The lucky ones

Considering the quality of music in many parishes, I might consider deafness to be desirable rather than a handicap.  But I digress (without even getting started no less). 

Back on the topic, Jimmy Akin and Ed Peters give some thought and advice to Fr. McNamara's liturgy column on deafness, liturgy and priesthood.  I particularly like Jimmy's considerations of language

The problem is: Giving deaf people captions written in English is not giving them captioning in their own language.

American Sign Language, despite its use in America, is not English. It has different grammar and different vocabulary. It may have certain loan elements from English, just as English has loan elements from French and German and Latin and Greek, but it is not English any more than English is one of its cognate languages.

and whether a deaf-mute man could be a priest since the sacraments involve the spoken word.

Ed touches on the subject of ministering to the deaf, which touches close to home here.  I have (unsuccessfully) lobbied for some "changes" to the Mass for my blind son.  I asked the liturgy committee if the bell could be rung during the consecration (yes I also had ulterior motives) so the blind would be drawn to the moment of consecration.    I was rebuffed with the explanation that my son was sharp enough to know that from hearing the words of consecration.  Sadly I can say with both the sense of sight and hearing, I still can struggle to focus during that time.  I can only imagine how difficult it would be for those lacking the visual of the body and blood being raised.

There is not going to be perfection in this fallen world, but I can't help but think if the Mass were celebrated as the Church has put forth, it would be about as close to perfection as our humanity could attain (that may seem like a no-brainer to most, but go with the thought here.)  With the spoken word, the tolling of the chimes, the elevation of the body and blood and the genuflection; even those with limited senses could still understand the significance of the moment of consecration.

Priestly service

Some of us over at Catholic Dads have recently been discussing kids at Mass. They are often a distraction, but taking them is part of their training and they belong there as Catholics.

But a thought occurred to me today at Mass for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. As fathers, we have a priestly role for our domestic church, our family. And what would one think if the priest decided to sit down and watch the consecration because he wanted to "not be distracted" by being in the service of the people?

As a father we are consecrating our children to God, and by becoming a father we have given up the right to spend our Sunday's at Mass simply for ourselves. We become servants to our children in the way that the priest is the servant of his spiritual children. So my time at Mass is spent training and building up my children rather than immersed deeply in private prayer.

Minding the kids

I have been asked on more than one occasion how we get the children to mind so well in church.  Other than noting that from a parents perspective, they aren't always angels. 

But they do stay pretty quiet and we don't make too many trips  "out back". It occurred to me as I was interrupted from my state of awe last Sunday.  Just as Father was about to consecrate the Body of Christ, our two year old and 5 year old started squabbling and the shush was more than the tender feelings of the little one could bear.  So as he was rushed out of the pew just as he drew his breath for the second wail, I turned to see what they were fighting over.

It was nothing more than a book.  But there lies the rub.  It wasn't our book, we tend to be minimalists in our approach to Mass time entertainment.  It isn't asking too much for kids to be quiet and behave for one hour.  The youngest two draw/scribble on the little papers provided for that purpose.  But the family behind us offered one of them a book halfway through Mass.  Which was fine until the other noticed and wanted to hold it.

Entertainment only serves to promote the need for more entertainment and then the equal distribution of said entertainment.  Then there is the enforcement of the distribution, the threat of future enforcement if this one isn't followed and so forth.  Pretty soon the whole Mass is spent minding the kids rather than the kids minding their manners.

Clinging to the moments

Bear-i-tone's deep question at The Spirit's Sword reminded me of a brief moment at Mass this weekend. Bear is troubled over the quality of music they are required to sing.

The music doesn't fit the bill. We've lost members over this. We are having trouble recruiting in a large part because of this. Few people like this and the rest are left out in the cold. A very large portion of this music is theologically inadequate. It is inadequate in almost every sense. So I come back to my troublesome question: Should I ask, "Why in God's Name are we singing this garbage?" or "Why are we singing this garbage in God's Name?"

I would say the question should be the latter. He quotes Fr. Longnecker's excellent treatise on What's a Hymn For?

However, if the Mass is meant to take us to the threshold of heaven; if it is meant to be a glimpse of glory and a participation in the worship of the spheres of heaven itself, why then the sentimental, sweet and comforting songs just won't do. They wont' do not because they are bad or untrue, but because they are not good and true enough. Worship that takes us to the threshold of glory needs to be, well...glorious.

Mass is about worshiping God. Our Creator and the very one whom without His active presence we would cease to exist. Mass isn't about how great we art, but about "How Great Thou Art". Which leads me to my brief moment of profound worship. We were asked to stand in as proxy sponsors for a baptism. Hence we were up in the second row, we made it to Mass on time (well about 1 minute late, but they waited for us.) and the kids were in good behavior mode for the most part (more on that later).

The readings fit together wonderfully (as the Church has planned out over a 3 year cycle of Old Testament, Psalm, New Testament and Gospel readings). The homily was well done. But what set this Mass apart was one song. The Offertory was "How Great Thou Art". All four verses and by verse 3, it started to hit me.

And when I think, that God, His Son not sparing;
Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in;
That on the Cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin.

That floored me. It was one of those moments that sustains me for a long time. I don't get many of the "profound moments" that really affect my heart. I do much out of duty and because I know it is right in my heart. But it is rare that emotions get through. I long for that, but not unlike Mother Theresa's dark night of the soul, I have a 40 days and nights in the desert. Of course I am far from her holiness and complete submission and am by no means a mystic. But lets just say, I can understand what she meant by not "feeling" the presence.

