It really was a last-minute sort of decision.
I spent most of Holy Saturday with my parents and my matron of honor, running around the city trying to get various wedding-related stuff taken care of. Which we did, for the most part. But my relationship with my parents has not always exactly been smooth, and travel drains the energy right out of me, so by 4:30 that afternoon, I was exhausted. I’d made tentative dinner plans with my MOH and her husband, who had invited me to go to their church’s Easter Vigil Mass afterwards. I seriously considered calling to cancel the dinner plans and taking a nap, but I know from experience that napping that late in the day usually does more harm than good. Also, as tired as I was, I wanted to spend at least a little more time with my friends.
So I went. And to my surprise, not only was it not so bad, I actually got something out of it.
It’s a beautiful old church — high ceilings, choir/organ loft, the whole nine yards, and yet not overwhelming, either. The ceiling is mostly a medium-to-dark blue; towards the front of the church, by the altar, there are subtle gold stars over the blue. There were multicolored ribbons, maybe 2-3″ wide, strung from the ceiling and looped all the way around the church, front to back to front again and criss-crossed in front of the altar.
I wish I had been able to take pictures without risking rudeness.
As the service started, the lights dimmed, except for some theater spots (hee!) on the crucifix at the front. And that’s when I felt it — the certainty that I was in the presence of the Divine. It didn’t matter if I called it something different than most of the others around me. The important part was that it was there, and I knew it. This is what surprised me, after nearly five years away from Catholicism, that I could feel that connection in that environment again. The hush, the musical call-and-response between two choirs and the congregation, the slow rising of the light… I also wish I had been able to make this post sooner, as the details have faded somewhat in the ten days or so since then.
The music was gorgeous. This was something else I could appreciate, especially since that is how I actively worship. It had been a long time since I’d heard, or sung, any of Marty Haugen’s Mass of Creation — and that wasn’t even until later in the service. As the service progressed, I had to leave more and more out, but that was OK, too. I’ve also always had a soft spot for priests who can carry a tune, too, and this one more than met my high requirements on that count.
I found myself very moved during the baptisms. Not because I believedas they did, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that I could respect these people who had made the choice to be baptised, and I could be happy for them as they started this new part of their spiritual journey. I might have expected it would make me uncomfortable, but I wasn’t, and it made me happy that I could share in their joy.
Two hours and fifteen minutes later, I was tired and ready to leave. I don’t see myself returning to Catholicism, as relatively easy as it would be to do so — Unitarian Universalism doesn’t have a formal conversion process. Someone in the UU community on Livejournal once refered to being UU as being similar to dual citizenship, and I can’t disagree. You don’t leave your beliefs at the door; if anything, being UU challenges you to be more authentic in your beliefs, whatever they might be. But in any case, before I ramble too far afield, it was nice to know that I could sit through a Mass and not only not be uncomfortable, or worried that someone was going to be upset or offended if I didn’t fully participate (which was the case the last time I attended a Mass, when my grandfather died last spring). It was even more gratifying to know that I could attend Mass and get something out of it.
