Scenes From Midnight Mass (or how Egan salvaged Christmas) too funny!

This is a couple days late, but we're still in the Octave. I'm dedicating this post to those for whom the sight of camauros and cappa magnas can somehow reflect a God born poor and the true meaning of Christmas -- however counterintuitive that is.

Enjoy, liebchins.

So, for the first time ever in my life, I spent Christmas Eve and morn outside the boundaries of the city of Philadelphia...

Next year in Rome? Probably not -- but somewhere down the line, that'll probably be the case. Doing Christmas at the Vatican: so hot right now. But I digress.

Due to my grandmother's continued stay in hospital, our traditional knock-down, drag-out Festival of the Seven Fishes at her place, featuring 80 people eating on the couches, sitting on the washer and dryer, in the bathrooms, on the steps, radiators, etc. was cancelled, the venue transferred across the Delaware River to one of the family homes in suburban South Jersey.

Once the surrealism of it passed, it was nice, more quiet than usual, etc.

The (erroneous) common wisdom among many rank-and-file Catholics -- most of my family included -- is that Midnight Mass lasts five hours and you're better off going in the morning if you want to get your Christmas business taken care of in a space of time which isn't comparable to Chinese Water Torture.

This is one of many reasons we should be grateful that the church isn't a democracy.

Then again, it's not wise either for a parish to announce a 5.15 Vigil Mass on Christmas Eve (one of the two times a year when people actually show up), then proceed not to hold it without telling anybody, so the faithful have to stand outside and look at locked doors for 10 minutes, wondering what the hell is going on until they just give up and leave. (And -- surprise, surprise -- they won't be back next year.) This happened at a parish in Philadelphia on the Eve, and we should all be grateful for such brilliant work because, as if abuse scandals and quotidian ineptitude isn't enough, this is the "all politics is local" stupidity that actually hits people where they live.

And you wonder why the faithful have given up in great numbers? Not rocket science.

So, as I was spending the night out of town, I decided to make a jaunt (with one of my aunts) to her local parish for Midnight. There were two options -- a parish somewhat nearby where a friend is the pastor and would do it right beyond a doubt (his organist is an uber-gay former seminarian known around the church circuit as "Bonkers" -- say what you will, but the boy can play), or the local church which I had been to a couple times before and saw no major disasters; the other parish of this sprawling suburban community had been ruled out due to potential, er, security risks. The local parish was chosen as time was running short and the aunts didn't finish their post-dinner cleanup til ten minutes before 12.

Pulling up to a side door and skipping to the church door, I breathed a sigh of relief to be there in time.... And then we walked in to hear:

"GLORIA! *CLAP CLAP* GLORIA! *CLAP CLAP* IN EXCELSIS DEO!" (Repeat... if you can stomach it. I didn't have a choice.)

I wanted to die. I wanted to die -- but not before beating up whoever was responsible for this badly-timed, badly-placed hootenanny with a golf club.

Six hippies in sweaters playing guitars (and a violinist, cellist and percussionists) were the music for the Mass. And this is a pretty sensible, suburban, nice-sized place -- not LifeTeen or Sophia's House by any stretch.

But how heartbreaking it was: The organ console was closed, drums were going off like firecrackers....

Just thinking about it makes my head hurt.

Suffice it to say, this wasn't registering as Christmas in my liturgical mind. And at this moment, having entered into what seemed like a jarringly parallel universe, the most deep-seated, camauro-worshipping, crying-at-the-consecration triumphalist Tridentine lace guruess on the Planet Earth could've done a better job than what was unfolding before my eyes.

Did I tell you it was bad at first sight?

So the horrific Gloria ends, I resign myself to not hearing any organ music -- or, for that matter, anything quiet or serene that would make one feel present at the crib of Bethlehem (which is only supposed to be the whole context of Midnight Mass, after all) -- and then I catch a glimpse of the celebrant, in a white chasuble with a big BLUE oprhrey running down the front of it....

Yuck. Did these people not get the memo that blue is NOT a liturgical color? Or am I just too liturgically anal-retentive?

Sitting down for the first reading, one of my favorite texts of the liturgical calendar ("The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light....") being disrupted by the guitar hippies flipping their hair (I'm not kidding, much as I wish I was...), I started thinking, wondering, whether this was just my own little internal outburst that my own gustibus wasn't being fulfilled, that I was being rude in whatever way to the sensibilities of my host parish, that my judgements were inconsiderate of the time and effort that went into the preparation of the music and liturgy, etc.

