One Experience of the Mass

She stumbles in just as the little bells are rung in front, moving as quickly as she can while remaining silent but-for light footpatter. Rushing to the side of the pew, she genuflects just before the priest and altar server make it to the center aisle. Quickly unfastening her coat, she drops it to the seat, wincing as her phone thuds hard against the wood. A little noise, truly, and still before the opening prayer…

“In the name of the Father, and of the the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…”

Nodding as she joins the, “Amen,” she can’t help but grin: technically, she was on time, and this church is starting to feel like home. The loud woman in front, the super-pious people in the rear, the man who knows the logistics of the day-to-day operations on one side adjacent the main aisle, the woman who knows the entire history of the parish on the other side and near the side aisle, the man who holds the door for everyone sitting in the rearmost seat… Despite this not being “her” church, she knows the daily attendees, misses them when they aren’t there, and simply feels as though she could belong here. For the first time in a long time, she feels at home.

Sitting for the reading, she picks up the missal, deftly flipping to the proper page to follow along. She still struggles with pacing her reading to match that of the lector, but having the words in front of her helps her to focus on them anyway. At least she can read and re-read the passage with the background of having it read to her; that’s better than piecing together the day’s agenda because the verbal words aren’t in and of themselves sufficient regardless of the skill of the reader.

The psalm is read. She matches the cadence, but the loud woman is also the fast woman who refuses to pause for the commas. Smiling both in acquiescence and loving annoyance, she draws herself nearer the pacing of the loudest, fastest responder. She can’t quite bring herself to match it as it doesn’t make musical sense and thus grates against her instincts, but she struggles in the attempt. By the final repetition, it’s almost passable as matching. The other congregants are somewhere between the two versions.

Standing for the Gospel, she listens closely to the acclamation; the change of liturgical season also changed the tune, and she hadn’t heard the one at this church location yet. It was different than all of the ones she was used to, so she focused intently as the initial call was made, then responded quietly as she tried to mimic it. The first time was close; the second response was spot on.

As the priest reads the Gospel, she holds fast to the little book in her hand, trying to look at the priest while focusing on the words. Her non-book hand grips the pew in front of her tightly. Slowly, she raises the missal and glances at it, tracing the verses through to the end quickly, then moving her eyes back to the reader, holding a mental image of the words in front of her to follow along. “The Gospel of the Lord.”

“Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.”

They sit, and the priest starts explaining the message from the readings. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she drinks it all in. This is her favorite homilist: he speaks plainly and meaningfully, his words have real-world relevance, and she trusts what he says. This unassuming middle-aged man who likely wouldn’t recognize her had a penchant for enthralling her. She sometimes even grabbed her phone to take notes, either to write down a quote or to remember to look more into a topic later.

Concluding, he shuffles back to his seat on the other side of the dais. After sitting for a moment, he stands, and the congregation stands with him. More prayers, and calls-and-responses later, the people in the pews find themselves on their knees. The host is consecrated as the bells ring jubilantly, transforming into the Body of Christ as the priest lifts it high above the altar. Hiding her face, she grinds her teeth but can’t stem the trickle of tears as Heaven and Earth are joined during the transubstantiation. The chalice with the water and wine is consecrated as the bells again ring, changing into the Precious Blood.

Standing for more prayers, she wipes her tear ducts as subtly as she can. It gets her every time.

They kneel again for the presentation of the transubstantiated Jesus. She pinches her eyes closed, all too aware of her unworthiness, until…

“Behold, the Lamb of God. Behold Him who takes away the sins of the world…”

Her eyes fly to the Eucharist, unworthy yet unwilling to refuse the invitation to behold him. Just as quickly, when the prayer is finished, she removes her gaze. “Oh Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” The priest consumes the Body and Blood, then distributes it, first to the altar server, then to the congregation. She wipes her eyes again as she steps into line. One by one, each receives the Body of Christ then filters back to their kneelers for silent prayer.

As the priest finishes the distribution, he returns to the altar, cleanses the receptacles, puts everything in its proper place, and returns to his seat. He sits for a few moments, then he stands. Concluding the celebration with a closing prayer, the priest wishes everyone a good day. The congregation recites the Prayer of Saint Michael, the angel leading God’s armies in the fight against the Devil. The priest exits.

She closes her eyes for an extended blink. Her lips curl into a warm grin, and she nods, knowing that she is properly armed to face the day.

Further Investigation

The Veil Removed is a short film (5.5 minutes) on YouTube well worth the watch. (It says it’s about 7 minutes, but the last minute and a half are credits.) It shows us what is actually happening at Mass as the host becomes the Eucharist, enhancing the experience for any believer.