Really. A reader. Not me. Got it?

May marks 25 years as a vagabond Catholic. It’s hard to concoct a list anymore of the dioceses, bishops, archbishops, priests, parishes. They sort of run together after a while. Some very liberal, some others would call ultra-conservative — all made of the same human flesh burdened with a job most of us have no aspiration to.

As memories, some old, some just last week have come to the fore, the words of Augustine have invaded my meditation of late — coupled with ‘battle fatigue,’ I just cannot get too excited about this stuff.

When confronted with the question of what to do about the validity of sacraments celebrated by determined heretics, he concluded that grace is grace, regardless of the pet heresy of the celebrant.

So, no matter how lame the song, insipid the homily, posture rules regulated by the resident liturgy nazi, whether Fr elevates the host to a reverent altitude, etc., we all need to remember:

Bread is blessed, bread is broken, Jesus comes–
and we should be grateful for His gift.

The reality is there is no nirvana mass — at best, they are divinely inspired yet humanly hapless actions.

The miracle is that God tolerates our obsession with ‘stuff’. And still chooses to dwell with us.

That’s a real sacrificial love.

So I figure that if God doesn’t smite the obsessive compulsive disordered music minister, neither shall I.

If He compassionately tolerates the young rigorist priest who so fears “messing up” that he’s lost sight of the miracle in his hands, so shall I.

If He has put up with Fr. Silver Fox and his good-feelin’ sermons for thirty years — I guess I can put up with one a month.

If He hasn’t prematurely raptured the Closer to God Brigade that insists upon praying the rosary during the Mass, I’ll honor their devotion with a smile — and close my eyes if it drives me nuts.

If He puts up with the old couple behind me who choose to substitute God for every masculine pronoun, I’ll tune it out and listen to the 99.5% who do not.

If He can put up with my own distractibility and frustration and yet, time and after time, guide my sight and hearing back to what He offers in front of my nose, I thank Him for counting me among His motley crew.

Does this mean I no longer long for a ‘better’ mass? No. It’s just a matter of perspective and balance — the last I checked Howard Cosell’s Palestinian ancestor was not a guest at the Last Supper. [From Amy: huh?] All I can do when it really comes down to it, is pray that all of us present, myself included, be open to the will of the Father.

There’s just so much time I can devote to armchair liturgy discussions otherwise, it robs time from other pursuits like tending to my prayer time, preparing my RE lesson, helping my neighbor… so as best to follow the Will of the Father.