Then the lector for the second reading got up and introduced the "reading from the Letter of St. Paul to Titius."

For the uninitiated, it's "Titus," no second "i."

I'll admit, this was all terribly counterproductive and selfish of me. But when you're all pumped up for a good, smooth, well-prepared Mass and then, without any warning, you feel like you've been dropped on your ass into the midst of liturgical Flub City -- unprepped lectors; the homily beginning with the words, "When I was young, I really wasn't too big on Santa Claus"; the "and became man" genuflection at the Creed being followed by 30 seconds of dead silence and a "please stand" as if it was the reading of the Passion; "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing!" (which is not a Communion hymn) as the Communion hymn with tribal-esque drumming (not conducive to reflection nor solemnity), leading one to expect a cameo appearance from Pope Shenouda from out the sacristy door or something along those lines -- it's more than a little unsettling.

And that's just what I can recall off the top of my head.

I was trained as an MC -- not for nothing do I have a Gammarelli-Sorgenti set at my disposal -- so I don't miss a trick when it comes to keeping eyes on the sanctuary. And I would've understood and not said a thing if all this was actually engaging the congregation and contributing to their full, active and conscious participation.

But it wasn't. All I could see, with precious few exceptions, were dulled suburban faces who looked as if they were enduring a ritual for its own sake. And that was enough to suck the life and the joy out of it all.

I hate saying it, but I couldn't wait to just get outta there and head back to my aunt's place to meet up with the gathered cousins and friends for late-night drinks and a lengthy first lap of celebrating the festival day. But we were asked to stop at CVS (the pharmacy-grocery shop, for those unfamiliar) to pick up some things....

On the way there, as I had the satellite radio with me and knew that Sirius was broadcasting Midnight Mass from St. Pat's, New York, I plugged it in and turned it on to catch the Post-Communion Hymn of Praise: a tenor's solo of "O Holy Night," backed up by choir and a small ensemble of brass and strings. My aunt asked me, "Is this what they have in New York? This is so wonderful!"

I almost wanted to say, "You know, they don't just have this kind of thing in New York..." as it's basically what I've been used to for all my Christmases (and missed terribly on this night), but didn't want to disturb her parish pride. (Not that there was much there, but oh well.)

She went inside the shop and I got to sit in my car and listen to the Vincent Price-esque voice I can frighteningly mimic so well sing the closing prayer and then launch into a boatload of thank-yous. And then, "The Lord be with you..." leading into my favorite moment of suspense, happily capped with the magic words of the pontifical blessing (which, unfortunately, isn't delivered in English as often as it should be):

"Blessed be the name of the Lord."

At first, I burst out laughing, remembering the senior American prelate who almost choked on his lunch as I offered my interpretation of the formula in Eganese.

But in the strangest way, hearing an old familiar voice carry it out as it is to be done was so comforting (like Rom -- er, Egyptian cotton), in a way which the liturgy I actually attended had left me desperately wanting. So I was grateful for the reminder from an unexpected sourse that there is still hope out there, even if it's in one big church in my old stomping grounds 102 miles north of the city of my birth where, indeed, John Ferry is now the rector.

And I can't help but wonder if this is how it is out there. In "Salt of the Earth" Cardinal Ratzinger writes about the dangers of aquiring that which he calls "the arrogance of the specialist," which sees belief as being something for one's self-perceived inferiors and is instead consumed with minutiae of custom, law and perception. Still, that said, is fluff of the kind I witnessed at the most sacred hour (and biggest show) of the year the "richness" that's supposed to sustain a Catholic community, with no tangible fruits except the jollies of the performers onstage?

I pray not. Because if it is, then we're all in big, big trouble.

Malcolm Ranjith*, call your office. The new one.

NBC considers new show featuring a completely dysfunctional family a positive portrayal of Christ and Christians

Dear Kathleen,

On January 6, NBC will begin a new series entitled The Book of Daniel.

While the public has not seen the program, NBC is promoting "The Book of Daniel" as a serious drama about Christian people and the Christian faith. The main character is Daniel Webster, a drug-addicted Episcopal priest whose wife depends heavily on her mid-day martinis.

Webster regularly sees and talks with a very unconventional white-robed, bearded Jesus. The Webster family is rounded out by a 23-year-old homosexual Republican son, a 16-year-old daughter who is a drug dealer, and a 16-year-old adopted son who is having sex with the bishop's daughter. At the office, his lesbian secretary is sleeping with his sister-in-law.

