21/365 Coffee is Helpful

I went to Worship Commission last night even though I was going to beg off because it was Leo's birthday. But it starts at 7:00 and we were done with the sour cream chocolate cake and the opening of presents by then.

I steeled myself for crazy. The combination of personalities is not always good. Even people I get along with really well, people I like, get on-edge at this meeting. So I drank a lot of coffee well into the afternoon yesterday. You know, self-medicating. Great. I don't use alcohol that way because I lose too much of myself. And there's a family history to avoid and one day at a time, I will not do that. But I do use caffeine that way. As far as I know, there is no "Coffee Drinkers Anonymous". It makes me more able to ignore certain people and makes me way more talkative, which is what I need. I have opinions. I just usually do not share them in this meeting because it's so punishing. But with coffee, well, I can't help but share sometimes.

I really wanted to go in spite of the atmosphere because we were going to talk about Lent and also review Advent and Christmas. So I wanted to be there. And I went.

It was a small group--who knows why but can I venture to guess--and the first thing that happened when I walked in was get handed a new parish pictorial directory. We spent almost a half hour perusing this and chatting, which was a good ice breaker, frankly.

Lynn, who can be strident and hard to handle, wasn't the worst she's ever been. Or maybe it was the caffeine. Everything she had to say--which of course was almost entirely negative or strangely self-referential with a cackle--just sort of rolled off my back for a change. She didn't like red at Christmas. She didn't like the Christmas proclamation. She thought melting down old candles and making our own for next Advent sounded like a brilliant plan. Hmm. There were other small things.

But I don't think it was as bad as usual. Hildegard didn't cross her arms in front of her and change the subject. Miguel didn't straighten and re-straighten his pen alongside his binder. Sr. Vanda kept talking. And Hazel didn't sit in sleepy depressed judgmental silence--as much as I probably disagree with Hazel's opinions, so often Lynn is so loud that nobody else adds anything anymore. And that's disappointing. We don't have to be all in agreement. We just, well, it would be nice to be able to say something and not be shot down in the rudest manner possible.

After December's disaster of a meeting, I never wanted to go back. But one of those little aphorisms kept coming to mind, like "evil flourishes when good men do nothing" or something like that. Not that she's evil, but it was sort of like that. If I walk away, then eventually it'll only be staff members and Lynn at worship meetings. And then what.

So I'll keep going. And I'll keeping showing up jittery and without filter because it's better that way. At least for me.

50/365 Worship Commission February Edition

We were there until 10:30. We went to Ash Wednesday mass at 7:00, and then got into the rectory dining room by about 8:30 when it was all said and done. Sometimes worship commission is over by 8:30. I knew it was going to be a long one--we had to talk Triduum and Easter.

Hildegard, Sr. Vanda, Lynn, Bev, and I sat around the table and first, before anything else, vented about Ash Wednesday mass. The person we had all received ashes from just then had put the crosses on our foreheads and said, "Man, remember you are dust and to dust you shall return."

Now, I'm not the biggest feminist when it comes to church. I'm not. I can't be--I'm a Catholic, and if I stayed that angry it would affect my relationship with God. I know what I think and what I believe and I try my best to witness to that but I'm not going to make this my issue. I have things that might be "my issue" but just like my life's work, I haven't really found what that is. It might be inclusion in other ways, it might be reform of the priesthood or a return to a simpler Christianity...but I have a feeling that changing the words to, say, the Nicene Creed, is not my issue.

But really? I've been receiving ashes on my forehead for a long time--probably starting around age 4 or 5 and continuing up to the present. Perhaps 30 times? And I have never had someone say that to me before. Sometimes the dust blessing (blessing?) and sometimes the "turn away from sin..." version. But never have I been addressed as "man." Mike is stunned when I say this. The church in Cairo says that all the time. And really, that sums it up for me.

I didn't catch it when he said it. I was corralling Maeve, who found the earthy symbol of ashes to be the Best Thing that has ever happened at church in her memory. She had pushed her bangs back so everyone could see. So I didn't catch it. I heard dustyouwillreturn or whatever and I went back to the pews with Maeve waving at everyone and almost running into the cello player.

