How ought we worship?

      I went back home at the end of June from a few months of being where the Latin Rite was the norm—low Masses during the week, high Mass for Sundays and feast days. I came back to a normal bilingual Novus Ordo Mass. I understood much more clearly why people object to the bilingual approach, but also was struck at the chaos in that liturgy. It had escaped me before because it was familiar, but now—well, the jumps and starts were startling. It was exacerbated by the way in which instruments were being used, drums and synth were more clear than the human voices and an extra “punch” was frequently delivered by the synth at the end of any short line of prayer or song. (The priest was speaking all of his parts in English, while the choir was leading all responses in Spanish).

The Eucharist was given to people not just by the priest but also by a laywoman.

There were good things to say about the homily, the priest encouraged us to go after our “lost sheep”--those who were baptised but are no longer practicing the faith. Still, I could not go back. For Sunday Mass, I started going further to attend the Latin Rite.

    On the First Friday of July, I went to the local parish in order to go to Mass only to discover that there was no Mass. Some women were reading the readings for the day and leading some prayers. When one of them announced the Our Father “to prepare for the Holy Eucharist” I left. How was this different from Methodists or Anglicans? A priest consecrated the host ahead of time, but still, I could not bear it. I looked online for “First Friday Latin Mass” and found an evening Mass at an SSPX chapel. So I went. People were praying the Rosary when I arrived and presently Mass began. It was a low Mass, followed by prayers of reparation led by the priest. One of the people their handed me a booklet that had the prayers they were using. The Mass itself brought tears to my eye. I didn’t quite cry, I don’t think, but close. It is easier to pray there.

    Weekday mass at the NO comes a little closer to the simplicity of the low Mass, but the prayers are not as rich and you still have the jarring conversation thing happening. In the Latin Rite, I do not feel under any pressure to know and follow each genuflection and prayer, but rather an open and free invitation to participate in the great Prayer of the Mass, to enter mysteriously into the very life of Christ, to gaze into His holy Face and be enraptured in His most Sacred Heart. Doubtless, where the Creed is sung, I will sing along. If it is a high Mass, I will likely be singing along wherever more than one voice is singing the ordinaries. I will often be murmuring the propers in their places, or simply as I come to them while using the missal as a prayer guide—and what prayers!

    Since I mentioned the First Friday, here is an example from that day: “O God, You mercifully deign to bestow on us in the Heart of Your Son, wounded by our sins, an infinite treasure of love; grant, we beseech You, that, rendering It the devout homage of our affection, we may also make a worthy reparation for our sins. Through the same, etc.”

    Another example of the rich yet ordinary prayers of the Mass of the Ages is the reminder at every high Mass of our baptism as we are sprinkled with Holy Water and we sing the Asperges Me.

    Then there is posture—when the priest is also facing Christ in the tabernacle, when we are all facing East together it directs us toward God. When priest and congregation are facing each other—well it is easier to get caught on the horizontal and miss the transcendent.

    So far, this has only been my impressions, but the thing is, I know that God cares about how He is worshiped. He tells the Samaritan woman that God is to be worshiped in spirit and in truth (as well as telling her that the Samaritans did not know what they worshiped in contrast to the Jews). Throughout the Old Testament God is concerned with right worship. Cain was not happy because God preferred Abel’s sacrifice to his. Abel’s worship was accepted, Cain’s not so much. When Moses was sent to free the Israelites, it was so that they could worship God in the way that He was calling them to do. Along the way people died because they brought the wrong kind of incense or because they challenged the priesthood ordained by God. Is the God we worship, not the same today, yesterday, and forever?

By the Waters of Babylon...

 Do you ever read a Psalm and it just hits you deeply, you pray it and it expresses more deeply what you might want to say or how you are feeling?

Psalm 137 is one of the Psalms that just stands out in sorrowful and passionate beauty--"If I forget you, O Jerusalem, may my right hand forget her skill".  Ever since seeing Jerusalem in the Psalms as a type of the Church or a type of the heavenly Jerusalem, these lines have had a deeper significance.

We are exiles, and they require of us mirth.  "How can I sing the Lord's song in this foreign land?"