NBC and the mainstream media call it "edgy," "challenging" and "courageous." The series is written by Jack Kenny, a practicing homosexual who describes himself as being "in Catholic recovery," and is interested in Buddhist teachings about reincarnation and isn't sure exactly how he defines God and/or Jesus. "I don't necessarily know that all the myth surrounding him (Jesus) is true," he said.

NBC considers The Book of Daniel a positive portrayal of Christ and Christians.

Please take action now! Here is what you can do:

1. Call your local NBC affiliate and ask them not to air the program. You can find their contact information in your local phone book or by Clicking Here (http://www.nbc.com/nbc/header/Local_Stations/).

2. Print out a copy of AFA's pass along sheet, fill in the affiliate call letters and phone number, make copies and pass out at your church. Ask your pastor to announcement it and put information in the bulletin and newsletter. [doc version and pdf. version available at http://www.afa.net]

3. If you haven't already done so, send an email to NBC by Clicking Here (https://secure.afa.net/afa/afapetition/takeaction.asp?id=175).

EXTREMELY IMPORTANT! Please help get the word out by forwarding this to your family and friends. They probably aren't aware of it!

My daughter is now in her junior year at Pallotti. They now hold their graduations at the National Shrine. St. Mary's was renovated this summer and our Sunday masses were held at the new Pallotti Gym during the renovation. Pallotti in the last couple of years had a major addition with a new sports center and a beautiful chapel. The renovations at St. Mary's went very well and it remains an understated and lovely church. We have a new marble altar table and canopies over the altars of Mary and Joseph.

Our Pastor Emeritus, Msgr. Keesler, used to give a Latin Mass every Sunday at 7:30 a.m. He is now 96 years old and no longer feels secure celebrating Mass in public. We now have a young curate, Fr. Lawrence Young who celebrates Mass in Latin on the first Sunday of each month at 7:30. He does a nice job. I had the privilege of cantoring for Msgr. Keesler for ten or so yeaars before he stopped celebrating Mass in public. I am well familiar with Joe O'Laughlin who trains the lectors at St. Mary's. They are, beyond a doubt, the best lectors I have encountered in my life. You must be very proud of your son.

Thanks for posting this story. I had a similar experience this year. I really don't like being away from my home parish during the holidays, or any Sunday, for that matter.

We were in Springfield, MO this year for Christmas. After our Easter experience of "liturgical dancers" during the Gloria at the parish we were married in, I decided we'd never go there again. I chose a different one for Christmas Eve Mass.

We showed up 5 minutes before Mass thinking we were 35 minutes early. Only moments before I had been so proud of myself and the hubster for being able to get our 3 kids ready and away from the in-laws! It faded quickly as we were ushered to the side chapel because there was no room to stand in the church.

We couldn't hear the priest at first but had no trouble hearing all 6 guitars gayfully playing music that didn't resemble anything recognizable. They finally hooked up a mike to the chapel so we could hear, unfortunately, it was the mike by the guitars. So every time the music kicked in, it was blaring so loudly we had to cover our ears. My son was yelling, "I can't stand this!"

I tried to help my son follow along in his MagnifiKid but they used different readings. We got the reading(can't remember which one and I don't want to look it up) of So-and-so, son of such-and-such. I cringed when they called all the children up on the alter to help the priest with his homily. It was horrible!

I missed my priest and think I'll give him a great big hug on Sunday. I know we'll get to sing the beautiful Christmas songs this weekend and I look forward to it! I wish this wasn't even an issue!

My son was yelling, "I can't stand this!"

When even the kids recognize a bad liturgy, it had to be awful. How frustrating!

Two years ago, my daughter and I managed to find a seat in our (then) parish. Seeing the pastor vested in red was signal enough that this Mass would be 'cutting edge'. Indeed, it was!

The choir had been relegated to the 11am Christmas Day Mass while the Contemporary Music Group was given pride of place at this Vigil Mass. When a young child jumped up and began dancing on one of the pews, the pastor smiled his approval. (He had planned on liturgical dancers but my complaint to the diocese squelched that, so this was the next best thing).

You have a year to begin planning where you will attend Mass next year in Springfield MO. Until then, give your pastor a big hug and offer up a Rosary to our Blessed Mother, on his behalf.

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