I’m staying with a dear friend who knows me very well. Because she knows me so well, she was awfully excited to tell me that we were going to the Chrism Mass this week. I think she was rather taken aback when I wasn’t gleeful.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I asked. “I actually kind of hate long fancy Masses. Isn’t that terrible?”
I went to the Chrism Mass with her and spent the whole time reminding myself that it was okay that it was taking so long. I knew I shouldn’t be, but I was kind of annoyed that I’d spent an extra hour at Mass. I mean. come on. It’s not like I avoid time with Jesus. I just wasn’t really excited about an hour added to my usual (lengthy) prayer routine.
Yesterday, I found the only Saturday morning Mass in town. I left the church basement where I’d spent the night with a bunch of middle school girls and headed over there before 8. After spending Mass remarkably lucid (despite my 3 am bedtime), I was ready to get some prayer time in and then head back for coffee. But no. They pray a novena. And not the kind the little old lady in the front starts while people file out, either. Everybody stayed. Even the priest. And it was loooong. Like, at least 7 minutes. I tried not to be annoyed (because Mass had been short anyway), but I wanted to be done.
I had the same trouble last night. Heading to bed, all I could think about was how long Mass was going to be this morning. I knew it would be exhausting to stand through that epically long second Gospel–especially since there’s always a crowd on Palm Sunday. People always seem to show up when they know there are cool door prizes like ashes and palms. I was annoyed in advance because I was going to have to spend an extra 20 minutes with the Lord.
I make fun of other people when they do this. “Oh, you’re annoyed that Mass was 65 minutes? Good thing Jesus didn’t get down off the Cross after an hour.” “Oh, Mass is boring? You know what else was boring? Dying on the Cross!”1
But somehow I think I’m allowed to be annoyed at long Masses and extra prayers because I’m already doing so much. “If this were my only Jesus time all week, I wouldn’t mind it being long. But I’ve already spent 2 hours at church today!”
Pharisee.
The Lord blesses me with extra time with him–time when I don’t have a single other thing to do–and I want to get out because I’ve already done my time. I stay because I have to, not because I’m letting him touch my heart. And I was there in the first place because I feel I have to be, not because I’m seeking him.
I’m shocked every year by the two Gospels from the Palm Sunday Mass, by how dramatically the tone changes and how the congregation is swung from one extreme to another. We walk into the church shouting Hosanna and waving palm branches, welcoming our Messiah with joy. Not 15 minutes later, we’re crying out, “Let him be crucified!” I thought it was strange, this bipolar shift from worship to betrayal. And then I realized it’s no accident, not just a convenient way to get the whole story into one Mass. It’s the life of a fallen Christian, crashing from praise into sin without even noticing the change. It’s my life.
I praise him at Mass and then roll my eyes when the little old lady in front of me is exiting the church too slowly. I receive Christ on my tongue and then use that same tongue to belittle the sketchy or dull or tone-deaf priest. I revel in his presence during my holy hour and rage at the person who was supposed to relieve me when I’m stuck an extra twenty minutes. Hosanna. Crucify. God help me, today wasn’t just a particularly interactive Mass–it was my life in a nutshell.
I think it’s all of us, especially those of us who are good. When we’ve been sitting around all day playing Candy Crush, it’s not so hard to get up and change a toddler’s sheets. After all, it’s about time we did something worthwhile. But when we’ve played with them all stinking day and made dinner and washed the dishes and put them to bed and someone wants a drink we’re about ready to go NUCLEAR on their cute little tooshies.
When we’ve only spent 5 minutes with Jesus and someone asks us to pray a rosary, it seems like a good opportunity; when we’ve already prayed a rosary (and a chaplet and a holy hour and the Office…) it’s just too much.
Satan’s a clever one, isn’t he? He lets us pray and do good works, sure, but he makes very sure we only do the ones we want to do. And anything done because it’s your will is always less beautiful than something done out of humility and submission. My self-centered holy hour is far less pleasing to God than my reluctant Hail Mary. Hebrews tells us that Jesus was made perfect by obedience in suffering.2 Of course he was already flawless, but humanity is perfected only in obedience. And so he was obedient to Mary and Joseph, obedient to Caesar, obedient to Pilate and the Sanhedrin, obedient unto death.3 Our powerful God opened not his mouth,4 submitting to torture and execution not despite having done nothing wrong but because he had done nothing wrong.
