After many years, I found myself sitting in church one Sunday morning recently, unsure as to why I was there. Was it a calling? Perhaps. Was it inevitable? I honestly didn’t know.
I had been baptized as a baby and even received my formal education from a parochial school. It’s what was done back in the day.
By the way, I loved my church. The stained glass windows captivated my imagination every week as I stared up at the various images towering over the pews. I loved the scents of incense and the sounds of the chimes and the pipe organ alongside the choir bellowing out the most beautiful of songs.
I truly never understood those songs as they were often sung in Latin. But honestly that never really mattered. It was all I knew to be true of the mechanisms of being in church that made me feel so embraced.
After a while, I had memorized the Latin prayers that were spoken as easily as I knew how to speak the English language.
It felt important and more connected to the reasoning behind being in this place of reverence.
The familiarity of this place, this church, was comforting.
I should mention that it was my grandparents who took me to mass every week when I reached the age of 5. We walked the 13 city blocks to the church, rain or shine and spent what seemed like half the day in prayer before returning home.
There was often a Sunday feast that beckoned the entire family from all over Brooklyn to be a part of after mass. My maternal grandmother never complained. The pot of Sunday sauce which had to have held ten quarts of tomatoes cooked down to feed this huge group of aunts and uncles, cousins and an occasional neighbor or two. Someone always brought a minimum of 3 loaves of the best bread I ever tasted.
This part of the story IS, I believe, the reason that the traditions of partaking in mass every week was the prelude to these gatherings. They became so important in my life as I grew up. As I began reflecting, I saw a pattern developing that spoke to the ease with which I spent every Sunday.
It was never a chore to get up early to go to church.
There was always an overwhelming feeling of peace on church days. I’m glad for them now as an adult and wish I could replicate those days.
But then, back in the day, something changed. That’s what I wanted to uncover in this story. WHAT happened? When did this shift come?
I’m intent on exploring this subject to figure out where this important aspect of my weekly life went astray. There has to be something that created this crack in the veneer of slowly moving beyond regular weekly attendance of the mass. To make matters more intense, I was asked quite unexpectedly by my oldest son to explain why I stopped going to church.
In truth, I didn’t have an immediate answer. But it was the weight of the question that lingered after many months that found my thoughts during those wakeful times in the middle of the night.
I realized that the church, the building and the structure of the mass had changed dramatically as I matured into a mother and was raising my own children.
Kids were ferreted away to a play area and not allowed in the church proper. So, this definitely impacted the amount of time that I spent away from my young family while in prayer.
I also thought I heard my little one calling for his “Momma” and that distraction weighed on my focus.
Alas. I eventually felt less and less inclined to attend church. I also had moved further from my family after my Grandma passed away and those family functions happened less and less frequently.
All of this might sound like an excuse, and in a way, it is, but it is definitely what negatively impacted my devotion to be nearer to prayer.
Time passed, lots of time.
Then one day, I thought, I’d take a step forward and go to a mass and see what it was like now as I was an Elder.
THAT’S when this story gets really interesting…but you’ll have to wait for the next time and Part Two to find out how this mystery unfolded. It’s quite the tale with lots of unexpected twists and turns. Don’t you love a good mystery?
Pat Larsen is a syndicated columnist who lives, works and plays in Greene County with her husband, Chris, of 52 years and their pup Lily.
Her first book, REFLECTIONS…anything but an ordinary life is still enjoying great reviews and is available through Amazon.com
Book readings and signings are a fun way to bring folks together. Please feel free to contact Pat to schedule for your next gathering.
You can contact Pat at # 518-275-8686 if you would like to chat.
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