But at the end of mass, there was a rebellion of annoyed women. And men--the cello player's husband was in the chatty crowd of folks shaking their heads at this person's words. Many of them had spoken to him, including Sr. Vanda, who has always struck me as calm, rational, and soft-spoken firm. I was glad to hear she had, and Bev, and so many others, and not just Lynn, who is one of those angry feminists who changes the words to the Nicene Creed when she says it and thinks her way is the one and only way to be truly Catholic.

The thing about it that bothered me wasn't the stupid use of the word man and the officious excuse that this word was the translation required. It was the age of the person saying it. He's relatively young--becoming a priest and here for the time being. He's not some ancient deacon with outdated ideas. He's some young deacon with outdated unpastoral ideas. Seriously. There was no reason whatsoever to use that phrasing except to cause division and anger.

Lynn did say something in the meeting (we kept coming back to it, try as we might to stay on topic) that there are so many people she knows who have left the church, and not for theological differences but because of bad liturgy and bad presiders. She's right. I know a few former Catholics who became other things for whatever reason--met a Lutheran and found a better way there (and married him); became dismayed with the hierarchical structure of the church and found he was a good fit for the Friends; the call to priesthood got too strong to ignore and she left for the Methodists. But more than that, I know so many people who just left. Didn't go anywhere in particular. Couldn't really say why. Just left. Some of them were disappointed with specific priests or with their experiences in Catholic school. Some were simply bored with church the way it was presented to them. Liturgy wasn't alive, or too many priests said too many snide things to her. Not a true break for something, but a break due to a lack of pastoral care.

This is the kind of thing that dismays people, and it's for no good reason. And if it is the correct translation (and come on, saying that "man" means plural, we should use "people" instead--the English language has changed over time and it's a stale translation--something some old guy in a dress is still clinging to as he deals with his buyers remorse over Vatican II), if it is what we're supposed to say from now on, what does the hierarchy really want? A leaner, meaner church? What about the exclusion of 50% (or, really, let's be honest about church attendance, more) of the people in the pews makes any damned sense?

I have no true method of revolt here. I can voice my opinion to the person who did this; I can point it out to Fr. Miguel; I can write "MONEY IS FUNGIBLE" on every request for donations beyond the parish level. But we aren't a congregational church and I've chosen to belong to an organization where I stand at the bottom of a tall totem pole. Getting angrier.

68/365 Worship Moments

"Thank you to Lynn for keeping minutes last month," Fr. Miguel says even though Lynn isn't at the meeting. "And thank you to Hildegard for making them readable."

We decided that perhaps we should cut out a few of the Easter Vigil readings, from 7 Old Testament readings to perhaps 5. And then everyone started flipping through and nobody wanted to cut any of them. "We shouldn't leave this decision to liturgists," Bev said with a shake of the head.

We talked about how to accent the Exodus reading, since it's the one that cannot be changed. We have in the past gone straight into this song called the Canticle of the Free, which I like but it has been done many many times in a row. Bev mentioned that in the past, we've broken up the creation story with the psalm interspersed. We let that settle into our minds for a moment and then I remembered my first Vigil, when I was confirmed: "One year we had a slide show accompaniment to that reading." Revulsion all around the table as I described with giggles how awful it had been.

At the end of the meeting, I was putting my glass in the sink in the kitchen and Fr. Miguel said he'd been reading and that, no, the homily was not focused directly on me. But, he pointed out and I agreed, if it seemed that way, then maybe...

69/365 Checklist Stream of Consciousness

Rose is the color of this Sunday. I have to put up something rose to accent the purple. But after the reconciliation service, which I need to attend. Sophia? I don't know if I can swing that. But I'll be there. And I figure something out with the pink stuff.

Then almost immediately I have to do red banners for Palm Sunday. so much red in back, that should be no problem at all. I'd love to add something to that. I have this compulsion to create these days, something that was gone for a long time is back. The house is almost all the way clean, everything but my room. My room is always last. That says something.

Easter flowers. Have to call Fiona....done. "Does Lynn ever get on your nerves?" she asked.

Banner. I know what I want to do. I don't have enough interesting whites to do it. I have the blue and red and some other things. Now is the time. Do it. No. First, finish up the red for Palm Sunday. Eee.

Purple down, red up, red down, white. Easter is exhausting. I hope Leo is feeling better by then or this will do me in. That whole week of hurry up and wait. And the stones. There are no stones for the font. I don't want to use concrete. But I can't spend my life driving through North St. Louis stealing cut stone. Lynn. She isn't going to come through on this and then is going to complain about the result we'll have come up with because she couldn't come through on it. At least that morning Jack, Miguel, Hildegard, and I can put it together and have enough emotional distance from it to laugh.

