Diamond in the Rough

There are many types of Catholic Masses. To be sure they are similar, but just as Doritos and steak are similar in that they are foods, there are many varieties of Catholic Masses. A rosary is essentially 50 Hail Marys, and other prayers mixed in. But the Rosary said on Tuesday is very different from the one said on Wednesday. Only at the most superficial level can they be said to be the same. And the same is true of Catholic Masses. I have been to many types over the years. By far the absolute best is the Easter Vigil. Nothing really can compare to it in my opinion because it’s the best mixture of modern day refinements mixed with the ancient rites. For example, take an old house. Old houses have character, and some people love them for that. But no one wants to live in an old house that hasn’t been updated with air conditioning or proper electrical fixtures. For me the Vigil is like the old house that has been modernized. It’s the best of both worlds.

Anyway, despite having been to many types of Masses over the years this Friday I found myself at something completely different from anything I’ve ever experienced. In fact it was so different that the Doritos / steak example no longer applies. It’d have to be X / steak, where now there is a question as to whether or not X is a food. I got to the Church around 6:40 AM for a 7:15 Mass and Confession. The drive to the Church took me through a very run down area of town. At that hour of the morning it seemed quite peaceful but there were subtle signs that betrayed the peaceful demeanor. A bit of graffiti here, someone sleeping on a chair over there. And in the middle of it was this Church. I got there at the same time as an older lady, who had a mantilla in her hand. Mantilla’s seem to be making a comeback, enough that I don’t notice them as much anymore, maybe 1 in a thousand now, and she was older so I thought on it even less. Then I got into the Church and right away you can’t help but feel like you’ve just walked into a 3D masterpiece. Everywhere the eye’s looked was a photograph. And happily, right smack dab in the middle where it belonged was the tabernacle. A good sign. I sat down and started noticing the smaller details. The Church faced East. The altar seemed small in width and pushed back up against the tabernacle. There was a communion rail. As people came in the men and women seemed to be a little more dressy than is typical, particularly for a daily Mass, and every female young and old wore a mantilla. Then it struck me that this Church kept to the pre-Vatican II reforms.

About that time it was time for Confession. I got to go first, and had another new experience (just seeing that old style Church was the first new experience). It was in the closets like you see in the movies. I had to kneel and talk to a screen that was a curtain between me and Priest, who was in his own closet. I kept playing with the screen because I didn’t like the separation. In the end he gave me 3 decades to say. I think I upset him, because he was like “Pray 1 . . . pray 3 decades . . .”, but that was a good thing, it was a sign of holiness or in this case holy anger. Like, “in the past two weeks you just back slapped the love of my life, multiple times, you’ve got some making up to do.” I then went back out and waited for Mass to begin. And sure enough it was something radical.

The Priest had his back to us the entire time because he faced the tabernacle, and spoke entirely in Latin. I didn’t catch a single word, not because I don’t understand Latin very well, but because he spoke so incredibly fast that I couldn’t make out a single word, not one the entire Mass, excepting when he addressed my directly when I received the Eucharist, and we never said the Our Father, made a sign of peace, and there was no Homily. And it was wonderful. But I’m not saying it should ever become the norm again. No, I like the modern day “improvements”, but some things may be worth bringing back. For example, the Priest having his back turned to us. That’s one way of looking at it, but the better way of thinking about it is that he was turned to God. We live in this self-centered entitled culture, and here for the entire Mass the Priest had his back turned to us. Few things are more insulting than when someone turns there back on you, and this is what happened. But in reality he turned his back on us because he was turning to God to worship with us. It was great, and that may be worth bringing back. But the rest was a bit much. At least give us a homily, some word of encouragement in our own language. One things for sure though, I bet they have the best music on Sundays.

Still I couldn’t help feel sad the entire time. This Church really is a masterpiece, and it was built in the 50s. At that time, it was probably the focal point of the community, which was also probably very nice. But now the community had degraded so much that driving back at 7:40 AM, I thought I witnessed a crime, and felt that I would feel at risk if I dressed in anything more fashionable than jean shorts and a white t-shirt. The Church spoke of a much happier time, when that community had thrived and built that masterpiece. And so sitting there at that early hour with the others, watching the priest with his back turned, I hoped that when he leaved the Church to go about his day, he turned back to us. As though he started the day turning to God for strength, and now he’s ready to turn back to us. There’s great beauty in that.