Being the good Catholic boy that he is, my husband wanted to take the kids to Station’s of the Cross yesterday at our church. I thought it would be nice since they've never participated before. I admire David for his faith. Even through all the craziness life has hurled at us, his religious beliefs have remained steadfast. I can’t always say the same for myself, as I have my own struggles with my faith. It's OK mom, I’m still Catholic!
But before Stations of the Cross, our church had a regular mass and we entered as it was ending. I’m thinking to myself, this is great! Hardly anyone was there! If only Friday mass could count for going on Sunday’s. Maybe Father D. could even give me some sort of special dispensation and I could keep Holy the Sabbath on Fridays.
It was great because I could actually see the priest, there was no irritating parishioners in front of me swaying back and forth, no irksome teenager nervously fidgeting about (except for my own), and no organist piercing my ears with its nauseating sounds. Some people look at that and say it’s no big deal. But unfortunately I’m wired a whole different way. I am in many ways the ultimate people watcher. I notice things that others take for granted. All that noise and moving around is like information overload to me, and that’s when I get all goofy. So that pretty much sums up my experience of 8 o’clock Sunday mass.We go to the 8 o’clock early mass because the boys usually have to serve, and my youngest has Sunday school right after.
The homilies are rather boring as well. The diocese transferred a new priest to our parish because the church continues to grow. Father M. we shall call him, is probably the most comatose person of the holy order that I’ve ever seen. I really don’t think the Holy Spirit is awake at that particular hour for him. Which, I can totally understand. He may not be a morning person. Plus the boys say he smells like breakfast-you know bacon and eggs. So the guy probably had a big breakfast before mass, which could contribute to the sluggishness. The guy is literally being held up by the podium, I kid you not! And his homilies sound like blah, blah, blah, completely monotone, with a hint of boredom, and a touch of- I need to pull the covers back over my head -voice. It’s not even worth putting my hearing aids on, cause it would still sound like blah, blah, blah.
Now Deacon B. gives the best sermons. He’s married with kids. He faces the same struggles that married couples with children have and it’s no wonder that he is one of the main counselors at our church. He empathizes with his parishioners and it reflects that when he speaks. Father D. is good as well. He’s a 6’7, no worries kind of guy, who has this dry sense of humor that I love. He’s like a tall Ben Stein but better looking.
So that’s my post for now. I am also humbled to see that people are actually reading this blog. Either that or it’s my mother reading it over and over and over again. LOL. Off to bed, Sunday starts early.