Easter season is so dang long to keep flowers alive.

Banners will have to be semi-reversible because they hang. Thinking. I love thinking about this. I hate thinking about finding cut stone to build a temporary font.

Glow in the dark strips for the side steps. I wonder if stars will do. I have those in abundance. They really glow. I'll have to try it out. Hmm.

107/365 Worship Commission May 2010

I hate meetings.

No, I really do like meetings usually, at least ok enough to keep going. Worship, though, the tension drives me crazy and all attempts to be somewhat relaxed or normal are thwarted by this sense of irritation and doom all around me.

Ick.

I guess I'd better type up those minutes.

108/365 Fantasy Worship Commission

"Hi all," Fr. Miguel says as we come in a few at a time, talking to each other about Triduum and how lovely it was. I pull up a chair next to Sr. Hildegard and take out my favorite pen, one of those daytimer ballpoints my father is fond of.

We get the meeting started with a prayer from a book of reflections about peace and justice. Vanda and Lynn have poignant stories to add about their work with the homebound and with the Catholic Worker House. I ask Lynn after the prayer ends if she'll give me the number of the house because I've decided I want to join the movement. I've wanted to for a long time, but never felt comfortable with some of the other workers. Until this story and I realize I can put that aside, that I can fit in there just fine.

We begin to discuss Triduum in detail. Lynn mentions how much preparation the readers must have done, that they never got in the way of the words. We all agreed that perhaps next year we should try to invite more people to the washing of the feet, but overall, things seemed to go so well. Just lovely.

Bev compliments me on the banner I made and we chat a minute about its construction. We talk about flowers and Fiona's work and how we might keep everything alive, or replaced, through to Pentecost. Suggestions are made about plant care and Lynn volunteers to take care of plants once a week.

The Vigil is discussed at length. Easter Sunday mass is touched on for just a moment, long enough for me to realize that maybe next year I should try to make it up for that one as well. And then we move on to upcoming dates. Ideas are shared about how to make baptisms more integral to the community. We come up with new things for Pentecost environment. Lightheartedly we remember past years and the banners we used to use. No one misses them.

We all plan to attend the upcoming prayer service. We talk a minute about the plan and offer constructive ideas about how to make it consistent with previous prayer services without being redundant. We talk about gratitude and Earth Day and ecology and how to bring the ideas of just economy into prayer involving these themes.

At the end of the meeting, we choose a prayer for the month of May for the bulletin. We adjourn, looking forward to next month's meeting and all that we have planned.

The End.

109/365 Reality

I need to learn how to block emotions from other people. I need to not let it affect me sometimes. Often this is useful. Not at Worship Commission. The feeling in that room is oppressive. It isn't the room. I've been there for other things.

It's her.

Actually, I think it's a combination of her and him. I don't know if it's just because she's so bitter about the position of women in the church and resents the male priesthood, or if--no, I think that's probably it. The things she says, the flippant comments regarding the priesthood and how relatively inexperienced (and young) our pastor is, when he's not there, displays her true feelings quite plainly. I don't know what she thinks of Fr. Miguel personally but she seems to hate what he represents.

I say this because there have been Worship Commission meetings, a few, well, maybe one, where he wasn't present and she was and it was fine. Of course the whole thing centered around bashing our deacon for his choice of exclusive language, to the point of parody, but it was a decent meeting otherwise. Things got decided.

All I can figure is that she resents the idea that the pastor would be present at a Worship meeting. And I can see that in some ways. I mean, I can agree with her in some ways. Not about Miguel in particular, but I could see other pastors (I have a list) that would make any meeting worse. But those pastors probably don't have functioning worship commissions. Or they so deeply do not care that it doesn't matter.

It matters at our church. I want it to matter. I've decided to sort of put my eggs in this basket and give what I can via this ministry as consistently (stability) as possible. I do other things, but this is the one I go to even though it isn't fun. Not just fun. It doesn't have to be fun. What I mean is, I have decided that I'm here at this meeting for the long haul or at least for the near future and I want it to work.

My relationship with Lynn, while mostly on the surface, is complicated. I've eaten pie at her kitchen table. I currently own her loom, to be returned to her in 8 years from now when all her kids are grown and gone and she has room for it again. Sometimes I can talk with her and it's ok.