It is a haunting psalm deserving of some beautiful music.  The fragments I can hear in my head do not do it justice.

The end too, must not be left off, though perhaps a bit disturbing.  We have had too much white-washed and watered down.  It is better to look at it as it is.  Doubtless, the exile wished vengeance upon his enemies, and doubtless, we must be ruthless in crushing out our little vices that would keep us entrapped in exile in Babylon.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, 

yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. 

We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. 

For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song;

and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying,

Sing us one of the songs of Zion.

How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?

If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.

If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth;

if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.

Remember, O Lord, the children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem;

who said, Rase it, rase it, even to the foundation thereof.

O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed;

happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.

Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.

 

Future

 We are all oarsmen: pulling toward the future, facing the past.

Inversions in June

Years ago, while I was rejecting God, I was much more provocative. I would sometimes dress or behave in ambiguous modes.  Back in the days before HIV I was amused by a tee-shirt that said "How dare you assume that I am heterosexual."  I wasn't gay - just provocative.  I was wearing my brokenness on the outside regardless of how many other broken people I might damage more.  There were some, may God forgive me, that I damaged.

***

 From Wikipedia:

Pride is emotional response or attitude to something with an intimate connection to oneself, due to its perceived value.^{[citation needed]} Oxford defines it amongst other things as "the quality of having an excessively high opinion of oneself or one's own importance"^[1]

If I recall correctly pride was the cause of the fall of Lucifer.  I have at times expressed perhaps too much self admiration.  I am competent in some fields and I have a moderately broad band of playful learning.  I have been guilty of pride in this older sense.

The modern version of "pride" seems rooted rather in a lack of  security, a lack of self-acceptance, of self-esteem.  Some act out of pain, in denial of the difficult memories and realities.  Some fuzz their public persona by expanding, absorbing environmentally, without pause for integration.  

Perhaps I was also "proud" in my unacknowledged brokenness.

Why does it matter?

I have spent time with too high an opinion of myself.  I have also tried to evade myself out of shame.  There might be a certain amount of morbid amusement for someone observing me, but the acts and the observation are precisely that: morbid.  

And so Weimar America celebrates morbidity this month rather than health, termination of the young and old rather than life.  Perhaps it is Nero or Caligula's America.

It would be better to focus on health and life while acknowledging imperfection, aspiring to better, rather than setting the imperfection as the standard, aiming ever lower

Broken lawn mowers and grace

I wanted to mow the lawn. I know that's not something Dad really likes doing and I had the time to do it. Out I went to the garage and started up the old riding mower. Thankfully, it was functional and full of gas. I hopped on and started riding around the lawn. Perhaps I was being careless or just miscalculated the space I needed to give so I wouldn't run over a rock that was a bit out of line from the border of the rock garden. All I know is I ran over a rock, it sounded very unpleasant, and I think I chipped some of the rock away -- and broke the lawn mower. To my dismay, the blade deck started clacking like crazy. I parked the riding mower in the garage and used the push mower to get as much done before dusk as I could. When Dad returned that evening, I sheepishly told him what I had done. He shrugged and said that it was fine and that we could fix it. The next morning, with a new blade in hand, he invited me to help him fix it. Thankful for the opportunity to help right what I had broken, I quickly threw on my tennis shoes and and followed him. However, when we went to the garage, he went to the push mower to replace that one's blade. Hesitantly, I explained that it was the riding mower, not the push mower, that I had broken. “Well,” he responded, “the blade on this one is broken too, so we'll fix this and then take a look at the other one.” So we did. Sure enough, that blade was pretty bent out of shape and one end was broken off. Then we looked at the other mower. We pulled the blade deck off and examined it. Thankfully, the clacking of the blades was just caused by them being loose on one side. But there were several more things that needed to be fixed or changed: new belts and welding to patch the blade deck cover. It turned into a two day project to get it all done. I only helped with tightening the blades and a bit with the belts. But it set me to thinking. I had set out to help Dad and ended up making more work for him. Yet, without getting upset or disgruntled, Dad set about fixing what I broke, inviting me to help him get it done. On top of fixing just what I broke, we discovered additional things that needed work. And Dad invited me to help fix these things that I needed could never have done on my own.

