Ash Wednesday

It's been some time since I have been to an Ash Wednesday mass. I honestly can't recall the last time I went. In matter of fact, it's been some time since I went to a mass at all that wasn't a funeral. I’ve been to more than my share of those, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll talk more about that in a later post.

          I decided to walk to church today since I not only needed the exercise, but also remembered what a royal pain it is finding a place to park near St. John’s. That’s my parish, Saint John the Evangelist Catholic Church in Lawrence, Kansas. I was baptized there on Tartan Day in 1996. I’ve got a videotape of it somewhere. I really should get it digitized and post it for all to see. I’ll add that to my bucket list for now. 

         A few things have changed at St. John’s in the years I’ve been not been attending mass. The first thing I noticed was that the response words have changed. If you’re Catholic you know what I’m talking about. If you aren’t Catholic let me explain. During the mass the priest will say certain phrases such as “The Lord be with you.” To which the congregation used to reply, “And also with you.” It took me the better part of the mass to finally figure out the new response is, “And with your spirit.” I’m still not certain because of the phenomenon of the Catholic mumble. Once again, if you’re Catholic you’ll understand what I’m talking about. For the uninitiated let me again explain. There are a lot of Catholics like myself. We get the urge to go to mass around Easter and Christmas. We might even go for a few weeks after that. But eventually it becomes a chore and sleeping in on Sunday mornings begins to sound a lot more inviting than getting all dressed up to fall asleep sitting in a hard wooden pew. For those occasions the Catholic mumble comes in handy. We know when the response is required. We just don’t remember exactly what it is. So we mumble something unintelligible and think no one is the wiser.

          The church building is pretty much the same as it was the last time I was there. They moved a few of the statues around, but it’s all pretty much as I remember it. Sadly, so was the reception I received by the parishioners. That was the reason I quit going the last time. In all the churches in all the denominations I have attended in my fifty-five years on this planet, I have never met a group like that at St. John’s. Don’t get me wrong, there are a few very amiable people in the parish. Some I dearly love. I saw one today. We served on the RCIA team together way back before Y2K. When I walked up to her today she embraced me as I imagine the father did his prodigal son in the parable. I suppose people like her are the reason I keep going back. There are more than a few bad apples in every barrel and they don’t necessarily always spoil the rest.

          But that was later. During the mass is a different story. I tried to be understanding and let the sideway glances and turned up noses roll off like water on a duck’s back, but it was not easy. Perhaps it is the length of my hair, or the beard. At six feet tall and two hundred seventy pounds it could be my somewhat imposing size. I smiled. I showered before I left. I dressed somewhat appropriately. I don’t think of myself as hideous. I know I’m no Brad Pitt, but I’ve never known children to go running from the room screaming when I enter either. Regardless of the reason for their actions, the people I sat next to when I entered chose to keep at least a one empty seat minimum between me and them. When we got up to receive the ashes the couple on my left moved an addition chair over after we returned to our seats. I almost laughed out loud at the intricate shuffle they performed so the wife would not be forced to sit next to me. During the Lord’s Prayer, as the congregation stretched out their arms to join hands in Christian brotherhood, I did likewise. And as I stood there with my arms outstretched, no one returned the gesture. I left them outstretched during the entire recitation of the Lord’s Prayer.

          I can only imagine their reasons for behaving in such a manner. I could feel insulted and let this one bad experience turn me away from my journey on the first day. But I won’t. I smiled as I walked home thinking of how these people would have received Jesus should he have walked in the door and sat next to them. Not instantly recognized by wearing sandals and a robe like He is depicted in western imagery, but dressed as a contemporary man; His clothes worn and dusty from his travels, His hair and beard a little unkempt, His hands calloused and hardened by a lifetime of manual labor. I believe He would look a lot like me. I wondered to myself, would I take his hand? Would I offer him a seat next to me? I’d like to believe that I would.