Holy Assurance

Today's Gospel ends with perhaps the most famous and significant promise of Christ: "Behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age", St. Mark tells us. Jesus then ascends into Heaven before the confused Apostles.

If there is a greater assurance that God loves us I can't imagine it. He's always here, He will always look out for us. We forget that when all is well and, myself included, wonder where He really is in times of trouble. We're only human. When we're happy and content it seems as though that's the way it ought to be. When difficulties arise, we question everything. 

There's no need to question. We don't understand - we can't, at least not fully, understand - anything of the world. But He is with us. It'll be all right in the end. 

Mom's opinion of appropriate dress

Mom, God bless her, well, she can't always contain expressing herself. That can be quite funny sometimes.

I take her to Saturday Mass most weeks and yesterday was typical. We got to Church a few minutes before four and took pews as far back as we could (in the proper Cosgriff manner) and said our private prayers waiting for the service to begin. Other people began to filter in, taking their seats and going through their own personal religious motions as well.

Eventually a woman came in in what she must have imagined to be her Sunday finest. These were clearly her go to meeting clothes, impeccable right down (right up?) to her hat, a wide and fluffy black and white, uh, Easter bonnet (though we are weeks ahead of Easter) with all kinds of garish accents, ribbons and bows and what all, topped with a huge white feather worthy of a Musketeer. It was a sight I must admit.

The woman passed our pew in search of hers. And as seems to happen right before an, ah, unfortunate instance, the Church became suddenly and inexplicably quiet as she walked by where Mom and I sat. Exactly as all was unimaginably calm Mom saw the woman. And into that perfect storm of silence Mom said quite emphatically, "Whoa!"

I turned my head down and bit my lip hard, because I nearly exploded in laughter. There were a few stifled giggles among the congregation too. For her part, dressed to the nines lady simply continued on to her pew as though nothing was amiss.

Happy Birthday Mom. You made my day.

Is Church attendance all that odd these days?

I'm not sure that I should write this post, let alone publish it. I don't want to appear holier than thou, and on this subject one can slip easily into that mode. Neither do I wish to put down any of many friends, many of whom will know who they are if they read it. Further, though I don't think that I hide my religious beliefs I'm not comfortable waving them from the rafters either. They Holy Father is right: our actions should speak for our religion. Yet I find that I am bugged to write it anyway and let the chips fall where they will, and hope that readers understand my point.

I spend last weekend at a curling tournament. Before I left, I did a web search for Catholic Churches in the area where it took place. It's an easy thing to do in this internet age. I found four within an easy drive from the hotel where I stayed and wrote down all their Mass times; not knowing when my team would be playing until the tournament played out, I knew I would need options. As it were, we had to play at 9AM Sunday, and a Church just down the road had a Mass at 7:30. So that's where I went. I didn't even make it a point to tell anyone what I was doing. But when asked where I was going I answered honestly, because I'm not hiding the fact either.

The response ran the gamut from respect to humor. The humor I get: Marty goes to Church? It was friendly enough and I accept it on that level. Yet much of it was an odd amalgam of incredulity, embarrassment, and even excuse mongering, though I don't believe I had intentionally laid a guilt trip on anybody. But it was at times somehow admiring (So you went to Church, eh? Good for you) laced with pity (I could almost hear the unsaid question: why did you waste your time with that?) to shy excuse making (though I never asked anyone for the reasons they did not go). I suppose what got me most was the number of people, at least a dozen on Sunday and even a few more during my Monday night curling league who somehow got wind of my churchgoing, who, it seemed, almost felt they had to come to me and say something about it.

I know that Church attendance and belief in God is down. But I never thought that it was all that unusual these days. The only time I felt similarly to last weekend was back in 1989 when my daughter was born. She is our third child. My wife and I felt on display at the hospital. We actually heard the nurses whispering: See them? They're here having their third child. Together. And they've been married the whole time!

To the point, I find myself dismayed by it all. It just sounds very sad. Yet I don't see what I did to provoke it except to do what I always do: go to Church on Sunday. I simply don't know what to make of it.