52 Masses

I didn’t write about Mass two weeks ago because I struggled with what to say. It was, by far, the most unusual experience I’ve had since beginning this project. I went to the same Mass on Sunday night and feel better equipped to reflect on both experiences.

Two weeks ago, I felt like I was being yelled at by the priest. The microphone volume was high and attendance at the late service was low. The message wasn’t controversial or admonishing, but the delivery managed to sting.

Sunday night as I listened to the same priest read and then deliver the homily, it occurred to me that he was talking to members of the congregation in the same way people often interact with non-native English speakers. His speech was slower and louder, as though that would enable others to better understand him. It doesn’t work that way; in fact, it made me less engaged.

He posed a question during the homily this week that I found extraordinarily interesting given this little bloject of mine. He asked if people would come to church if there was no Eucharist. He hypothesized that they wouldn’t and went as far as to say that he probably wouldn’t either. It was, he explained, that ritual that brought people to Mass weekly. And then he made the case that the word of Christ could bring people as much spiritual comfort as communion, but they forget that. Or choose to ignore it.

Communion is the easy part of Mass. It is the part that is rote. It is the part that is provided. The readings, the messages, the homilies all require introspection and interpretation. It requires understanding who we are and reconciling that with our faith, or more likely, being comfortable asking ourselves questions and being challenged.

This was the first time I felt this journey validated by the experience. While I still felt yelled at this week, I also felt like this is a priest who may understand why I’m trying to learn about Catholicism in a way that challenges my own beliefs and understanding. I’m tempted to make an appointment to meet with him and get his feedback on the project, what he thinks I should know that I wouldn’t be gleaning from participation in Mass weekly.

Blogging has taken a back seat during the past few weeks. My day job combined with being ill created a challenging situation in terms of keeping up with this new “hobby.”

I attended a First Communion Mass on May 2, as I’d planned. Though it was a church I’d previously attended, it was a different priest leading Mass and delivering the homily. He was, by far, the most engaging member of clergy I’ve encountered on this journey. He knew his audience — the children making their First Communion and their families — and designed the entire Mass toward them. During the homily, he asked a series of questions of the children in attendance about their siblings and parents. He used those questions to illustrate the love that families share, and went on to explain that the love Jesus has for people exceeds even how much families love one another.

I can’t speak to that, but the love shown by the families in attendance was obvious. I saw more than one mother crying as her child walked back to their seats after receiving communion. It was evident that this day was more important for the families than for the children, which I expected and is obviously not isolated to this rite or Catholicism. It’s a natural response for families — the combination of pride with the emotion of watching a child take a step toward adulthood.

To be honest, I felt like I learned more about First Communion the previous week when we attended the only Mass at that church without a First Communion service because there was more reflection on what First Communion actually meant in terms of a child’s education. I was glad that I was there for this sacrament, particularly having been at a baptism in late January. Thinking about my last blog post and reflecting on First Communion, I think the points with which I struggle — parents making religious decisions for children — has less to do with being raised in a blended faith household and more to do with who I am in my own spirituality. And, to be fair, out of my spirituality, too. I’m someone who wants to explore, learn, and make my own decisions. The early sacraments of Catholicism go against that strong will.

I didn’t attend Mass the weekend of May 8-9 because of the aforementioned day job and illness. I’m disappointed in the absence, especially on Mothers’ Day weekend when I’ve been very focused on gender during this journey.

And I was back in action again on Sunday evening.

On Sunday, the Mass we attended had a brief ceremony honoring Boy Scouts who earned a badge related to their Catholic faith. After doing research in the days following Mass, I was surprised by how many faiths and denominations have some religious emblem for Boy Scouts. The list is surprisingly shorter for Girl Scouts, for no reason that I can ascertain.

My personal experience with Girl Scouts is limited to filling out an interest form in my elementary school hallway many years ago. I was never called by the troop leader and though rumors circulated that she was antisemitic, it was not a rumor that anyone dared to confirm. Or, really, cared to. Because if she was, what would be the point in joining the organization?

I was glad that the brief ceremony gave me reason to do better research on the role of religion in Scouting because my assumptions were way off base. Though on a national political level the Boy Scouts align more with Christian and conservative agendas, it’s affirming to see that there are opportunities for Scouts to explore their faith and learn more about it in the context of service and duty.

