Latin Mass in a Log Cabin

 

Three things you should never discuss, especially in the company of strangers:

 

1. Sex (uh oh)

2. Politics (crap)

3. Religion (well, shit.)

 

Yup. Not only do I love starting conversations with strangers about all of the above but I actually created a blog around one of the world's most controversial issues - religion. Ha! Then for fun I decided to make that blog brutally honest. For extra flavor I even threw in my thoughts about various social issues. To keep it interesting I invited my family (including parents and grandparents) and friends along for the ride never knowing they would share this blog and strangers from all over the world would be hearing my perspective on things that are supposed to remain unspoken.

 

What the hell was I thinking?

 

Actually, I don't think I was, thinking that is. I felt a calling to do this and to share it with you. That's as far as I thought it through. I simply trusted the rest to God/fate/the universe. I knew I would need a thick skin to write an honest depiction of my experiences at various churches/religious institutions and that people wouldn't always agree with me or like what I had to say. This is where growing up a fat kid who liked musical theatre comes in handy. See, my skin isn't just thick - it's bulletproof (I am ti-taaaa-niiiii-um). I am bound and determined to see this through to the end and I'll be doing it, as Frank Sinatra so brilliantly put, MY WAY. (Or mostly my way, as legal advice as frowned on me writing about any illegal activity. Those stories will have to be told in person. Perhaps around the campfire, eating s'mores and taking shots of tequila?)

 

Anyhoo..

 

So, this Sunday I went to Latin Mass in a log cabin. You heard me.  

                                             

In the year 1799 the smallpox vaccine was introduced, Congress standardized weights and measurements, New York abolished slavery and The Holy Family Parish Log Church was built in Cahokia, IL. It is one of the 5 remaining log churches in the United States and the oldest one west of the Allegheny Mountains. The whole place smelled like my great grandmother's house and reminded me of Silver Dollar City in Branson, MO with subtle hints of The Vatican.

I grew up Baptist and had minimal experience with Catholicism during my 30 years of life other than touring beautiful Catholic cathedrals across Europe. Actually, I don't recall ever attending a real-live Catholic service. This may have been my first. So, walking through the giant wood doors of the log church it dawned on me - Oh crap. I have no idea what to do.

Usually I research the churches I'm visiting along with any typical customs I should know about during my visit. If all else fails I rely on my excellent powers of observation and pick things up as I go along. This Sunday, however, my brain was just a wee bit foggy. Maybe it was all the colored powder I inhaled at The Color Run? Maybe it was the multiple raspberry lemonade champagne cocktails? Maybe it was the stick-n-poke tattoos? Maybe it was the smashing dishes on my kitchen floor with my friends?  Whatever the reason, I wasn't quite myself Sunday morning and probably couldn't have followed the hokey pokey if my life depended on it. Truthfully, it's amazing I even made it to church.

Right off the bat I screwed up. You are supposed to kneel before sitting down. Of course, I just plopped down on a pew like the heathen I am. Everyone else knelt, crossed themselves and then either remained kneeling or sat quietly in prayer. Then I noticed all the women wearing lace doily looking things on their heads. Veils they call them -an old tradition that pre-dates feminism and is not required, but is very much encouraged. I didn't even bother to wash my hair let alone cover my head. Dammit! And now I'm thinking curse words in church. Pretty sure I would be the worst Catholic ever.

Service begins...a man in a lace dress covered in a shiny gold bib walks out followed by a younger man in a "choir boy outfit" who is ringing bells and assisting with the various rituals that are happening. The priest keeps his back to the congregation and focuses all his attention on the alter. Raising things and saying things in Latin, sometimes whispering them and sometimes standing in silence. I learned later that during the silence we are supposed to reflect on the great mystery of the Sacrifice of the Cross. Oops. Keep in mild all this is happening in a log cabin with oil lamps hanging on the walls.

Alright. I just have to say this. I know how it sounds. BUT - Holy cow Catholics spend a lot of time on their knees! Sweet tacos! My knees got so tired. Those kneeling benches are not comfortable at all. Seriously, we spent probably two twenty minute periods on our knees. I tried sitting back, leaning against the pew in front of me, moving my knees apart and pushing them together. Nothing helped. The people behind me probably thought I was crazy, squirming around like a young child.

Though the majority of the service was in Latin, the sermon/message for the day was in English. The priest spoke about anger in very simple terms. I found it amusing that the rituals were so elaborate and fancy, but the message was quite simple and basic. At one point the priest actually said, "Perhaps when you are angry you can enjoy a calming activity like taking a walk in the park." Good idea!

 There are no instructions in Latin Mass. You either know what to do or you don't. When it was time for Communion no one announced anything. There was no speech about what was going to happen and who should participate. The priest did an elaborate blessing of the bread and wine then people just stood up and formed a line. I remained in my seat. I had already made it clear I was not Catholic through my many stumblings and I didn't want to do anything to ruin their sacred ritual. A few other people were not participating, so I wasn't alone. I watched as people knelt in front of the alter and waited patiently for the priest to place a little circle cracker dipped in wine-juice directly into their mouths.

There were more rituals. Then the congregation recited multiple prayers in unison - praying mostly to Mary. Sometimes I just kinda mumbled things to feel like part of the group. Then we gave an offering. Then we sang a song. Then we were done. I didn't kneel on my way out either. It would have been dishonest.

And that ladies and gentlemen, was the exciting tale of my experience with Latin Mass in a log church.

I have a brief reflection I would like to share with you.... (read or don't read. follow your heart.)

Rituals. Rituals are the glue that holds everything together. One year my mother suggested we skip our annual Christmas cookie baking extravaganza. The thought of it made me uneasy. No. We do it every year. You bake the cookies. We decorate them. We eat them. It's part of who we are. We have to do it! Every year! Until forever!  These small acts. These traditions we share. They are incredibly important. I wasn't upset because I just love my mother's Christmas cookies and enjoy the artistic release I get from decorating them. It was something much bigger that made me uneasy.
 I was afraid of losing a connection with my family - which in my mind is sacred.

Who would ever want to give up
this beautiful sacred ritual?

It's the same way in religion. Protestants, Catholics, Hindus, Buddhists - they all have elaborate rituals.  Many of these rituals have existed for literally thousands of years. In doing these rituals they not only connect to the past but believe they connect with the sacred - with God. What makes one group's rituals more valid than another?

I haven't felt much of a connection with the sacred during my witnessing of various church rituals on this journey. But I understand the motive and meaning behind them. It makes sense to me that there would be many different ways to help people connect to the sacred. I can't imagine every family bonds through cookie decorating - that's my family's deal. Yours is probably different, but still completely valid. The ritual is personal. It's what works best for you. It's the intention that is the same. We are all trying to find and maintain connection.