But other times her truer colors blaze on through and it's like getting smacked in the face.

And I can't even pinpoint a specific instance at this last Worship meeting. I just know that I fled from the table the moment we adjourned. I was afraid she was going to ask me for a ride home and I was going to say yes. Turned out, as I stepped into the parking lot, she had brought her car. I laughed at myself and drove away as fast as was prudent.

I emailed Fr. Miguel back and forth later that night. I would like to think constructively--the bitching ended quickly and became sort of a general lamentation and desire for better.

But it would take a lot of work and probably something beyond my control to make it better.

Trudge, trudge, trudge.

125/365 Oh, yeah.

So much of what we have is dependent upon who our pastor is at the time. Whatever he puts as a top priority becomes a priority for the parish, and the things that are not important fall by the wayside. I think about the past 11 years at the parish and how things changed when Miguel first came to us.

Right after the switch, there was a meeting of congregations way out in the county--congregations from all over, but in order to have us fit, we met in this mega-church out west. It was a political rally sponsored by a union of congregations (Catholic, other Christian, and Jewish) from the area. They'd invited candidates in an upcoming midterm election to come speak about their values and see if they would pledge to uphold our values. A rally. Everything had already been decided in advance. We weren't in on the planning stages but that was fine because, frankly, life is busy and that's not where my energies lie.

Our parish got a bus, a school bus, and we rode out there together. I sat next to Dolores and Mike had the girls behind me. In the middle of the light chatting on the way home, one of the nuns who gave lots of time to this organization suddenly asked, "Was Fr. Miguel there tonight?" The answer was no. There was a pause while she worked this out in her head.

"He'll figure it out," she said. "Some things he has to do."

And Dolores turned to me: "Do you know he has the audacity to put on his phone message that he takes Fridays off?" She laughed. "Like anyone can take a day off at our parish."

And while I wondered if Miguel, whom I barely knew, and only from parish council, would in fact figure it out, I thought I felt something, something imaginary and brief on the back of my neck. A realization. Things were changing.

This isn't to say that our parish isn't still active in social justice--of course we are. It just isn't the topic of every single homily. Social justice folks aren't gone. They just don't get 15 minutes after communion to read aloud their platform for change once a month.

I'm not a social justice person (I say that meaning "this is not where I sink all my energy" not meaning "I don't think we should work for social justice"). I'm a liturgy person. I'm not trained (thank you Lynn for reminding me) but this is what I like. This is why I stay. If it weren't for liturgy, our liturgy, the focus on liturgy at our parish now, if it weren't important to me, well, damn it, why wouldn't I just go sit with the Quakers at 10:30 on a Sunday morning and chuck all the baggage that goes with Catholicism?

So I know the world does not revolve around me, but it's a happy accident that Miguel arrived at our parish when he did. It was sort of a reawakening for me. Oh yeah, here we are now.

133/365 Sing Alleluia

Sr. Hildegard sent an email. Notes from her discussion with Fr. Miguel. We weren't having a Worship Commission meeting. And that was fine with me. Everything on the notes looked normal: plans for Corpus Christi, thoughts about Trinity Sunday, and so forth. But there was one thing.

Sometime long ago in the deep memory of our parish (meaning, about 10 or 15 years ago, tops), we started singing Alleluia after the gospel. Before the gospel, too, of course, but then when the reader said, "The Gospel of the Lord," we didn't reply "Praise to you Lord Jesus Christ." Instead, the piano picked up the tone and we sang the Alleluia again. Unless we were using that one setting that went on a long long time, this went fine and without a hitch. But lately it started making folks wonder: why are we doing this?

Lynn insisted that we did this because LOTS of people did this. Everyone else who'd ever been to any other mass anywhere disagreed with her. Bev said we did this because it started some Easter season and never went away.

Sounds like time to question, to me at least.

Why should we do this? What purpose does it serve? Anything that happens in a liturgy should have a purpose. We shouldn't do things simply because they are pretty or because it seems right. It should have a reason.

We decided, back in January, to drop it for Lent. And to always drop it if the reader didn't sing the "Gospel of the Lord" part. Because that was seriously awkward, like the choir was suddenly present when they weren't before. Like we were late or something. Jarring.

It went away for all of Lent.