Aside from that brief portion of the service, the Mass was punctuated by what I’m going to call an infomercial for lack of a better phrase. This church has grown exponentially in recent years adding 500 families to the parish. We watched a video during the homily that highlighted the growth of the church, the strategic plan for its future, and outlined a capital plan to continue expanding. I’m not oblivious to the role of private fund raising in religion — it happens across all faiths — but I was surprised by its presence in the homily. And being a professionally produced video. I’m still processing that, but because of its location, this is a church I anticipate returning to a lot in the next 11 months so I think there will be updates on the fund raising initiatives.

On a lighter note, there was a young girl in our pew who was clearly not into the Mass scene. She couldn’t have been older than three and was more interested in how far she could fling her Crocs than anything else going on. As the congregation sang, she joined in, though she was off-key and didn’t know all of the words. I saw a few people around me crane their necks, trying to find the child making the offensive noise. She was a bit hard to spot because she was laying on the pew as this was going on. Her singing, though not exactly synchronous with everyone else, made me smile because it caused musical dissonance. Dissonance is about incongruity and unexpectedness. Dissonance is adding your own voice to the choir and not always caring if it’s on key.

Here’s hoping this sweet little girl with the blond ringlets always has the courage to cause dissonance when she thinks it’s necessary.

First Communion season has arrived. The Mass we attended last weekend didn’t have First Communicants, but that appears to have been a fluke, as all of the other Masses that day at that church did. The homily still focused on the sacrament of First Communion, with the priest discussing the significance of it being the first time a child makes a religious commitment on his or her own. He referenced Baptism, where the children, often still babies, are carried by their parents. I’ve struggled with the concept of Baptism for a long time because I’m challenged to understand how parents can make a commitment of faith and spirituality on behalf of their child. To me, the more logical rite would be based solely on the parents’ commitment to educating their child spiritually.

Dan and I attended the Baptism of his godson in late January. The Gospel that week included the oft recited verse from Corinthians, “And now these three remain — faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” The homily delivered that Sunday morning reflected specifically on those words. The priest encouraged Catholics to love everyone and not to engage in debate with others about religion or politics. I thought he was offering a message of inclusiveness and understanding. I was wrong. He went on to say that Catholics shouldn’t debate because they don’t have to. Because Catholics are always right. They do not need to respond to questioning of their beliefs, spiritual or otherwise.

There is no equivalent to Baptism in the Jewish religion. The bris (circumcision of males at eight days) and the naming are ritual rather than religious. While they each have religious components, neither asks for commitment. The Jewish rite most comparable to First Communion is consecration, the blessing of the child’s Jewish education. The entire kindergarten class and their teacher are offered blessing from the rabbi and congregation as they begin the journey.

As Dan and I have grown in our relationship, we’ve had conversations central to how we would raise children with our blended faiths. Coming from a family where that was done, it seems reasonable to me. Dan is more challenged to think in those terms because his entire family, extended as far as we can tell, are practicing Catholics. My family did not regularly attend church with my father, but holidays were celebrated and explanations were readily provided about the differences in religions. Having that foundation, I was comfortable exploring other faiths, in addition to the two most accessible to me. This exploration and investigation was encouraged by the Jewish synagogue as well. The curriculum of our eighth grade religious school course centered on other faiths and understanding the nuances. This included field trips to other houses of worship and attendance of their religious services.

I’ve always felt empowered to challenge religion, to ask questions when things didn’t make sense to me. My rabbi and religious school faculty were open to questions and demonstrated honest humility when they didn’t have answers. I know this isn’t true of every person’s experience in Reform Judaism, but it’s indicative of who I have become as an adult in areas outside of faith and spirituality. We learn from our spiritual leaders and our parents. To hear from them that it’s okay to question our own faith, or that it’s not, has the power to change everything about the adults we become.

At the end of Mass on Sunday, I felt very strongly that I need to attend Shabbat services at the local Reform Synagogue. I haven’t attended in a long time. Feeling that pull, I will likely attend Saturday morning. And I also have the First Communion schedule for this weekend because I would like to attend the actual First Communion Mass.

