On memories and some post-Christmas reflections
I attended Mass on Christmas eve. It was probably the first time in at least five years. It was an interesting experience.
A bit of background first. Some of you may know that I used to be not only a practicing Catholic, but interested enough in my religious life as to become an Extraordinary minister of Holy Communion1. Also, I was fortunate enough to be surrounded by a loving and accepting community and family; with the added benefit of learning the importance of religious tolerance. In a word, I was never surrounded by religious fanatics or bigots.2 When it comes to religion—either mine or anyone else’s—I have always been serious about learning properly, beyond the cookie cutter definitions of mere dogma or sensationalist journalism.
Therefore you will understand me: when I say I’m a «former Catholic» I’m partially lying. If I recall correctly, the only way I could really be outside the Catholic Church is by a formal act of excommunication3—if only from the point of view of the faithful. It would be more correct to say that I’m a non-practicing Catholic.
Why, then, did I attend Mass? Mostly to escort my mom; it felt wrong letting her go on her own lat at night. It was awkward standing in service without knowing any of the songs, while surrounded by some of the adults that know me since birth—including my pediatrician (!)—but I got through it. Then came the sermon.
The actual message I won’t repeat, mostly because I can’t remember. What impressed me the most was seeing a priest holding an iPad as a speaking aid. A rare sight, given the religiously conservative neighborhood, very rare indeed! One mom behind me told their children that no, it’s different and the priest is allowed an iPad because he’s the priest and he’s not using it to play games.
That led me to a moment when we were preparing ourselves as Extraordinary ministers, as part of a one week mission before Christmas. We were being «deployed»4 to remote-ish communities in our State, where there weren’t enough ordained priests to go around on Advent. We were expected, as part of the ministry of the word, to give a sermon of sorts during the evening service. This, of course, made a lot of us quite nervous: it is one thing to speak to your classroom peers and another to deliver a small speech on faith and morals to an audience who will largely believe what we would say.5
At one point the priest/teacher told us something that sounds obvious but was new to our juvenile minds: «Nowhere in the Cathecism does it say that you have to memorize your sermon, much less improvise it. Even the Pope himself writes it down in advance.»
It makes complete sense. If your intention is to deliver a message with any kind of authority, you should at least think it in advance. Otherwise, what’s the point of it all? And that goes beyond matters of faith: our words are one of the few bridges between our inner and outer selves, as such we should always be careful of them. This is, no doubt, part of what many other faiths mean when they talk about words of power. Words are power.
The sermon ended with my thoughts still incomplete. They kept buzzing me for a while and today I finally decided to tame them to this electronic device. I don’t think that’s a coincidence: I must learn from these words that finally burst out of my mind on this the last day of the year.
IRL, I’m a quiet person. But it’s only very recently that I really thought about what it meant to be quiet around someone else. The active act of being silent, whether in conversation or in agreement that words are insufficient or redundant.
Hopefully, I will learn these lessons in the year to come. Being quiet has brought me problems and solutions in equal measure, but I’ve never really thought about why I am like so. May this year be one of learning. After all, if a priest can hold a sermon with an iPad on a conservative neighborhood, maybe I can learn to better communicate, whether by words or by silence.
Hapy new year, Everything!
See Extraordinary minister of Holy Communion
Or, rather, they were a minority so small as to never really impact my upbringing that badly
And even that is… complicated, to say the least. The act of excommunication is rare—see Excommunication § Catholic Church—, doesn’t really «remove» anyone from the Church—see Excommunication in the Catholic Church—and it doesn’t always happen formally as the verdict of some sort of court—see Latae sententiae
These were small towns of low socio-economic status. Their «formal» religious education was comparatively simple, but they were faithful as almost none I've known ever or since.