The more I thought about this, the more I realized that it was a wonderful example of how God is with His children. We set out, following his example, and trying to “help” him, to participate in the work he wants done in this world (just like I was trying to take part in the work that Dad does for our family). Sometimes, even when we do some good (I did get the front yard mown before breaking the mower), we often -- maybe always -- mess something up. We are forgetful and make mistakes that may make more work than the original task was. Yet, somehow, with incredible graciousness, God uses those failures as opportunities to work good. Not only does He fix the mess we made, He often fixes things we never knew were broken -- and invites us to participate in that restoring work as well! What graciousness and love that is, to allow us to work and mess things up and participate in the restoration of more than we ever realized or thought possible! And what a blessing to have a father who shows me with his life how God is with us! Thank you, God, and thank you, Dad! Happy Father's Day!

Religion and Relationship

“It’s not about religion, it’s about a relationship.” Have you seen that saying? Or maybe you have heard it; or both. I have heard it many times, and lately I pass this posted up on a church billboard. My first response, mental, but it IS also about what we BELIEVE, therefore, yes, it is “about religion” too. I may be reacting a bit, but I am a bit skeptical of anti-religious claims. Religion is hugely important. What we actually believe affects what we do, what we say. It would help ourselves and likely the people around us if we were more clear about what we believe and why.

So, what do you believe? Why do you believe it? Seriously, what stands at the core of your belief?

It is not that I came up with this question on my own. Some years back, my father asked his children this very question, challenging us to write it out. What do you simply accept, what is the undergirding, the foundation stones on which you rest everything else?

I started with, “God exists.”

I think I may have written about a page on just that, mostly copying scriptures. I did not continue writing out my beliefs, but that exercise in faith, reason, and belief had an impact on me. I realize that whether or not I fulfill my purpose in being, or even just understand it, God is God. He is and He is Good. I may never understand this world, but I am confident in that. Descartes began with, “I think, therefore I am,” and reasoned to the existence of a God outside himself. I am grateful for his reasoning, but must begin with God. He is our author.

I am a bit part in this play called life. I recognize that ultimately I hope to experience it as a traditional comedy—a story that ends well, has a happy conclusion. I recognize that along the way will be losses. I am not in control. I do get to choose how I act, though, and if I am sensitive to the Great Author’s promptings, maybe I will do the right things and say the right words at the right time. I am often slow. I am like the child who, after five rehearsals still does not even remember when it is her turn to step on the stage. How is it that God is still patient with me? I do not even know that, but I trust myself to his goodness and mercy because I believe.

This is my relationship with God. He calls. He opens my ears and mind and heart. I listen. He loves. I must love in return. “Must?” you might complain, but yes, “must” is the word. I do not understand how I could not love God. My earliest thoughts of him are connected to his death for me and because my sins. My earliest remembrance of him is connected to the Communion. “Why can I not eat and drink?” My mother explained what the bread and grape juice meant, that Jesus had died because of our sins to make us whole; that he rose again from the dead and wants to live in us so that we could be complete, we could inherit eternal life. I believed. Jesus loved me, enough to die for my sake. How could I not love him? I had to respond somehow, so I accepted his invitation to join him.  I would become his disciple, his daughter. When I turn to some sin that would separate me from God, he calls me by name.  When I would despair of ever "getting it right" he shows me one step and then another; one thing at a time, he teaches me.  It may take me three years to "get it", but he still continues to work with me. How can I not love him?

Is “it about relationship”? Yes, and it is also about religion. What I believe about God affects my relationship with God. What I believe affects what I say and do. I know a lot of what I believe.

Do you know what you believe? Do you know why?

Dead eyes

Do you know what is one thing that is scary to me? A dead person’s eyes...especially when they are open...and moving around and blinking and seem like they should be alive...but they aren’t. That gives me a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach and, sometimes, I have to turn away. The worst is when the person doesn’t know that they are dead. They don’t know any better and so they walk around pretending like they are alive. Maybe, it’s all a grand scheme to make sure people don’t bury them.

Perhaps "dead" isn’t quite the right word. Maybe it is more like "undead." I’m sure that calls to mind zombies and such, but these are real. I see them walking around every day.