It came back for Easter Season, because the Alleluia is especially prominent during this season. And it was good. It was. It set things apart.

But there's something about the forced rest of Ordinary Time that makes me happy. Simpler music, simpler decor, simpler things. Atrium calls it the Growing Season. We let things settle into our souls and gel. We count the Sundays off and grow like our gardens. It's lovely.

So I caught this email after Lynn had already replied with: I have been to other liturgies lately for a variety of celebration. They did not sing the alleluia. I miss it. I would be very sad to see us stop this practice.

Which is fine and good. Then Rachel, a new parishioner whom I would really like to see stay on Worship Commission, wrote: I agree with reciting the Alleluia in Ordinary time - makes singing it more effective during "special" liturgical times.

Then I wrote: I prefer not to sing it all the time because it becomes just one of those things. I like having it stand out in the Easter season.

Bev wrote: I really don't have a strong opinion about singing the alleluia after the Gospel. I lean toward not doing it during ordinary time, but would want to sing it before the Gospel.

And then Fr. Miguel sort of tied it all together by saying: Of course we’d sing the Alleluia Gospel Acclamation before the Gospel... my question was just about singing it after the Gospel, as we had gotten into the habit of doing. Let’s plan on not singing the Alleluia after the Gospel once Ordinary Time begins, but saving it for the more festive seasons of the year.

Seemed done, at least for now. The nice thing about a liturgical year is that if this Ordinary Time seems wrong without it, we can go back to it next time. But then Lynn decided to not let it lie. That's a big surprise. She wrote:

I would really like to discuss at a meeting this thing about the alleluia. It is something that makes the Gospel stand out. It also makes the joyfulness of the community alive throughout the year. There are so many other things we do during Easter to make it special. People respond to common responses by rote no matter what is printed in the worship aide. To lose the alleluia during the rest of the liturgical year will make it more difficult to reclaim during Easter. We are a signing community so let the people sing. It seems to me this response only became awkward because we had a deacon who couldn't sing.

O, she just makes me so tired. I can already envision this meeting. And I just hope it doesn't come to fruition, frankly. I think we've spoken pretty clearly, and more talk is not going to make it more clear.

Our next meeting is mid-June. So maybe at least it will be "set" for Ordinary Time. I just can't stop thinking of the Lyle Lovett song, "She's Already Made Up Her Mind."

So now she's sitting at one end of the kitchen table
And she is staring without an expression
And she is talking to me without moving her eyes
Because she's already made up her mind

134/365 Variety of Celebration

Lynn wrote that she had been going to other liturgies (meaning other centers/parishes) to experience a variety of celebration.

Something about that, no, something about everything she says, just makes me nuts.

A variety of celebration.

As for me and my house, we've found our niche. If I went looking for a variety of celebration, it would be simply an exercise in irritation. I am so "at home" at my parish that everywhere else is like a night in a cheap motel. Sometimes necessary, sure, but never desired.

Mike and I did hop around for a year, with the naive notion that we would see everything there was to see in the diocese--instead, we saw most of south and north city. Then we found a place we liked and stopped.

Maybe it's good, though, to make sure that where you are is still where you belong. I don't know. Maybe it's because she explained it that way. Like it was some grand plan of hers instead of "I was dissatisfied with our parish and I church hopped for a few weeks." Maybe it was because she explained it at all.

Maybe it was just that she gets on my nerves no matter what.

Ok, that's probably it.

137/365 Learning via Repitition

We’ve talked about this at a number of meetings and gotten input from everyone.

As I mentioned before, let’s plan on not singing the Alleluia after the Gospel once Ordinary Time begins, but saving it for the more festive seasons of the year.
--Fr. Miguel

I wrote him back, just him, not to Lynn, and thanked him for bringing it to a close. He said he was restating what he'd already said, so that maybe she'd eventually see this was the way it was going to be. But he never said "because I'm the pastor and I make the call."

It reminded me of being an RA in college and busting a party on any given weekend night (or in the case of Spanish exchange students, any given weekend or weekday, night or day). And they'd try to get me off topic: "But Jason last weekend had a suitcase full of beer!" I'd keep them on task and repeat, "It doesn't matter what Jason did. You have alcohol in your room, right now."

It doesn't matter that Lynn wants to revisit this topic and argue about it in person again. We're done for now.

