The Weekly Suffering
From the Okie Traditionalist, the inspired and all too true words of a mother.
You describe our situation exactly. We would be the traditionalist sitting in the back row of the Novus Ordo, cringing as we try not to notice the gum chewer to our left, the short skirt and low-cut blouse to the right . . . here comes the part where everyone holds and lifts hands, another Protestant infiltration, Our Sacred Lord placed in dirty hands and flopped in the mouth . . . Even the hymns are not reverent; “They will know we are Christians by our love” was written by an ex-priest (Peter Scholtes). One gets weary having to sing Protestant hymns every Sunday. Coming out of mass, I feel saddened and worn out. So much disrespect for the Eucharist. How does one block every bit of it out? It is difficult and with 4 children in tow, everything matters so much more…..The Oklahoma parish we currently attend is VERY tiny. We are the only family with younger children there. I had a conversation with one of the older parishioners (she is in her late 60’s). She seemed angry when I mentioned my love of the Latin mass. Her comment was how horrible it was, how she was just a “spectator” and didn’t get to be “involved”. I pondered her comment for a good long while.This, indeed, is the root of the whole problem. The mass, that was once solely “about” Christ, is now about US or ME. I’m bored, I want to be a part of it too, I want to pass communion out too, I want to do this and that, etc. It’s all me, me, me. And there you have it: altar girls, lay ministers, musicians with guitars only a few feet from the altar, which family gets to carry up the gifts this Sunday . . . and the list goes on and on. And then, somewhere in all of this distraction, is our Precious Lord.
We are all suffering. I hold on to what Christ said, “…the gates of hell will not prevail against His Church.” And so, I wait . . . patiently at times, and not so patiently at other times. And once in a while, we get to attend a Traditional Latin Mass . . . the mass that my generation was robbed of..
It is not so extreme where I live now, but I can fully relate to this mother’s thoughts.
The lack of reverence, the “casual” side of everything, the sudden awakening for the “peaace beeee with youuu” moment, the chattering before, during and after, the stupid applauses, the people (mostly: women) busying in the sanctuary before mass, paying attention everybody sees them; the saltless (when we are lucky) homilies; the endless disturbances; the perception, in fact, that there should be no difference between a church and a kindergarten; the priest planted at the door after mass, eager to let you know how important a part of the show you are.
Meanwhile, Christ is in a corner; often physically so, as the tabernacle is not even on the main altar. Not even a place to kneel in front of the Blessed Virgin. Miniature Ways of the Cross. Holy Water fonts also in Lilliput size, and hidden from you as much as possible.
No one seems to care. Aren’t we a “vibrant” community, though…
At times I think I can’t stand it anymore. But it is – as long as there are no reasonably practicable better alternatives – a part of my burden in this life. I must stand it, and I must offer my suffering to Christ. One day, by God’s grace, sanity will be restored also through the prayers of those who suffered in silence but chose to stay with Christ and do what he ordered; and be it in a church that offends Him.
P.s. This is only a short intermission in the full-time coverage of the by far most important event on the planet, particularly for Catholics, in these days. My blog time will keep being completely dedicated to it in the next days.