Maybe, if they knew they were dead they would go find their rest and find the life that is waiting for them there. But they don’t and no one has the courage to tell them that they aren’t alive.

“But I go to church...I have a life...I have my friends...I tweet nine times a day. A dead person can’t do that.”

But can’t they?

Can’t even a robot with no life in it at all tweet nine times a day and sit in a building and keep a log of what is happening around it? It still has no life in it. A robot can’t have passions, joys, pain, love. A robot can’t have moral integrity. It can have a program that tells it to accept and reject certain things based on a list of criteria, but then it can just be programmed to do whatever whoever is skilled enough to program it wants it to. It has no choice.

Some of these undead people seem to do just that. If something is viral on social media, it must be worth attention. If five people they know like something, it must be good. If it lines up with the thoughts they were taught in school, then surely it is right. Their foundation is only as solid as those external parameters that they have been taught. Those are not lasting - and even if it were, if that undead person’s external circumstances change, that person’s identity changes, their principles change.

Sometimes, despite my squeamishness at dead eyes, I want to get in one of their faces and yell, just to see if it elicits any response other than an eye roll and filing me away in their brain as an odd creature. Perhaps I am one, but at least I am alive.

Ideas

Ideas are important. Growing up, I was surrounded, for the most part, by people who had the same center to their ideas: Christ. I grew into that and accepted Christ as my own Savior, the center of all my ideas and beliefs. For a while, I did not encounter anything so different from that on a regular basis.
And then, I went to college. Now on an almost daily basis, I sit and try to learn in an atmosphere not Christ-centered for the first time. I find myself constantly on my guard and extremely hesitant to accept any ideas being taught without inspection because I do not want to integrate false and dangerous ideas into my belief system. I do not want to base my life on unstable and false ideologies. But, it's hard, and sometimes I feel like giving up and shutting down completely, not accepting anything. To try to find the truth and the good amidst the perverted and off-center curriculum constantly is tiring. I get angry at the statements that focus on irrelevant issues and forget the real problem. When the obvious truth may not be spoken for fear of offending someones sensitivities, I wonder if anything can or should be learned in this class. I have become more cautious, even to the point of cynicism, when certain topics are brought up.
In all this, I yearn to find a break from this in church. That is where I go to worship and fellowship with fellow believers, to be built up in Christ. However, I have become suspicious of everything I hear there as well. I have heard some statements, even from the mouths of trusted church leaders, in our local congregation and on the denominational level, that are...well, worrisome. As a younger Christian, I hesitate to criticize Christians who are older than myself. I believe God intends for younger folk to learn from the elders. However, when I hear statements that imply a doctrine that is blatantly anti-scriptural, it throws me into doubt and questioning. More than I would be afraid to learn some wrong theory about the brain, I would shrink from accepting any even potentially heretical theology. If I cannot trust church leaders, who are major instructors in the faith, who can I trust to teach sound, scriptural doctrine. Now, I realize that rejecting the church because of statements of a few people would be wrong. Christians are made to live in community as the body of Christ, not on individual little self-controlled islands. I am learning the (should-be-obvious) truth that God works through faulty people as He is working in them. They will not be perfect. The body of Christ is not yet perfected and God is working. I will not reject the church because of the faulty people in it. I happen to be one of them and unified is the only way the church will grow and improve.
But, back to ideas outside the church.
When I am participating in secular amusements like movie-going and other things, I have found myself struggling to enjoy them because of my concern about accepting any bad ideologies. I could simply separate myself entirely from anything secular to try to escape unsavory ideas, but, like I noted earlier, I would not be able to escape them all by running to the church, even though I would be in an atmosphere in which people would be (or at least should be) trying to learn and grow closer to God's truth. Currently, I know God has me where I am, going to college, studying psychology. In my studies I have confronted and will continue to confront faulty and even lethal ideologies. However, I have faith that God will strengthen me to be able to face them, weed out the truth from them, and be able to fight the lies.
Yes, ideas are important and good ones may seem hard to come by. But the most important thing is to keep God at the center of all ideas and beliefs. From there, everything else will come into line. When every idea, thought, belief system is measured according to God's truth, one will be able to tell what is good and what must be discarded as falsehood.