Palm Sunday

Yes, I realize it's Tuesday. This is as close as I've been able to get to to the dashboard since then.

Anyway, I'm still working on Part III of apologetics I & II. Coming soon, promise.

And since I'm hashing this out in the 30 minutes that my assistant and pseudo-boss (I say pseudo, 'cuz we all know who really runs this place) are out to lunch, bear with me. I'll probably misspell or forget something.

Anyway, Palm Sunday Mass. *conceding nod* Yeah. Pretty cool.

First off, I love being able to get to Mass (I'm still kinda' tickled saying "Mass") early and kneel for a few minutes in quiet prayer. You know, to get things off my chest before the service starts. Just so I can clear my head and heart and be at peace before the cantor takes the stage. (We've got an older lady who sings in that warbly, old-school soprano. Like an oily wheel on a piano bench, that one. Eh. At least she's on key. I keep having to remind myself, "This is not the time for American Idol, WG." The cantor who sings in the service right after us should join the opera. She's got the most powerful and piercing soprano in captivity. Gorgeous.)

Anyway, we were handed our palm leaves. We genuflected at our pew, took our seats, prayed and waited. The priest came down with the holy water and blessed all of our palms (and some of our foreheads in the process) and prayed as he walked. I liked that. I noticed people crossing themselves. I liked that, too. I noticed the figure of Christ on the cross was covered by red fabric and backed by palms. I assume that's symbolic of where we are in the liturgical calendar. Pretty neat. The head of the font where the holy water comes out was also missing, as was the statue of Mary at the front. Good to see that the spiritual symbolism is "alive". I'd hate to see what were meant to be profoundly meaningful symbols merely languishing in static dustiness.

Anyway, we got through the readings, with the call and response. I sort of had to grit my teeth a bit because one of our Priests, bless his sweet little heart, is just... *wow* He's such a nice man and a good Priest, even though he's only been ordained for a year-and-a-half, but... *aw* He's just not a good reader. *chuckle* I think I might have been a better "out loud" reader some time 'round elementary school. *squinty apologetic smile* But he really tries.

We had the booklet to follow along with anyway. The other two readers were black women (something I'd love to rub in the NAACP and NOW's faces) and we of course were the "crowd". The woman sitting behind us had a thick, droning, smoker's baritone and an intense Southern drawl. Her reading was only a mite better than the Priest's. Again, glad we had our booklet. And of course all the babies were wailing and jostling and wapping their palm leaves against the pew, people's heads, one another.

But this is the thing. I've heard so many people say they don't get anything out of Mass. It's the same thing all the time, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I would counter: You get what you give, honey. If you prepare your heart beforehand and go with a spirit of worship and expectation that Jesus will meet you there, by golly, He's gonna'.

All during the readings, I was again amazed at how much the Bible was highlighted. How we were not being treated to someone else's interpretation of the Gospels or told what the crowd said when Pilate offered Jesus to them, we were the crowd. We read the Gospel itself as it was written. And the homily was unified with it. Wondrous.

And I will emphasize again how much I adore that the children are allowed to stay. I watch them constantly. The youngest ones are so restless and funny. They peek and play and giggle. One family we were introduced to by Deacon on our first Mass has five children -- 4 boys, the youngest a girl. Watching the oldest brother captain the rest is such a joy. Watching his younger brothers hold hands and walk with the little girl -- not quite 2 -- and talk soothingly to her is an absolute dream. I noticed their father had to take her out during Mass this last Sunday. She was getting a little too demanding. 15 minutes later they returned, calmer and more serene, the baby clutching an azalea blossom in her chubby hand. Another one of the peek-a-boo babies in a purple chiffon dress finally gave up and was snoring on her father's shoulder. Two more little girls were pawing each other over the top of the pews, smiling and laughing, inches from a reprimand by their Mothers.

But the most touching thing I saw at Mass is a true testament to not only our Lord, but the state of His church. A boy of seven was leaving his pew towards the end of Mass. Before he exited, he turned around and genuflected. His sister, all of two years old, was following him. She left the pew without turning. Her brother took her by the hand, in love, turned her around patiently and showed her how to genuflect, making sure she did it before they took another step.

That is the legacy of Christ.