It makes me think, though, about her last email, the one where she wrote that we were a singing community (she said "signing" but I think she meant singing) and we should sing. She thought it would be difficult to reclaim for Easter if we didn't do it all the time. She thought the congregation liked to sing it and so we should. Or else she'd be sad.

I wonder if she ever asked anyone in the congregation. If she really took the time to ask, say, my neighbor Marla and her husband what they thought about it. Not the sorts who would be on worship commission (although they help with the barbecue). The liturgical common man. I think she might find that they either don't care, or get irritated because it's different than what they are used to before joining our parish, or it takes too long. So often in the rarefied air of theology school, just like a laboratory or a model classroom, it is forgotten that things happen in the real world.

And it's a good cautionary tale. Perhaps a teachable moment for me. Just because I like this or that thing that happens at mass doesn't mean my mother does. Or Fiona. Or Fiona's parents. Or Marla and her husband. People come to our parish for many different reasons--they grew up here, or they like the preaching, or it's in their neighborhood, or they're friends with Colleen O'Toole (hell, that's what kept me at our parish for several years). Liturgy isn't always the number one reason. And I don't think that makes them bad people, or even bad Catholics. I think it needs to be kept in mind that trying something new, especially if that something new is actually something simpler and more to the point, is almost always worthwhile. Like when we got rid of preaching at Advent prayer services (another thing Lynn wanted to cling to, I might add, and that meeting with her has got me all gun-shy about going to more meetings with Lynn). It was a nice thing. But maybe we didn't need it. It took a lot to get people to do it. It didn't really add enough to make a difference. Let's try it without. And it was nice.

The great thing about having a liturgical year, like I've always said, is that you can always do-over next year if it seems wrong.

162/365 June Worship Commission

Alas, I will be missing it.

Shakespeare in the Park is a long standing tradition in the family, the extended family now. So I won't be sitting around Fr. Miguel's dining room table listening to things, oh, maybe like this one:

"Well, it's not like they asked us for our opinion. I'll just keep saying whatever I please. I changed the words a long time ago." (Lynn, regarding the language changes coming up in the next year in the mass)

Oh, the crazy. It hurts my head.

163/365 Worhip Meeting Cancelled

Sr. Hildegard, Bridgett, and Bev are unable to attend, and their presence is important to us.

From Fr. Miguel's email canceling the worship meeting. I was glad it was canceled. It's become kind of a train wreck for me. Lynn irritates me but I know she irritates many. And so it's kind of ok.

Or maybe it's only ok because it's been 2 months since I've been to one...

223/365 Worship Commission August

Remember back this spring when I was tired of Worship Commission and Lynn and the punishing atmosphere?

We didn't have a June meeting.

We always (usually) take a break in July. No meeting.

I can't make this month's meeting.

I did get a break. Actually might be looking forward to September.

289/365 Worship Commission October Ramblings

As Miguel put it afterward, it was going so well...

It was a catch-up meeting. Lots of dates. Lots of things coming up, with Advent and Christmas and all that. November alone is a meeting's worth. We went through things bit by bit and made decisions and set up meetings for specific needs. Decided on a Christmas novena this year instead of weekly prayer services, which I totally went for, and the only moment I flinched was when Hildegard turned to Lynn and asked if she was ok with that. I thought to myself, please don't stir the anthill. But even that was fine.

We were almost home free and clear. Sr. Vanda had details about November and the mass of remembrance (and other details from last year we, ironically, couldn't remember). I love decorating for November more than any other month of the liturgical year, with December right behind (but December takes more work). But then, we were almost done and had a light laugh about the tradition of the monthly prayer focus--something that was started a few years ago for one reason, but now is just something that goes in the bulletin. But now we do it and it's a tradition! And the last thing on the list was the changes to the languages at mass.

Now, me personally? I think that changes here or there are a symptom, not a problem. The problem is that the hierarchy has decided that a specific English translation of a Latin version of a ritual is better than another--for God's sake, what is wrong with us that we're so caught up in this? But, on the other hand, it's happening and this is not where I'm staking my excommunication claim. If I'm forced out of the Church, it's not going to be over "and with your spirit" instead of "and also with you." I can rattle off a dozen things that would come before this. Well, maybe not a dozen, I mean, I do still belong to the Catholic Church. But there are things I disagree with. There are things I wish we did better. There are things my local church does so well and other places just don't and I wish that weren't true. But the changes in the mass? That's not why I'm Catholic.