So then, the 4th verse followed.

When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation,
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart.
Then I shall bow, in humble adoration,
And then proclaim: "My God, how great Thou art!

I was at the threshold of glory. I wished I could have stayed there. But a fight over a book by the youngest two right before the consecration demanded my attention come back to earth.

But one of those moments had happened. And I cling to them knowing "How Great Thou Art"!

Lessons of the Mass

And boy do I need them today. Celebrating Mass with children ranges from profound to nearly impossible, today being the latter. Father was about to hit some great points in his homily when I had to step out with our 2 year old. Being the feast of the Birth of John the Baptist, Father was heading down the line of what John would have to say to us today (recalling that he gave his life for pointing the sin of adultery to the king.)

Hearing a bad homily would be preferable to disciplining a defiant child during Mass and I think this was a great homily. But alas, it was not to be. As I struggled with the frustration I considered what to offer the suffering up for and the salvation of my children came to mind.

The Mass and the Four Most Important Lessons of Childhood

One of the questions of the old Baltimore Catechism is, "What are the purposes for which the Mass is offered?" The answer given was fourfold:

* First, to adore God as our Creator and Lord.
* Second, to thank God for His many favors.
* Third, to ask God to bestow His blessings on all men.
* Fourth, to satisfy the justice of God for the sins committed against Him.

Adoration, thanksgiving, petition, and satisfaction—mention of these four ends found their way into many an old missal and are still a familiar feature of any traditional catechesis on the Mass. What is often overlooked, however, is the relation of these ends to our own concrete lives as human beings. How exactly do these four things relate to our psychological, emotional, and spiritual welfare?

One way to approach this question is to consider the four most important things that we learn to say as children: "I love you," "Thank you," "Please," and "I’m sorry." These four simple sayings are not only capable of directing both young and old onto the path toward human happiness; they also provide a useful analogy for what happens at every Sacrifice of the Mass.

Not being a product of the Baltimore Catechism, I had never heard this before.

Behind these simple expressions, then, lies a sound moral anthropology, a broad outline of the good life. Ideally speaking, a person who is capable of saying "I love you" and meaning it is capable of commitment, devotion, and self-sacrifice. A person who is capable of saying "thank you" and meaning it recognizes, as we will see, the unmerited gift of his existence and his debt to a broader world he did not create.

A person who is capable of saying "please" and meaning it confesses his dependence on a reality outside himself and rejects the principle that might makes right, transcending the debilitating egoism that would leave him, to paraphrase Sir Walter Scott, a vile wretch concentered all in self. And finally, a person who is capable of saying "I’m sorry" (or for more minor offenses, "excuse me") and meaning it makes the difficult but crucial breakthrough into unflattering and unglossed self-knowledge, mustering the courage to acknowledge his faults and the resolve to redress them.

Perhaps that is why those words are so often the most difficult to say. Especially when saying them our children.

Our comparison between the four ends of the Mass and the four great things we learn as children also gives one final insight into the importance of the Eucharistic sacrifice. To think of Mass "attendance" as a legalistic burden imposed on us by the Church is as impoverishing as thinking of manners as mere extensions of parental power and caprice. Though by no means sufficient, manners are nevertheless instrumental in orienting us to the created order, and when they are appropriated properly, they help actuate our full potential as human beings. Similarly, the adoration, thanksgiving, petitions, and satisfaction we make at Mass orient us to the Creator of our nature, actuating not simply our native potential, but our capacity to participate in the very Godhead itself.

To be able to say "I’m sorry," "I love you," "please," and "thank you" to our Heavenly Father through the mediation of His Son and under the guidance of His Spirit is not only a unique privilege for a lowly creature; it is a steadily transformative act. And to that we can only say, Deo gratias.

Emotional appeal

Shellie at Profound Gratitude shares her conversion story, but with the small caveat that she is concerned about the lack of emotion she felt in swimming the Tiber.

For a while I was quite concerned that the white-knuckle experiences of my Nazarene life (Just As I Am, 7 times at altar call) weren’t being duplicated. Our reconciliation to Rome almost seemed too…un-emotional.

One night, I begged and prayed and cried out to God: This is too important! I must hear from you. My children’s salvation and nothing less is at stake here! Please, my God, give me a word from you. I just need to hear something. I think this is right. I believe this is right, but I need a word. Thank you.”

As far as the emotional appeal. I can relate to that. I am very un-emotional and often struggle with that. But so many times I thank God after Mass that I am a Catholic. Precisely because our faith doesn’t rest on emotion. I would be a lousy protestant of any stripe because I would get nothing out of the services so often. With the kids fussing, worries of the day, distractions and all, I often struggle to get anything intellectual or emotional out of Mass. But as a Catholic, we still RECEIVE our Lord. How much grace we get out of it has some dependency on our state of mind and soul, but the Lord doesn’t depend on our fickle humanity.

So, from an un-emotional wreck. Don’t sweat the lack of it. I treasure the times that I have been blown away at Mass, few thought they are. It isn't God that is lacking, but me. The time I trembled on my way up to receive Him and cried tears of joy afterwards. The times I feel joy watching one of my children receive, or watch a whole family receive Him for the first time. (receiving Him as He asked us too, not just receiving Him into our hearts.)