Catholic For A Day
I assumed we would go to the Episcopal Church in town, the one we always go to. The parents were away and we were in their home, watching the grandkids for the weekend. Come Sunday morning, we are all enjoying our cinnamon raisin French toast when I say we will be leaving in about an hour. The nine year-old: “I’m not really in a church kind of mood.” I press, but he resists. Finally, he offers an alternative. “Why don’t we go to mass at St. A’s?” St. Augustine’s is the Catholic school that both he and his sister attend, which is attached to a large parish church.
I have to say, I wasn’t really in a mass kind of mood. I’m not Catholic. The kids aren’t Catholic. How can we go to mass when none of us can receive Holy Communion? The school kids have weekly mass, and our grandson—who is quite taken with the service and sings snippets of the liturgical music—often grumbles that he’s refused the little wafer. Still, he wants to go.
As we enter the church, the kids dip their fingers in the holy water stoop and bless themselves. I imagine them trooping in here every Wednesday, doing what all their Catholic chums are doing. We slide into a pew and they wave at kids they know, point out teachers and the assistant principal. There’s no bulletin or service leaflet, and I don’t even bother with the missal. I know it’s impossible. But the hymnal works, and the opening hymn is an old favorite.
But three verses in, the music stops and we skip the last three. Why? The priest has reached the altar. That’s so Catholic, I think, smiling to myself. Very efficient. Five masses today, gotta keep it rolling. And roll it does. But something about the spirit of the place begins to impress me. As in: I don’t want to like this, so why do I? The people in the pews don’t need a missal—they toss off their memorized lines in quick staccato fashion. No one much sings. No one is lifting up their arms and swaying. The priest delivers a punchy homily that is both funny and engaging, but it doesn’t make anybody’s top-ten list and—here’s the thing—the priest doesn’t seem to care in the least.
When he says the mass, he’s not rushing, but you get the sense the mass is saying itself, through him. He doesn’t add any “feeling” to the words. This is a completely earnest-free zone.
That’s what impressed me. In Nike terms, Catholics just do it. Broad generalization? Probably, but it’s what I sensed that Sunday. They show up. How we do this isn’t so important as the fact that we do it. Beneath that ethos is a deep sense of God’s primacy, not ours. God is the one who meets us, graces us, forgives us, empowers us, feeds us. All we have to do is show up. We don’t even have to be in a church kind of mood.
That kind of freedom and confidence was striking, in a time when so much church seems performative, trying too hard. I can’t be Catholic for a lot of reasons, but on Sunday I was happy to be Catholic for a day.
David, I went to catholic schools, even a catholic university. I can relate to your story 100%. Catholics do show up. It’s a beautiful thing.
Thanks, Gloria—I figured I’d hear from my Catholic and ex-Catholic friends and readers today. I agree—their showing up is a beautiful thing.
Great perspective, David. Also a sweet reminder that our kids and grandkids can lead us to see things in a different light.
You’re right—Sunday was partly “and a little child shall lead them.”
Catholicism does seem to be the punching bag of denominations these days, but the Catholics I know are DEVOUT and fiercely Catholic. I was jokingly asking a Catholic co-worker if he thought eating a piece of chicken on Friday during Lent would cause him to be turned away at the Pearly Gates – and he said “You’re missing the point, it’s about intention and sacrifice.” That makes sense to me.
Side note, your sermons occupy my 1-10 Top Ten List. As a Southern Baptist convert, I remember wanting to stand up quite often when you finished and yell “AMEN BROTHER!!”
Yeah, we’ve all had that experience, I think, of poking fun at some person’s faith practice that seems odd or meaningless to us…and being brought up short by the devotion and faithfulness of the person.
Ditto Matt’s side note!
Growing up in Baltimore, I had many Catholic friends. Attending midnight mass with them on Christmas Eve is one of my special memories.
For Protestants, the power of a midnight liturgy unlike anything in our religious experience can be memorable—as it clearly was for you.
Sending this to my son who converted to Catholicism a year ago. I understand on one level that theology matters, yet the bulk of Christ’s ministry was centered on faith and practice, which was very individual-specific in the gospels. Some simply asserted “I believe” and others showed their faith by their actions (simply touching the edge of his clothes believing in faith they would be healed). In that instant, faith and action was all that mattered. I may not be able to literally break bread with Catholics in the Mass but I am happy we share a kindred faith.
Theology matters–because bad theology is so damaging—but you’re right, the woman who touched the hem of Jesus’ garment wasn’t Catholic or Presbyterian, and neither was the thief on the cross.
I think the great shift going on in religion and spirituality today is trying to both hold to old formulations of theology, and to recognize when it’s time to retire certain doctrines that once moved people to transforming faith, but which now cripple people’s souls.
David, I’m going to tell Kay to read this one. She will love it. She will relate to this! She’s got a story that father Robert, our Rector, tells about his Roman Catholic grandmother. Perfect for this post.
David, I’m laughing because last Sunday I talked to Fr. Robert. He told how with his Grandma once in a Catholic service the priest asked who was not a Catholic who might want to have more information. He, only a boy, raised his hand. His grandma, sitting beside him, pushed his hand down asking “why are you raising your hand?” he said “because I don’t know what I believe”. His grandma replied, “no one does and it doesn’t matter”. LOL
That’s great! A quintessentially Catholic response. Faith is something you do, something or Someone you give yourself to. They don’t get quite so caught up in the left side of the brain, where everything has to be rationally processed.
Ever notice the descriptives? “Observant” Jew. “Practicing Catholic”. If there is a descriptive adjective for a Protestant I haven’t heard it. Oh, I’ve heard colorful descriptive adjectives for specific Protestant denominations. “God’s frozen chosen” is equally applied to Presbyterians and Episcopalians. There are “High Anglo-Catholics” and “Snake belly low or Broad church Episcopalians.” There are Wesleyan, AME, CME, Free and Bible Methodists. There are ELCA vs. Missouri Synod Lutherans, Southern vs. Black Baptist, and several versions of “Orthodox” etc..But, there are no descriptives that even hint at spirituality or expression of faith like “observant,” “practicing” or “devout” for Protestants How curious. Or, am I missing something?
Thanks for these insights, Elizabeth. You’ve put your finger on a big difference between Protestant Christianity and the other major world religions. Other religions tend to be practice-based, while Protestant Christianity is more belief-based. Everybody knows what an observant Jew must do, but the idea of an observant Christian doesn’t quite fit.
Love this one David. I can connect with hymnal, missal confusion. Being a Catholic (Wednesday school mass and Sunday..my mother even found churches on vacation and prodded all five kids into the pew), and coming into the Episcopal Church took some getting used to it. The hymnal with no song titles still confounds me. I take particular joy in each service when the Episcopal priest welcome’s everyone to God’s table.
Yes, that open table is so important for me too.