R
Richard320
Guest
I just need to vent a little. While I could do it on facebook, most of my facebook friends aren’t Catholic, and wouldn’t understand. Even here, I suspect I’ll only get 25% understanding, but that’s better than facebook.
Because of some unavoidable stuff on Sunday, logistics dictated that we either attend a Saturday Vigil Mass, or go to a 6:30 AM Mass Sunday morning, and hope it’s quick, lest we be late to our Sunday event. Our usual venue is the Cathedral, a good 30 minute drive, but there is no Vigil Mass there. And 8 AM there is too late.
So, we went to one of the three closest parishes. I’ve tried Mass there several times since we moved here, different times, different seasons, even different pastors. And I still hate it. I don’t care for the building at all. It’s new, real new. But it has semicircular seating, stadium seating at that. And upholstered pews. It just seems like a corollary: padded pews are bad news. It’s been that way for me everywhere I’ve been.
Anyway… the priest is wearing green vestments. He says it’s because it’s St Patrick’s Day. Well, he is from Ireland, originally, but if he’s making it a major feast, you’d think he would have worn the gold vestments… Then there’s the music. OCP’s greatest hits, sung by aging hippies, accompanied by one guitar. The Psalms, The Sanctus, everything really, sounded like 1970’s commercial jingles.Like is With the solo singer a half note off, just like thatat.
The Homily, after a couple jokes to warm up the crowd, had nothing to do with the readings.
The Our Father imeans it’s time to form a human chain. The altar servers went up to the Sanctuary to join hands with Father.
Now, to its credit, this parish does ring the bells during the Consecration. I like that.
Come Communion time, four EMHCs go into the Sanctuary. Then about 20 more line up in the center aisle. Those four then come down with the Chalices and the 20 receive the Body from the Priest, the Blood from one of the four, march up to the altar and take their stuff and fan out to the congregation. I hate that self-serve thing. If the priest offers it to them, then they should accept it. To grab a chalice and go just doesn’t sit well with me.
On the way out, I told my wife, “We still can’t go here.”
She captured it perfectly. “I know. I want to like this place so bad, but I just can’t.”
I miss being a part of my local parish. I used to be involved in a lot of things. I had a lot of friends at church, people to stop and chat with in the parking lot. I’d see people I knew or at least recognized all over town. When they read the names of the sick during the prayer intentions, I knew who they were. The pastor knew me by name. It was 2 minutes away, 8 if I walked.
I have three parishes within minutes of me, and I can’t find one Mass I like. So we drive almost 60 miles round trip. In LA traffic. To be just another anonymous butt in the pew. Just so I don’t have to grit my teeth for an hour while trying to suppress uncharitable thoughts. For that matter, my wife does a lot of teeth gritting too. I’m at least blessed that we share the same prejudices!
Because of some unavoidable stuff on Sunday, logistics dictated that we either attend a Saturday Vigil Mass, or go to a 6:30 AM Mass Sunday morning, and hope it’s quick, lest we be late to our Sunday event. Our usual venue is the Cathedral, a good 30 minute drive, but there is no Vigil Mass there. And 8 AM there is too late.
So, we went to one of the three closest parishes. I’ve tried Mass there several times since we moved here, different times, different seasons, even different pastors. And I still hate it. I don’t care for the building at all. It’s new, real new. But it has semicircular seating, stadium seating at that. And upholstered pews. It just seems like a corollary: padded pews are bad news. It’s been that way for me everywhere I’ve been.
Anyway… the priest is wearing green vestments. He says it’s because it’s St Patrick’s Day. Well, he is from Ireland, originally, but if he’s making it a major feast, you’d think he would have worn the gold vestments… Then there’s the music. OCP’s greatest hits, sung by aging hippies, accompanied by one guitar. The Psalms, The Sanctus, everything really, sounded like 1970’s commercial jingles.Like is With the solo singer a half note off, just like thatat.
The Homily, after a couple jokes to warm up the crowd, had nothing to do with the readings.
The Our Father imeans it’s time to form a human chain. The altar servers went up to the Sanctuary to join hands with Father.
Now, to its credit, this parish does ring the bells during the Consecration. I like that.
Come Communion time, four EMHCs go into the Sanctuary. Then about 20 more line up in the center aisle. Those four then come down with the Chalices and the 20 receive the Body from the Priest, the Blood from one of the four, march up to the altar and take their stuff and fan out to the congregation. I hate that self-serve thing. If the priest offers it to them, then they should accept it. To grab a chalice and go just doesn’t sit well with me.
On the way out, I told my wife, “We still can’t go here.”
She captured it perfectly. “I know. I want to like this place so bad, but I just can’t.”
I miss being a part of my local parish. I used to be involved in a lot of things. I had a lot of friends at church, people to stop and chat with in the parking lot. I’d see people I knew or at least recognized all over town. When they read the names of the sick during the prayer intentions, I knew who they were. The pastor knew me by name. It was 2 minutes away, 8 if I walked.
I have three parishes within minutes of me, and I can’t find one Mass I like. So we drive almost 60 miles round trip. In LA traffic. To be just another anonymous butt in the pew. Just so I don’t have to grit my teeth for an hour while trying to suppress uncharitable thoughts. For that matter, my wife does a lot of teeth gritting too. I’m at least blessed that we share the same prejudices!