Something has been bothering me regarding mass attendance. If I am drawing undo attention to myself during mass, whether received or detached, I am wrong. I cannot call forth extensive investigation, justifying myself emancipated from wandering thoughts. To stand out, to be an extreme in any regard is erroneous. I must blend in, absorbed within the body of the Church. I am finding it beneficial to be seated amidst a comfortable, familiar group. A mature couple, the older gentleman, Norm, reads during daily mass. Him and his wife, a friendly face, unobtrusive, not overly-friendly, allowing me space while accompanying during mass, voices to harmonize with, are becoming routine in seating themselves directly behind me. People of serious faith, they do not take their identity overly serious. In front of me, is a man attending St Paul’s for fifty-five years, so he says, yet mental stability does not seem to be his strongest asset. His friendly face is always a pleasure. His awkward singing due to being deaf never ceases to charm; an absolute loving heart, adoring mass and the Eucharist. Then two pews behind me a delightful elderly couple often repose. If I notice them pull in I find myself watching them exit their vehicle and make their way into mass. He utilizes a walker, identical to my deceased father’s. It takes the couple quite an effort and a lengthy time before they are able to seat themselves. I marvel at their patience, fortitude, and determination to attend daily mass. She sports fashionably elegant attire. Others tell me they are the parents of fourteen children. Their presence stirs my soul. Their voices humble. To worship with them is a tremendous blessing. I think she senses how much they mean to me, and with humility tolerates my admiration. St Paul’s is a true spiritual home. Mass is the high point of my day. Part of the blessing is sharing mass with the Poor Clares. The hymnal leader, Sister Mary Joseph, has added a dimension to my mass participation with her leading of the Hosanna, the prefiguring to kneeling for the miracle of transfiguration: Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts. Heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest. Her singing to the responsorial prayer allows me to synchronize my soul with the cloistered sisters, captivated by the body of Christ in the Church, preparing myself for the Eucharist and receiving communion. It is a profound dimension to mass I have never experienced before. I love it.
Today during post-Sunday mass coffee and treats, I enjoyed a special moment I felt demonstrated the proper following of Divine Will. In a simple way declarative. I saw an Italian woman I spoke with last week, desiring to sit with her again. I relish characters and she is one. Somehow she pulls off carrying her poodle throughout the celebration of mass, and on into the gathering afterwards. She came to the United States in 1962, approximately the same time my mother came over from Europe. Invigorating conversation easily flowed during our initial meeting, I favored her company once again. However she was already seated, and the table she choose was full. I sat alone at an empty table, thinking about forcing myself upon her table. A couple sat with me, conversation not coming easily. Feeling awkward, I relaxed into the idea that God was involved in some way I did not comprehend. Attempting to converse, the couple and I struck gold as it was revealed they were Sister Mary Joseph’s parents. From there the blessings blossomed and I learned of the history of Sister Mary Joseph. Her mother, a serious perfunctory woman, was overjoyed with my interest in her daughter. She told me how serious her daughter was as a child, and the fact she was a practicing RN before entering the cloistered life. Her father told me how he missed his daughter as she lived with them, possessing incredible gardening skills. He teased that he took credit for the wonderful landscaping she conducted, however with her departing his lack of a green thumb was exposed. It moved me that her mother made a point of explicitly pointing out how happy her daughter was. A daughter of many brothers and sisters, the Poor Clare was her most contented child, a true receiver of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. They visited her once every two months and it never ceased to amaze her how joyful her daughter was. It made her proud. Driving to see my mother, I realized patience provided the sharing with Sister Mary Joseph’s parents. If my will would have dictated, I would have forced myself onto my Italian acquaintance. Not that it was a bad thing, however it’s happening would not have allowed what God intended.
Do not conform yourselves to this age but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, so that you may judge what is God’s will, what is good, pleasing and perfect. –Romans 12
“. . . Heaven upon earth through Perpetual Adoration of the Most Blessed Sacrament solemnly exposed in the spirit of Thanksgiving and Reparation on behalf of the world” –-from their website.
