W
Wolseley
Guest
Ever since we moved, we have been attending this small parish close to where we now live. Now that Christmas and whatnot have settled down, I have been able to analyze this parish a bit, and I am not entirely happy with what I’m seeing.
I should mention that my wife works Saturday and Sunday mornings, so the only time we can attend Mass together as a family is Saturday or Sunday evenings. Sunday evenings involves driving about 20 miles to the one parish in the city which has a 5 PM Sunday Mass. Mommy is usually pretty tired by 5 PM on a Sunday, and doesn’t want to get involved in the long trip to and from, and I don’t blame her. The “new parish” (I parenthesize because I frankly don’t know how long I’m going to attend there) is only about 10 minutes away, so it’s not such a haul.
I should also mention that this particular diocese (Grand Rapids, Michigan) is rife with various liturgical abuses, which vary in intensity from parish to parish; they run the gamut from parishes which actually celebrate the Mass as Vatican II intended, to parishes which are only vaguely recognizable as Catholic churches…they’re more like a bunch of people “playing church”—they have some of the major aspects down, but the rest they just make up as they go. :sigh:
Anyways, last night I counted several things that were odd, to say the least. Some of the things are to be, unfortunately, expected—the music is the usual run of post-Vatican II folk/hippie drivel, played by a woman with a guitar, a male cantor as “lead singer”, and a third man with a harmonica. (Yes, a harmonica.
) Needless to say, it doesn’t take a strong imagination to close your eyes and easily surmise that you’re sitting around a campfire with a troop of Boy Scouts at Lake Iniki-Nikee.
There is the usual lack of respect for the Blessed Sacrament (lay ministers and altar servers—and in this case, also the priest—walking around the altar, back and forth past the Tabernacle, with nary a genuflection among them), parishioners jabbering and chattering like a tribe of monkeys after Mass, making reflection or prayer impossible; and there is the usual embroidering of the rubrics by the priest, the “take a dash of this and pinch of that, add water and stir”, but these things I’m referring to were things that I frankly haven’t ever seen before.
Every time we have attended Mass there, the entire congregation stands facing the back of the church; as the servers and the celebrant process into the church, each row turns and faces the front as they pass by, sort of like radar rigs tracking a target. I have no idea if this is an abuse or not, but I find it very unsettling and I do not like it.
At Communion time, we have the same thing. The back row of the church goes first, and the ushers work their way towards the front of the church. This is eminently annoying, because as you’re kneeling and trying to prepare yourself for Holy Eucharist, you have no idea where the usher is, since you can’t just open your eyes and make a quick check as to which row in front of you is rising to go forward. Twice now, I have had an impatient parishioner tap me on the shoulder, jolting me out of a prayer, and jab a thumb at the rest of my pew emptying into the aisle. Then I have to tap Mommy on the shoulder, jolting her, and do the same thing.
(cont’d)
I should mention that my wife works Saturday and Sunday mornings, so the only time we can attend Mass together as a family is Saturday or Sunday evenings. Sunday evenings involves driving about 20 miles to the one parish in the city which has a 5 PM Sunday Mass. Mommy is usually pretty tired by 5 PM on a Sunday, and doesn’t want to get involved in the long trip to and from, and I don’t blame her. The “new parish” (I parenthesize because I frankly don’t know how long I’m going to attend there) is only about 10 minutes away, so it’s not such a haul.
I should also mention that this particular diocese (Grand Rapids, Michigan) is rife with various liturgical abuses, which vary in intensity from parish to parish; they run the gamut from parishes which actually celebrate the Mass as Vatican II intended, to parishes which are only vaguely recognizable as Catholic churches…they’re more like a bunch of people “playing church”—they have some of the major aspects down, but the rest they just make up as they go. :sigh:
Anyways, last night I counted several things that were odd, to say the least. Some of the things are to be, unfortunately, expected—the music is the usual run of post-Vatican II folk/hippie drivel, played by a woman with a guitar, a male cantor as “lead singer”, and a third man with a harmonica. (Yes, a harmonica.
) Needless to say, it doesn’t take a strong imagination to close your eyes and easily surmise that you’re sitting around a campfire with a troop of Boy Scouts at Lake Iniki-Nikee.There is the usual lack of respect for the Blessed Sacrament (lay ministers and altar servers—and in this case, also the priest—walking around the altar, back and forth past the Tabernacle, with nary a genuflection among them), parishioners jabbering and chattering like a tribe of monkeys after Mass, making reflection or prayer impossible; and there is the usual embroidering of the rubrics by the priest, the “take a dash of this and pinch of that, add water and stir”, but these things I’m referring to were things that I frankly haven’t ever seen before.
Every time we have attended Mass there, the entire congregation stands facing the back of the church; as the servers and the celebrant process into the church, each row turns and faces the front as they pass by, sort of like radar rigs tracking a target. I have no idea if this is an abuse or not, but I find it very unsettling and I do not like it.
At Communion time, we have the same thing. The back row of the church goes first, and the ushers work their way towards the front of the church. This is eminently annoying, because as you’re kneeling and trying to prepare yourself for Holy Eucharist, you have no idea where the usher is, since you can’t just open your eyes and make a quick check as to which row in front of you is rising to go forward. Twice now, I have had an impatient parishioner tap me on the shoulder, jolting me out of a prayer, and jab a thumb at the rest of my pew emptying into the aisle. Then I have to tap Mommy on the shoulder, jolting her, and do the same thing.
(cont’d)
or 
