Just in case you missed “Part One”, this is a continuation of the story about my personal journey with church.
Quite surprisingly, even to me, it took quite a bit of soul searching (forgive the pun) and reviewing of my earlier years of frequent attendance before I saw the disconnections that were missing in my adult life.
So to continue…I was very intrigued that attending church was something forbidden to do within the church walls during the pandemic. Friends and neighbors spoke of sitting in their cars in the parking areas of their local churches just to be nearer to the places of worship that they found comfort in. Here’s the thing about me that everyone pretty much knows…tell me “no” and I’ll spend my days finding a way around that.
So I did…I didn’t break laws or deliberately attempt to infect anyone, however, I began researching the masses being held “on line”...something I had never done in my life. View a mass on YouTube? That’s just a crazy notion. But before long, I was definitely into this concept and never missed a weekly event.
I felt connected again. But in a totally different way. This mass was said entirely in English (not Latin). This was brand new for me.
Still, I was a long way from my younger years of experiencing regular attendance and I had no idea how to start looking for the church that I would call mine.
I knew the community within the church was the glue that held all of this together. That meant I had to step outside of my home to find a place to worship and pray but I had no idea where to start looking.
I began researching once the pandemic limits were lifted. Where were there churches that welcomed new community members? What time were the masses? Were the masses said in Latin or English? Where would I sit when I entered the church?
Would I be sitting in someone else's seat? (The anxiety was real!)
My first decision was to attend a mass with my son and his family about 40 minutes away from my home on an icy winter Saturday afternoon close to Troy, NY.
I emphasize “icy” because it was treacherous walking up the flight up steps to the massive wood church doors. But I made it in one piece.
Once inside, I was quickly overwhelmed by the presence of the floor to ceiling stained glass images and tall wooden figures that represented the saints. The altar was embossed with gold leaflet embellishments and the music that surrounded the parishioners came from a second story that captured the sounds coming from a massive pipe organ.
I was overwhelmed.
But I knew that despite the grandeur, this wasn’t what I perceived MY church to be going forward.
So, I enjoyed the experience, and continued on with my journey closer to my home in Greene County.
My next decision was to attend a local church. I checked out the mass times and drove by the church to check out parking areas. Even though I was a short 16 minutes from my home, I still put the directions in my MapQuest just in case my anxiety kicked in as I was on my way. Questions? Did I have enough fuel? was a serious thought.The night before I was to attend, I readied my church clothes and checked to be sure I had a donation easily accessible in my purse. I re-checked my phone three times to ensure my ringer was silenced and wouldn’t accidentally announce a call with my Harry Potter theme song. I set my alarm and still got up a half hour earlier.
I decided to bring my largest purse so that I could add my readers and my distance glasses if I was relegated to the last pew in the church because the rest of the church was full up.
I kept reminding myself that it was church, not my first day of incarceration. I practiced breathing and smiling and looking like I belonged. I have a feeling by the looks I got, that folks were curious.
I was greeted by the Pastor immediately. Was I new to the area?
OHHH…I wasn’t new. That’s when I saw the curiosity deepen.
(My mind was screaming….so where the heck have you been then?)
The only place left to sit was in the first pew all the way down the aisle. And so, cane in hand, because my total knee replacement required some additional walking support, there I proceeded to the front of the church.
The first thing the priest on duty ( I don’t know what they’re called) said was..”do you people know what time it is? I was stunned, wide eyed and then I looked down at my watch and saw that it was the first day of Daylight savings time and it was actually “6:30am” not the 7:30am time I had thought mass was.
Mortified. That’s the only word I came up with.
The congregation chuckled, so I did too.
But…then that’s when the shift came.
I was “welcomed” by the congregation. Sincerely, kindly, generously opening up to my obvious needs of overcoming my fears of being new after many many years.
Even the shivering of every muscle of my body slowly quieted. People smiled. They offered me the sign of peace. I was shown all the how to’s… how to step up to receive the eucharist, how to hold my hands, what pages the prayers were on…I LOVED this church. I felt so embraced and comfortable…Everyone knew it was a huge step that I had taken without the words or the excuses that I had planned if asked.
I was WELCOMED BACK to my faith, this church, this place of reverence and prayers and I knew it was perfect timing and exactly as it was always intended to be.
Best of all…the mass was now said in English. So to me everything was brand new and completely comprehensible. I loved it.
Pat Larsen is a syndicated columnist who lives in Greene County.
Feel free to give Pat a call to chat. 518-275-8686 She’d love to hear your story.
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