As Lent gears up this week and comes crashing to a bitter end tinged with Easter glory, join me in asking yourself: what am I holding back? What crosses am I refusing to bear because they aren’t of my choosing? How has my self-congratulation gotten in the way of my hearing God’s voice? Get to confession and then make this resolution for Holy Week:
I will thank the Lord for every cross. Even the ones that are just minor annoyances that become crosses when I reject them. This week, I will live in the Hosanna. When my life cries out for him to be crucified, I will bite my tongue until I can muster the strength to thank the Lord for his mercy in allowing this red light or betrayal or stomach bug or extra litany or terrifying diagnosis or awkward conversation or rejection or commercial break. I will rejoice in the small inconveniences and allow him to break down the walls of selfishness I’ve built around my pious practices and nice deeds. I will let my piety become prayer by letting him direct it; I will let my kindness become charity by stopping at nothing. This week, I will be a saint.
And next week I will do the same. Hosanna.
- Yes, I’m kind of a belligerent jerk. You must be new around here. [↩]
- Heb 5:8 [↩]
- Phil 2:8 [↩]
- Is 53:7 [↩]
Aloha & Blessings Meg,
For one so young you have meaningful insight. I Admire your dedication and commitment.
That being said, think about this: When you think about it, there are only 10 things God felt serious enough about to make commandments out of them. Murder and stealing and lying and adultery are among them, all of which are mighty ponderous matters. And among those really heavy issues is taking a day off on a regular basis.. God put that up there as one of the Big Ten because it its just as important. People need to rest, they need to step back from work and all the other have-tos that define human existence. What that suggests is that God doesn’t want us to be defined solely on the basis of what we produce. Our value is not simply in what we do but in who we are. We are “beings.” We exist.
Pax et bonum Duane
Meg, if for nothing else, thanx for the Dag Hammerskold(sp) . When I was pastoring and woyld read the Passion readings as my sermon on Palm Sunday, I’d get the coughs, the squirming, the foot tapping, the eye rolling….but it is the reason the Common Lectionary “squished” the two together, so after the triumph comes the tragedy.
Have you ever been to a Tenebrae service on Holy Thursday? I really think you’d get a lot out of it. Blessings for Holy Week
This reminds me of the guy who came to my yard sale years ago. Somehow we got to talking about where we went to church (which was pretty odd in northern Virginia, come to think of it), and he said he went to Our Lady of Good Counsel. “Yeah, I tried St. Mark,” he explained, “but I like to be in and out of Mass in under an hour.”
My jaw dropped—but only inwardly, I hope. If that is one’s criterion for an acceptable Sunday Mass, well, what can one say?
That being said, I have a hard time with the Christmas and Easter Vigil Masses. They are just So. Darned. Long. Maybe it’s an attention-span thing, or maybe it’s that I am basically a sinner. Maybe both, but certainly the latter!
Oh, Meg, how I appreciate your honesty. That shows your humility and the recognition of your humanness. Yesterday, were the long readings and my son and I were saying how we liked the readings but hated to stand the whole time. My back was hurting and I was physically uncomfortable. But I kept thinking of how Jesus felt and how tired he must have been. We have a large picture of him in the church, so when I start to wallow in my humanness, I look in His eyes. We all have these moments. I hate my selfishness, but I know that at least calling it out and trying to change it, is pleasing to God. He knows we are still works in progress. God Bless You.
Awesome post Meg!!
This is one of the more thought-provoking posts I have ever read anywhere. I am both challenged and comforted. Thank you.
Nancy recently posted…During this Holy Week
Wow! Thanks for THAT wake-up call!
Meg…so glad to have been led here to read your post. It is awesome and a very powerful reminder of *the way it is*. I love the comparison from Hosanna to Crucify Him…how true in all our lives.
Wishing you grace filled days this Holy Week.
Theresa recently posted…Reflections on silence
This was an amazing post. Thank you. It’s fruits will be multiple. Thank you for telling the truth and embracing our humanity.
Mallory recently posted…Walking the Camino – The End of our Camino is Near – We are Marked by God in Our Hearts
I felt like you when I was in the church I was very mindful of the time. And I was able to endure it, thank God.