Saturday, October 20, 2012

The Flavor of Daily mass

At daily Mass this week, I realized I am not just a warehouse worker... I am a bus driver, a nurse, a retiree. I am a single mother, happily married, tragically divorced, a widower. I am a business man, a priest, a child, a nun, a grandparent. I am a veteran, a student, I have fallen on hard times, I am content & well off in life. I am Asian, African American, Hispanic, Latino, White... I am red & gold... I am violet & green. I am a successor in a long line of martyrs, virgins, apostles & other Saints highlighted in the priest's homily nearly every day as prescribed by the liturgical calendar.

I am the fidgety middle aged woman digging through my purse for papers, keys & beads... I am the portly black lady in a leopard print shawl who prostrates & gesticulates at the threshold of the chapel. I am the white haired lady in the long, puffy white coat who shuffles up to the Tabernacle to say a quick prayer. I am the tiny old couple who sits & reads together in the pew after Mass. And then, I am of course, “me”, gazing quietly at Mary, the Tabernacle & the crucifix, never quite knowing what to say.

Though significantly shorter, there is a flavor to the daily Mass that seems lacking in Sunday Mass. People come just as they "are" & in some ways, it feels more honest. Everyone is there because they want to be, because something- or Someone- has drawn them, not because they are required to be there. I like that...




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