But Lynn got her panties in a big wad over it and said it was a great loss for the Church. That people were going to be angry. That she was angry. Miguel told her she could choose to be angry, or not be angry, and then she said that anger was an emotion, not a choice.

Upon reflection, I think they're both right. I think visceral emotion is something that happens, it's like the fight or flight response or maternal instinct. We get angry. We get sad or shocked or joyful--if I witness a decapitation accident on Grand on my way home from church, there is a reaction I don't control. But on the other hand, if I'm still seething 18 years later about something that happened that really didn't matter in the end, then that's a choice. Or maybe she was confusing "emotions are a choice" with the talk about emotions not being necessarily bad or good, that anger in and of itself isn't a sin, it's what you do about it that matters. Or maybe she's just Lynn. Either way, I flipped through that book quickly looking for what I could possibly be angry about, and I decided right then that this wasn't where I was going to be angry. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised at most of it. Not at the big words they used in place of small words, but most of it was just fine. Whatever.

Whatever.

Lynn left in a bit of a huff. I wonder if she'll be back.

Oh, but the best part (besides the after meeting drinking and chatting) was right after Lynn left. I took out my drawings of the Advent banners and showed them to Miguel (I waited until Lynn left because I'm tired of flinching). I'd shown him, sort of, badly, on a napkin after the mass last week during the mission, and he'd been skeptical. But when I showed them to him in color, drawn for real, he said, "oh, these are so much better!" and liked them. Hildegard too.

So now I'm ready to put them together. And the Presbyterian ones. They'll be nice too.

291/365 Liturgical Happiness

"I was a happy person before I got involved with liturgy," Rachel says into her ginger ale. In my mind, that sums up Worship Commission right there. Except I don't think it makes me unhappy necessarily. At least not overall. I keep attending, although I keep hoping, unchristianlike, that Lynn will slip away. I would be happier if she did, that's for sure. I keep trying to like her, keep trying to be open and friendly, but there's something there that doesn't appreciate my efforts.

I do notice more things, like any artist or workman. I notice when things don't go well. I notice when music just isn't quite right, or the homily stinks (that wouldn't be at my parish, of course). Having these tiny bits of knowledge from Catechesis of the Good Shepherd training, or from simply attending worship meeting after worship meeting after worship meeting, I see things now that I didn't before. And I know I would be unhappy at a church that didn't work on these things, that didn't care about liturgy.

Fr. Bill had us gather in church, folks on different commissions, parish council (that was why I was there), friends, active people, and told us he was leaving the parish. The first question, logically, was who was replacing him. He told us a little bit about Miguel, but very vague, only saying that Miguel was very interested in liturgy. I had no idea what that meant, I mean, to say someone was "very interested" in it. Aren't all priests, I mean, that's part of their job. It sounded like introducing a new teacher to the school and saying she was very interested in student outcomes.

But 5 years in, I see what he meant. I think I'm happier, actually, having been involved with liturgy, when it's all said and done.

309/365 Worship Commission November

"How was your meeting?" Mike asks as I walk upstairs with a whiskey sour and shoo him away from the computer.

"It was fine. Lynn was in Hawaii or something. So it was fine."

310/365 Change

The language of the mass is changing and I don't think I can get excited about it. Or care. I hate that about me but it's kind of a defense mechanism. I hate change, like I said at the meeting on Wednesday night. What was our tolerance for change? was the reflection question. Lots of people said "change is good" and some said less solid things like "I like change when it's a good change." So I decided to be honest and say I hate it. I hate it when things change. I hate it when things aren't planned and I know what's coming and even then I don't like it much. On the Meyers Briggs scale I'm an ENFJ. My extrovert status is solid, my intuition is solid, my feelings vs thinking is a little fuzzy (I feel, or think, that this is the one you can make yourself change more than any of the others: how you make decisions, etc). But my J? Judging vs. perceiving? It's a 10-0. I am all J. All J all the time. At one point my friends nicknamed me Lady J (I think it's a comic book reference besides) because if I don't have a plan, I have nothing. Change can only happen if it is planned. Well planned. Elections make me physically ill. Surprise changes to my schedule throw me for a loop. Babies mess up my life for, like, 3 years. Change and flux are bad. Bad.