Tuesday, April 20, was Equal Pay Day. The date is chosen to demonstrate how far into 2010 women would have to continue working to earn in what their male counterparts did in 2009. Women remain underpaid with equivalent education and experience; it’s also more difficult for women to negotiate salary when accepting a position. The existing Equal Pay Act outlines the expectation for equitable compensation and negotiation, a pending legislative update known as the Paycheck Fairness Act allows for stricter enforcement. As it’s enforced now, the Equal Pay Act is merely a suggestion. This much-needed update creates consequences for not following guidelines and better empowers women’s voices.

The Gospel on Sunday was the story of the miraculous catch of fish at the Sea of Galilee. After the disciples pull their nets from the water and find 153 fish when they were initially unable to catch any, they recognize Jesus through the abundance he has provided. After eating a breakfast of the fish, Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him; Peter answers in the affirmative each time. Jesus tells Peter to tend his flock and feed his sheep. Throughout religious texts, Christs’ followers are referred to in this manner. He was asking Peter to look after his followers and care for them.

In every church bulletin that I’ve picked up along this journey, there’s been an update on the contributions received via collection or offertory. This week I noted that the amount received to date is below what the church budgeted. I know a bit about accounting, particularly accrual accounting, and know that there is still time to Looking around the service, seeing pews filled with women, I was curious about how the Paycheck Fairness Act would impact the Catholic church. Would the women who attend — because it is largely women who attend Mass — be able to give more if they were earning dollar for dollar what men are? To be fair, it may have no impact, but it’s plausible that it would.

It’s a political issue that the Catholic Church has left untouched. While I would be remiss if they promoted it for self-serving reasons, Paycheck Fairness seems to easily align with the philosophy of tending to the flock and feeding the sheep. It’s a simple measure that makes sense and has the potential to make a significant difference to many people.

Unrelated, it’s hard not to feel like an intruder at Mass each week. I’m surrounded by people who, presumably, are practicing their faith. And there I stand, sit, or kneel as someone who is critically examining the practices and messages. The anonymity provides some security, but that anonymity was lost this week. I attended a Sunday evening Mass at a different church, one closer to my office as I had a meeting to attend. After Communion, I was standing in the aisle letting people back into the row when I was greeted by E, a colleague’s partner, as she headed toward the back of the cathedral. As Dan drove me back to my office after Mass, I speculated about the conversation that would happen the next morning. And I was right. As soon as E’s partner, G, arrived in the office, he commented on my being at Mass. For the first time, I was faced with the choice of talking about this with someone I know, but not well enough to gauge their response.

And I’m going to leave you not with a cliff hanger, but a question — before I tell you what I told G and E about why I was at Mass, how would you handle these situations?

We were late to Mass on Sunday morning because we had inaccurate information about service times. I despise being late anywhere; coupling that with an environment where I already feel out of place made for an uncomfortable start to the second of 52 Masses. As we settled into the pew, a young girl in my line of vision caught my attention. No more than four years old, she was dressed in a pink tutu and a lime cardigan. She was enchanted with her father, playing with his glasses and resting her head on his shoulder.

While reflecting on the Gospel in his homily, the priest discussed that after the Resurrection, the Apostles were responsible for guiding how others perceived Jesus’ leadership. It was their reaction to the Resurrection, including the way they shared his message, that guided how others reacted to him. The priest gave the Apostles credit for moving Christianity forward in this way, by being a positive reflection of Jesus’ teachings. As the homily concluded, he transitioned this message to the congregation, making them aware that as Catholics, they are the vehicles many will use to form perceptions of the Catholic church.

“How do we want others to view the Catholic church?” the priest asked in conclusion.

And I, in response, wondered, “But how do you want Catholics to view the church? And how often do you think about the message you’re conveying to them about your values?”

In the Masses I’ve attended, the only mention of women has been of the martyrs. My exposure to Mass is limited, but this has been a noticeable omission. It’s also very different from my experience with Reform Judaism, where the tapestry of my faith was woven with stories of as many strong women as men. The names of women are mentioned in tandem with those of men. When Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are praised, the names of Rachel, Sarah, Rebecca and Leah are included. Prayers have been modernized to be inclusive; that modernization now seems historic — I don’t remember using a Jewish prayer book that didn’t include the names of women. That means for at least the past 20 years, there has been access to inclusive language in the Reform Judaic movement.

