Mass Today

We went to Mass this morning and it certainly did us good.  Afterward, my wife was talking about the length of Mass and that when she was a child her parish had very short masses because of the size of the church and number of parishioners to serve.  Our daughter who was with us this morning is a high school student.  She seems to enjoy hearing about stuff "back in the day," at least within reason. We continued to reminisce. 

Looking back at Mass as a kid, I mentioned going to Mass with my dad who for a while liked to go to the High Mass in our parish in Chicago.  The High Mass was very long and like all Masses at the time, it  was in Latin.  I remember being very young and trying to make sounds like I was reciting Latin---mimicking the adults around me were.  It was something like shishwa-shishwa-shishwa...

Second, I thought of my dad's devotion to God and his church.  He was an Irish Catholic cop whose mother, Mary Callaghan Norris, had him going to Novenas and other services as a small boy.  My dad was an extremely humble man and always in his own world at Mass.  Often the old school Catholics followed the prayers at Mass, but also said the Rosary between them.  You saw a lot of beads at Mass in those days.  I know this runs contrary to what is taught today about the Mass being a communal celebration, but a lot of old school Catholics were inwardly focused at church.  

My dad gave us a great example of how to look at the world and faith.  His faith was never very far from what was going on around him.   If we heard an ambulance, we'd pray that the person being transported would be OK.  If we passed a cemetery, as we did often in my neighborhood, we prayed a Hail Mary.  If someone mentioned that somone from the neighborhood was sick, there were more prayers.  But my dad never asked us to say them out loud.  We would just say them to ourselves as he did. There was never, ever any show with faith.  It was very personal.  That was how it was at that time.  

I loved so many things about my dad and tried to copy him.  I would often walk with my dad to church and try to imitate his gait.  He walked slowly with his feet pointing out.  On cold days I would walk behind him and use his big wide body to shield me from the wind.  As I got older, he consistently had a working car and we switched going from the later Masses to the  earlier ones.  He probably did it for my mom who was claustrophobic and had difficulty going to crowded services. If he took her to Mass very early, she could attend comfortably. If we went to the later ones, she would stand in the vestabule and seemed very uncomfortable.

My memories were very simple with respect to my dad's faith, but they were strong.  And when we went to Mass with Dad, he was always in a good mood after the service.  In good times, when Mass was over he would take us to a restaurant.   I'd order chocolate chip pancakes and a chocolate milk.

A Few Holy Cards in the Pocket

I am not one of those people who have to be texting or talking on the phone every two or three minutes. No, I am OK with a quiet moment. But, there are times when a routine, becomes, well a routine. For example, I take our dog for a fairly long walk each day (Cuddles is shown in the photo). It helps the both of us stay slim and trim (hardly, but it helps some). But, there are times when looking at the little stinker sniffing at the grass can get weary. Other times, I may find myself feeling weary is when I am in a long line someplace or when I am sitting waiting for someone "staring at the four walls."

Prayer

My dad used to spend hours walking around Hyde Park on his police beat. He had such a gift of gab that he would often strike up a conversation with people around him--he was great with strangers. But, he did have his introspective moments and I can remember him encouraging us to pray. He often carried a Rosary with him. But he also encouraged prayer for those around you. You pass by a cemetery, "say a Hail Mary for the dead." You hear an ambulance, "say a prayer for the injured." You see someone poor or suffering,"say a prayer for them." In this way, he was never very far away from God and always encouraging us. No doubt his mother and father encouraged him and their parents encouraged them.

I've tried to follow my dad's advice. Prayer is something that gets easier as you get older--it seems that you just need so much more. If you are like me, you feel that "the Good Lord" has your number. If for a moment, you ever start to think too highly of yourself and say, less highly of others, something happens to knock you down a few pegs. Some would call that superstition, I call it fact.

When you really think about it, your challenges in life are probably no greater than most folks. At least that's the way it works with me. Most of us would rather have the problems that we know than change places with others and take on theirs. But at the same time, I often feel a little desperate in my own life. Like Saint Patrick, I'd like to ask God to surround me from all sides, to protect me and my family. "Christ behind me, Christ before me, Christ beside me..."

Holy Cards

I found a very nice way to help me feel more connected to the Man upstairs. I've gotten into the habit of having a few holy cards in my coat pocket. In those moments where I need to connect at any part of the day, I take out a card and say the prayer on it. Every so often I go to the Catholic book store and pick up a new card and switch them around. They laminate these now, so you can keep them in your pocket without ruining them. I've got a Saint Brigid, a Saint Patrick and an Angelus card and a few cards I got from new priests that memorialize their ordinations. The cards are like a text message from God. Beep-beep, God's calling. Pull out the card and pray.

I read the Saint Brigid one most often these days. "...May the mantle of your peace cover those who are troubled and anxious, and may peace be firmly rooted in our hearts and in our world..."