During the course of my tour of the Augustine Institute last week, I was asked a question I previously hadn’t been: Over the course of your travels across the country, where did you go where the Mass was done the best?
I was stumped. Ultimately, I answered Rhode Island, which was kind of a cop out, but in another way, it reflected my feelings quite nicely.
I chose Rhode Island not because of any specific Mass, but because of all three. The Church of the Holy Name of Jesus is, in many ways, three parishes in one. It’s the traditional neighborhood parish. It also serves the Latin Mass community in Rhode Island at another Mass. And still another, held in the Lady Chapel, is done for the city’s sizable East African population. There, the Mass is said in Nigerian, with music to match. The chance to experience Mass so many different ways in one place was obviously appealing, even if it didn’t really answer the question directly.
But as I thought about it, and believe me I’ve thought it about it plenty since then, I realized that in some ways, my favorite Mass was probably an amalgamation of many of the places I went, somewhat validating my on-the-spot answer. ‘
Thus, my favorite was this:
Before even entering the worship space, I would choose the way the parish community at St. Joseph University Church in Buffalo truly invited all of its visitors to feel comfortable. It takes almost no effort to make newcomers feel welcome, but not enough parishes do it.
From an architectural standpoint, we would celebrate in Sts. Peter and Paul in St. Louis and admire how man has created beauty as a way of honoring our Lord.
We would arrange ourselves the way they do at Holy Family, the Syro-Malabar Church in Phoenix. There, the youngest people are put way up at the front, where they can focus fully on the altar. Behind them would be the baseball team from Bethlehem Catholic High School in Pennsylvania, a group of young men celebrating Mass before they could take part in their secondary activities.
Our Mass would have a full complement of altar servers and deacons, as they did in Yukon, Oklahoma.
For the music, I’d choose a combination of the choir at St. Katharine Drexel-St. Mary in Kaukauna, Wisconsin and the musicians at Our Lady of Guadalupe in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Oh my, I can hear this right now.
The homily would be delivered by Father Brian Park from St. Michael, Minnesota. His words, and all of the liturgy, would be accompanied by an American Sign Language speaker, such as the ones I encountered at St. Peter in Portland, Oregon. And for those incapable of coming to Mass, such as home- or hospital-bound, the presentation of the livestream would be handled with the professionalism and care of the men and women of Seton Parish in Bear, Delaware. Though there is no substitute for being in the presence of the Eucharist, we can still strive to do our best to bring Mass to those who can’t physically be there.
The Consecration would be performed by Father McCambridge at St. John the Baptist in Arkansas. For solemnity and reverence, the Latin Mass is tough to beat.
Before we filed out of Mass, we would gather at the baptismal font for the communal blessing of the sick, as they do at Christ the King in Dunbar, West Virginia.
And after Mass, we would come together for feast and fellowship (at my table, there was a high-level philosophy discussion taking place. I was riveted, even if low-level philosophy is beyond my understanding) as they do at St. John Chrysostom Melkite Catholic Church, in Atlanta. As Sundays are the only day the far-flung parish community can come together, they make the most of them.
Finally, if we happened to miss Mass at 8 a.m., we would have many more options to follow, as is the case at Our Lady of Guadalupe in Bakersfield, where 11 Masses are celebrated from Saturday to Sunday evenings.
It’s still a cop out I suppose, but it’s an aspirational one.
52 Masses 