As it turns out, I’m not the only one noticing this missing component of the Mass. This article, which appeared in Newsweek on April 3, 2010, highlights some of what I’ve observed early in this journey.

If the stories of the women and girls of the Bible aren’t told, then mothers and daughters will stop seeing themselves as part of the Body of Christ. They’ll walk away. And they’ll take their children with them.

Women are conspicuously absent from not only from liturgy, but most other aspects of Catholicism. Newsweek points out that 60% of those who attend Mass are women, yet they continue to lack representation in a real or theological way:

And yet the presence of women anywhere within the institutional power structure is virtually nil. The number of women who hold top-tier positions in any of the dicasteries, or committees, that make up the Vatican structure can be counted on one hand. Few women retain high-profile management jobs, such as chancellor, within dioceses. And though nuns dramatically outnumber priests worldwide, they are mostly so invisible that when a group of them speaks up, as they did recently on health-care reform, everyone takes notice.

The message of this week’s homily ultimately put the onus on the congregation to portray the Catholic church in a positive manner. I hope at the same time, the Catholic church takes responsibility for how it portrays women externally, but also internally. What do girls grow up feeling about the religion in which they’ve been raised? How do they reconcile that they are surrounded by other women in the pews, but none in leadership roles? How do they define where they fit in when the context they’re provided indicates that they don’t? Four year old girls in pink tutus and lime cardigans deserve more and better from their spiritual leaders.

I attended Easter Mass with my partner Dan and his family on Sunday. In previous years, I’ve stayed at his parents’ house while they went to Mass, exercising my right to freedom of religion by reading a novel or watching baseball. I was raised in a Reform Jewish community. During that education, I was exposed to a variety of religions and faiths, including their rituals and services. It seemed as awkward for the family for me to attend Mass on one of the holiest days of the year as it would be for me. The day symbolizes the divergence of our two faiths – the resurrection of Jesus, fulfilling the faith of Christians. I’ve been more open to attending Mass recently because I recognize that blending our faiths is an important step in our relationship. Regardless of our independent beliefs, my presence next to Dan in the pew symbolizes how we stand next to one another in all other facets of our lives. I do not attend Jewish services on a regular or even semi-regular basis; my faith has become more spiritual than dogmatic as I’ve grown older.

Sunday morning was punctuated by the 40-minute car ride to Dan’s parents’ home. The conversation centered on my recapping a debate that occurred via Twitter earlier in the morning about feminism, capitalism, and patriarchy. As I summarized for Dan the constructed roles assigned to men and women based on gender, I realized how differently we view feminism. We’ve been polarized politically longer than we’ve been dating; this wasn’t shocking to find out that he hadn’t previously given much thought to topics of privilege and representation.

While participating in Mass, I wondered how much of our frames of reference for feminism were shaped by the messages of our spiritual leaders. The Catholic Church is notorious for its views on politics and gender; Reform Judaism is considered to be more accepting of gender and sexual orientation, but is also less public in its politics. I was curious while listening to the homily about how my perception would be changed had I been raised in another religion. It’s a speculative question, of course, because I will never know. That doesn’t mean that I can’t challenge myself and my beliefs.

And so the idea for 52 Masses was born. During the course of the next year, I am committing to attending Mass with or without Dan and his family weekly. I intend to expose myself to a variety of churches locally and regionally, perhaps nationally as I travel for other reasons. After each Mass, I plan to use this space to reflect on the message delivered through that service – the gospel, the homily, the church bulletin – in the frames of what I believe. In particular, I plan to focus on issues related to feminism, patriarchy, and gender. I am not limiting myself to those topical areas, though.

So for the sake of establishing what I believe:

My political tendencies lean liberal with my political hot button issues centering on human rights and education.

I have no intention of converting to Catholicism. I am extremely content in my spirituality.

It’s my sincere hope that being forced outside of my comfort zone will help me articulate what I believe, why I believe it, and inspire me to do more research about what I believe.

Though I was raised Jewish, my parents are Jewish and Lutheran, which I think makes me Jewtheran. I have a more comprehensive understanding of Judaism, but I have not been sheltered from Christianity in my life.

Realistically, this will work out to more than 52 Masses as it is more than 52 weeks between this Easter and next. This journey will conclude on Saturday, April 23, 2011 with the Easter vigil.