Why it’s okay to say I “have” to go to Mass today

This morning, I was stunned — stunned, I tell you! — to realize that this Saturday is the feast of the Immaculate Conception, which is always a Holy Day of Obligation in the United States, even if it falls on a Saturday or a Monday. So yes, we have an obligation to go to Mass twice this weekend.

“Obligation.” American Catholics get a little itchy around that word. As someone inevitably points out, we don’t have to go to Mass; we get to go to Mass.  It shouldn’t feel like an obligation to go to Mass, anymore than it’s an obligation to eat a delicious feast.  If we truly understood what was happening at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, we’d be breaking down the door to get inside, and not hoping we get let off the hook.  Maybe, someone always says, we should call them “Holy Days of Opportunity.” Why, there are seminarians in Nigeria who live inside abandoned detergent bottles, and every one of them would walk eleven miles on his knees to get to Mass on a Holy Day, or any day.  Tell them about the weight of your “obligation.” Tell them what you “have” to do.

Hard to argue with that.  And yet people who say these things are glossing over something central to our existence as children of God:  the sweetness of obedience for the sake of obedience.

It would be wonderful if we simply always wanted to go to Mass.  It would be Heaven on earth if we enjoyed doing all the things we ought to do.  And sometimes it really does work out that way.  As we increase in holiness, our desires become more and more aligned with God’s desires, and there is less and less of a struggle between what we want to do and what we ought to do.

But knowing how you ought to be is not the same as being that way. The Church gives us obligations because she knows we need them.  This is an idea which sets the Church apart from so many other religions:  the much-derided “rules and regulations” that the Church lovingly imposes show that the Church understands human nature.  If we were only ever invited or encouraged, we’d hardly ever turn up.  I’d like to think I’m different, but I know I’m not.

And so we have our obligations:  go to Mass, confess your mortal sins, fast and abstain, and so on.  These obligations are in place because they confer grace to us.  They force us to do the things that are good for us.

But the obligations are there for another reason, too:  they give us a chance to obey.  We obey even if we’re crabby, we obey even if we have a headache, we obey even if we feel tired or bored, or if we feel guilty or unworthy.  We obey, in short, because we know who we are:  we are children of God.  We are under His protection, and that means we’re also under His authority.  What an uncomfortable concept for the 21st century American!  I do what I’m told, because that’s my job — it’s who I am.  Obedience for the sake of obedience acknowledges our imperfect natures, and God receives this obedience joyfully.

If obedience for the sake of obedience seems shabby and pathetic to you, think of it this way:  Sometimes, I delight in shopping for nutritious food, in preparing it in a delectable and attractive way, and in watching my children happily nourishing themselves.  It would feel odd to say I’m feeding them because I’m “obligated” to.  I want to!  I like it!  And that’s how it should be.

But sometimes, when dinner time rolls around, I’d rather just grab a bottle of wine and go hide in my room.  But I gotta give them dinner, and I’m really glad I totally understand that it’s my obligation to do so.  Now, it would be great if I always had that marvelous feeling of satisfaction and delight when feeding my kids.  But I suspect I’m working more time off purgatory when I feel nothing of the kind, but I do it anyway.  This is what motherhood means:  sometimes being the one who delights in working for your kids, and sometimes being the one who works for kids despite a complete absence of delight.  I know I’m a mother, so this is what I do.

It used to be that high born people were bound by a sense of noblesse oblige.  Because of their social rank, they felt themselves obligated to behave honorably and responsibility.  You could say that modern Catholics ought to cultivate a sense of “humblesse oblige” – the notion that we are obligated to obey because we’re sinners, because we’re fallen, because we’re children.  We obey because God is God, because the Church is the Church . . . and because it doesn’t matter if we’re delighted about it or not.  We obey because we willingly gave ourselves over to obedience to God the Father and to the Church, our Mother.

I’m grateful for the obligations the Church imposes.  And deep down, I wish she would impose more, because I’m lazy.  I’d like to see some Holy Days of Obligation moved back to weekdays, and I know that the small trials I endure would be more fruitful if my sacrifices weren’t optional.

All the same, it’s a good idea to remember that I obey, it’s because the thing I’m doing is good for me . . . but also because obeying itself is good for me.  Obedience for the sake of obedience isn’t everything, but it isn’t nothing, either.  At least it reminds me of who I am.  Humblesse oblige!

Ad Orientem and Versus Populum both make sense

Here we see a cartoon meant to illustrate why it “makes more sense” for the priest to be facing the altar and the crucifix, as he does when celebrating the Traditional  Latin Mass:

PIC ad orientam versus populum cartoon

 

I’ve seen this cartoon in various places, most recently here. It’s cute, but misleading. Recall what the catechism says:

1368The Eucharist is also the sacrifice of the Church. The Church which is the Body of Christ participates in the offering of her Head. With him, she herself is offered whole and entire. She unites herself to his intercession with the Father for all men. In the Eucharist the sacrifice of Christ becomes also the sacrifice of the members of his Body. The lives of the faithful, their praise, sufferings, prayer, and work, are united with those of Christ and with his total offering, and so acquire a new value. Christ’s sacrifice present on the altar makes it possible for all generations of Christians to be united with his offering.

When the priest and Christ crucified are both facing the same way, it brings out the idea that Christ allows us, with the priest as a mediator between heaven and earth, to share in the sacrifice that He re-presents to the Father.  This is particularly obvious during the Elevation, when the priest raises the consecrated Host above his head, and the congregation makes a profound bow.

It’s an error to refer to Ad Orientem as “the priest with his back to the people”; but it’s also an error to refer to Versus Populum as “the priest with his back to God.” Each orientation is a valid way to celebrate Mass, and both expresses something true, mystical, and profound about what is happening.

At the Register: Why busy parents should always go to midnight Mass

And it has nothing to do with “misery loves company!

Great little missal for kids

These booklets appeared in our pews a few weeks ago:

I will admit, I saw the cover and thought, “Ut-oh.  Glass-walled church, buncha laymen cluttering up the altar . . . this can’t be good.”  Well, the cover is the only ishy part.  The book itself is great.

The format is simple:  words of the Mass on the left, color coded explanations on the right.

They explanations are more than just the standards “sit, stand, kneel, listen to the priest.”  They explain what “epiclesis” means (I’ll admit, I didn’t already know), what “eucharist” means; why we make a cross on our forehead, lips, and breast; and when we are seeing bread and wine, and when we are now seeing the real body and blood of Christ.

It says “for kids,” but there’s no reason an adult couldn’t use this missal as a guide. I suspect it was designed as a way to stealthily catechise parents who are helping their kids follow along.  Altogether nicely written and designed, easy to follow, meaty and free of fluff.

The booklet is cheap – just $1.87 on Amazon — and rather flimsy.  This means, of course, that parishes would be able to afford buying copies for everybody.  I do wish they would put out a hardcover edition so we could buy them for ourselves, though.  Anyway, if you’re looking for a children’s missal with the new translation of the Mass, I’ve never seen a better one.  If you have the cash, you might consider buying a few hundred as a gift to your church.

Jennifer Fitz reviewed it here in 2011, and I’m glad to see she liked it, too.

You can order it on Amazon here.