Like the good average Catholic that I am, I went to Mass Sunday afternoon at the Basilica of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I always carefully plan when and where I attend Mass because I have no patience for the feral children who run wild and the parents who are fine with letting their kids disrupt and disrespect the service, along all of the people attending it. I didn’t attend Mass with my mom/aunt/brother/nephew/cousins/grandmother on Easter morning because they attended a kid-friendly church during a kid-friendly time slot and I knew I would not be able to reconcile my immeasurably hateful feelings towards bad parenting and then receive the Eucharist. There is no way I would have been able to be in the vicinity of sticky children, hopped up on peeps and jelly beans, while I nursing a low-grade hangover. I am weak, but very much in touch with my limits.
I usually attend Mass at the Basilica because it tends to be an odd mix of tourists, University of Maryland medical students, homos, and homeless people…but no children, thank merciful God. Sometimes I actually forget I’m in Baltimore, but then I notice the little old men who pass around the collection baskets have to have a security escort to the sacristy when they are done with the collection. Never in my life have I seen that happen anywhere but in inner city Baltimore.
Lady Friend went with me to Mass, even though she is a heathen Protestant (Southern Baptist). She is the oldest child and only daughter in her family, but she was never baptized like her younger brothers were. That’s why she’s gay. Anyway, she is curious about the Catholic Mass thing and enjoys channeling Jane Goodall while sitting in the pews and observing the strange ways in which we Catholics communicate. I like attending Mass because it’s quiet and a good opportunity to take personal inventory without having to wonder if the Holy Trinity is an in-network or out-of-network provider or if I need a referral from my primary care physician and what the co-pay and/or deductible is for self-reflection and sin inventory. Going to Mass is like visiting the free clinic where donations are appreciated, but not required.
When I’m sitting there in the pews, I always ask myself the same question, ‘Would I be okay with my thoughts and actions in the last day, week, month, or year being played on the six o’clock national news? And with Katie Couric narrating?’ The answer is always a resounding “Hell No.” (Insert 1 Our Father, 10 Hail Marys, and 1 Glory Be. Lather, rinse, and repeat if necessary.)
Actually, the real reason I attend Mass is because it fills me to the brim with hope when that many people can get together in a room and, for one whole hour, no one talks on their cell phones.
