Yesterday I snuck away to mass. Yes, mass, as in the Catholic variety.
Baptized, raised, and confirmed Catholic, rote prayers meant little during my plaid skirt and knee sock wearing days.
My trouble-making, best friend and I spent most required school masses thinking up inappropriate, alternative lyrics to responsorial psalms. “Hosanna, Hosanna, I’m high.”
And as for preparation for the Eucharist, I never viewed communion as a union with God or each other, but I do remember exactly what happened to that missing wine. Sorry, Sister Rita (and I think I just felt myself losing ten followers).
But through the years, the religion and God I scrambled to get away from has taken on a different meaning. Catholic prayers, hymns, and reverence no longer seem boring and out of touch. The stained glass figures no longer haunt, but comfort, and although the kneelers are still hard, now, I want to use them.
I guess that’s why sometimes when life screams for deeper meaning and structure, this non-Catholic girl finds God through a missal at a crowded mass.
Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28 New King James Version
Question for you: Are there any practices from the faith of your childhood that you once disliked and now appreciate? Do tell.