and all his successors."

Me again: "Good Lord, who chose that music?"

Me again: "Oh relax, it's supposed to be prayer not performance."

None of this intrapsychic hoo-hah stopped me from tearing up during the Laying on of Hands, smiling during the Vesting with Stole and Dalmatic, and hearing what the Bishop said while placing the Book of Gospels into the hands of each newly-vested deacon:

Receive the Gospel of Jesus Christ,
whose herald you have become.
Believe what you read,
teach what you believe, and
practice what you teach.

Me again: "See? This is something we're all called to do."

I know this is true. Still, I remain stuck in a continuous loop of wondering about what the church actually honors as ministry. And eating prodigious amounts of superb food after Mass hasn't made a dent in this deeper hunger.

About Today's Mass (January 2, 2008)

The priest celebrating today's Mass wore a white vestment underneath a chasuble with green shamrock appliqués tumbling down its front. Huge shamrocks. Tumbling. Bright green.

Being a visual-kinesthetic learner, I generally welcome visual assists to prayer and meditation. Having recently realized this, I've developed compassion for those who read missals and hold, if not actually pray, the Rosary during Mass. I, in fact, have taken to packing my pocketbook for Mass as if I were taking a long road trip with a toddler. A copy of Magnificat, my personal journal, and colored pens keep me anchored in prayerfulness rather than distracted. Hey! At least I'm not tossing Cheerios into the air and racing matchbox cars along the kneelers. Not yet, anyway.

But I found the shamrocks disturbing. Seeing them along with red poinsettias and deep green Christmas trees made me want to check the calendar to make sure I hadn't somehow time tripped forward to March 17. Alas, I didn't have my liturgical calendar with me -- no room for it in my purse, so I had to wait until arriving home to do that. Instead, I got myself anchored in the reason for this season by shifting my gaze to the nativity scene which, I am pleased to note, did not include leprechauns.