The nice thing about being Catholic is that things don't change. Or change comes so slowly it's more of an adjustment. A tweaking. I don't mind tweaking. Local change? Fine. You don't like this banner, let's make another. Take out the carpet. Restore the tile. Make things a little bit better this year. A liturgical year evolves, it doesn't overhaul and reinvent the wheel each time a new season comes along.

Some of the language changes feel like tweakings to me. Like getting rid of gender references to the Holy Spirit. Or even "it is right and just" instead of "it is right to give him thanks and praise." Thanks and praise have already been mentioned. It is right and just. Other small things are jarring, like the changes to the Gloria, but they don't change the feel of that part of the mass.

Actually, besides the ridonkulous "and with your spirit" flip, which just makes me roll my eyes as I read all these backwards retrofitting revisionist history reasons for it, the only ones that bother me are in the creed. I believe vs we believe I don't mind; rewording the Holy Spirit section so we don't say "he he he" all the time is a great idea. But "consubstantial" and "incarnate" are just wrong. Wrong. The idea that "one in being with the Father" is a worse translation than "consubstantial with the Father" could only be true in the dark recesses of minds like Bishop Across the River Braxton. And the incarnate phrase is awkward--once again we look like jerks here, people, like mentioning that Jesus might have actually been born is such an uncomfortable topic to discuss that we have to hide it with a liturgical euphemism.

Yes, one of the lip-service reasons for these changes is to elevate the language and make it more ritualistic, which I'm all for, to a point. I'm not all for it when it comes to the creed. This is the CREED. This is what we believe. We should understand what we're saying if we're going to say what we believe. Which is why I get so annoyed when we drone on "God from God Light from Light True God from True God." Why do we mention God twice there? Why God and True God? What heresy have we forgotten that this stands against? I ask priests every so often (each change of pastor) and nobody seems to know. Not the point here (it says the same thing in Latin)--but I really feel like if I'm going to say WHAT I BELIEVE then I should use vernacular language. Not slang, not jive, but everyday speech. Incarnate and consubstantial are not in my everyday speech. One in being with the father might not be a phrase I'd use when chatting at coffee, but at least I would use the words.

I know I fear and loathe change. So I've sort of let go from engaging in this. It's one of those things, you know, I can't do anything about it and whatever. If it weren't for the Benedictines and Catechesis of the Good Shepherd and my parish I wouldn't be Catholic anyway--none of this really matters to me. I have many many opinions about the hierarchy, of course, and this just gets dumped on that steaming pile.

Like I said at the meeting, this isn't going to be the issue over which I'm drummed out of the Church. There are so many better reasons.

330/365 Location of Novena

Sr. Hildegard sent out an email. It was going to take a lot of work to get the Christmas Novena in place, and then back away, each night in order for other things to happen in between (like Sunday mass and choir practice). She made the suggestion that perhaps we should go ahead and have it in the chapel in the rectory basement.

I wrote back and said, basically, ok, let's have it in the chapel. I'm kind of in a keep it simple mode right now.

Rachel replied that there was no need to move it, that liturgy was messy, I stopped reading because, well, I don't have a dog in this fight, you know? Fr. Miguel wrote as well and agreed with Rachel.

Radio silence. I knew I was leading the novena on Friday but I figured I'd find out the final decision when I got there.

And then, in strict accordance with prophecy, Lynn wrote. She agreed with me. Chapel. Of course she agreed with me. It had nothing to do with me. It had everything to do with disagreeing with Miguel.

Irritated, I deleted emails and ignored it. I told Mike about it. And about how I was tired of all the fuss over such things. And he reminded me, wisely, that perhaps I was a little tied down in the minutiae of my own life to care about the minutiae of liturgy. He was right.

I wonder when I'll be back to normal.

350/365 New Years

"You're welcome to come over," Astrid invites us over for New Year's. It's a choir party, from what I gather. I think she was embarrassed she hadn't mentioned it earlier. Ah well. Becky starts listing off folks or something, I don't know, I'm gathering stuff up before my car gets a ticket on Grand.

"And Lynn called," Astrid fills in. "She thinks she might even come by without Pat."

"Lynn is coming?" I clarify.

"Does that determine if you are?" Astrid says with a smile.

"Nah. I've got a neighbor thing, but it is good to know that up front."

Eh. As if I'd want to ring in the new year with Lynn. Maybe just to round out the ridiculousness.