Church Moment
Have been taking a time away from Church in recent months. It is not a crisis of faith so much as a fed-up-ness with some of the faithful. Yes, I know I'm supposed to put myself aside and just enter into the community but let me tell you, have you gotten a good look at some of the community lately? Inappropriate slogan t-shirts, cell phone conversations DURING mass, ill behaved school age children who should know better, the lady who balances her checkbook during the sermon. Sometimes I wonder how Father Paul stands it. So it's not so much a problem with church as some of the people in it. Therefore, I've been taking a break. Then we had the wind knocked out of us by Dad's sudden passing and, like a tractor beam on a shuttlecraft, I found myself getting up on Sunday, getting dressed, preparing my offering, and walking the few well memorized blocks to church.
Husband was elsewhere but my son, with no prompting, fell into step beside me. As we walked he broke the steady silence to gently remind me "You know they're probably going to say Grandpa's name at the intentions during Mass."
I replied, "No. Why? We didn't ask them to, I don't think. No. This is a Catholic church, you have to pay to get your name in the Mass."
What can I say, keeping it light and keeping it real.
Walking in was, as always, walking into the familiar. The Good Mornings, the woman handing out the song sheets, the kids rushing into the bathroom before Mass starts, the priest and deacon and lay ministers and servers all gathering at the back of church to pray before beginning.
Then there was my sister and her girls, sitting where we always sit and the familiar faces all around us; including the deacons daughter and cantor who went to school with my sister and gave me an extra hug as we took our seats. Her Mom died suddenly - hit by a car - several Christmas' ago and I know she knows how this feels. So here was a place that I belonged to -even if some of the belonging was irritating to me.
Yes, there were two cell phone calls during Mass. We were also surrounded by small babies and children who were all sweet and smiley or sleeping.
OK, sure enough, right at the end of the intentions, read by the Deacon who has been a friend of the family for years, there it was, "For our newly departed....for Bob Schweda" Powerful moment but there was Z beside me who picked up my hand and oldest niece on the other side of me who has a habit of leaning on me during Mass and the cute little baby in front of me who had no clue about anything in life besides bright lights, singing, clapping and Cheerios.
Yes, I shed a few quiet tears (and would you believe I had NO Kleenex with me? special thanks to a thoughtful son for coming through in the clutch). During the Offertory, I closed my eyes and let myself pray in the midst of this Church. The prayer was clean and from the heart, overwhelmed with the feeling that God the Father, who I believe holds my fate, really showed how much He loves me (more than I believe anyone should) by blessing me with the father He gave me for here. My Dad believed in God but he never had a problem getting out of Gods way and letting me know that God was good and above us all - even really great Dads. My heart was looking for that moment of peace, a laying to rest of sorrow (even if I knew it would return many times in the days to come). But I just was looking for a moment and there it was - in a not unexpected place. If God could be so good to me - to all of us - by giving us Dad, how could God the Father do anything less than welcome Dad, my father with open arms? My Dad was a man who was well and truly loved. He lived his life in no other manner than God has gathered him close already and whispered kindly, "Had to do it quick, Bob. You built a good life. You were loved - they never would have let you go. Job well done".
Husband was elsewhere but my son, with no prompting, fell into step beside me. As we walked he broke the steady silence to gently remind me "You know they're probably going to say Grandpa's name at the intentions during Mass."
I replied, "No. Why? We didn't ask them to, I don't think. No. This is a Catholic church, you have to pay to get your name in the Mass."
What can I say, keeping it light and keeping it real.
Walking in was, as always, walking into the familiar. The Good Mornings, the woman handing out the song sheets, the kids rushing into the bathroom before Mass starts, the priest and deacon and lay ministers and servers all gathering at the back of church to pray before beginning.
Then there was my sister and her girls, sitting where we always sit and the familiar faces all around us; including the deacons daughter and cantor who went to school with my sister and gave me an extra hug as we took our seats. Her Mom died suddenly - hit by a car - several Christmas' ago and I know she knows how this feels. So here was a place that I belonged to -even if some of the belonging was irritating to me.
Yes, there were two cell phone calls during Mass. We were also surrounded by small babies and children who were all sweet and smiley or sleeping.
OK, sure enough, right at the end of the intentions, read by the Deacon who has been a friend of the family for years, there it was, "For our newly departed....for Bob Schweda" Powerful moment but there was Z beside me who picked up my hand and oldest niece on the other side of me who has a habit of leaning on me during Mass and the cute little baby in front of me who had no clue about anything in life besides bright lights, singing, clapping and Cheerios.
Yes, I shed a few quiet tears (and would you believe I had NO Kleenex with me? special thanks to a thoughtful son for coming through in the clutch). During the Offertory, I closed my eyes and let myself pray in the midst of this Church. The prayer was clean and from the heart, overwhelmed with the feeling that God the Father, who I believe holds my fate, really showed how much He loves me (more than I believe anyone should) by blessing me with the father He gave me for here. My Dad believed in God but he never had a problem getting out of Gods way and letting me know that God was good and above us all - even really great Dads. My heart was looking for that moment of peace, a laying to rest of sorrow (even if I knew it would return many times in the days to come). But I just was looking for a moment and there it was - in a not unexpected place. If God could be so good to me - to all of us - by giving us Dad, how could God the Father do anything less than welcome Dad, my father with open arms? My Dad was a man who was well and truly loved. He lived his life in no other manner than God has gathered him close already and whispered kindly, "Had to do it quick, Bob. You built a good life. You were loved - they never would have let you go. Job well done".