What is it, when you find yourself in a place unfamiliar yet it feels
like home? It is as though one was to go to the other side of the
world and discover a path that feels oddly familiar, like you had
been there before somehow, perhaps in a dream. It is like hearing a
song of which you know the tune before you ever heard it.
The first time I
remember this sort of experience was when I attended mass for the
first time. From the first moment of walking in I noticed an utter
difference to what was familiar in “going to church”. It was
quiet. There was an awe-inspiring austerity and beauty.
Instead of painted
walls and industrial lights in a building that used to be a wellness center there were
cinder-block walls, stained glass windows, and great wooden beams to
a pointed wooden ceiling for a building built for the worship of God.
Instead of a band around a stage with the drums center back was a
place for the altar and a crucifix in the center back. Where the
drums had been flanked by guitarists and bassist and fiddle off to
the left, the crucifix was flanked by statues of the Virgin Mary and
Joseph the Carpenter. Off to the left was a tall, small wooden table
on which was a round metal case with a cross up top; the cross being
the only visible part usually, as it was covered with a cloth.
Instead of a long time of singing, a little scripture, and a long
sermon, that might also be a long prayer service with lots of
singing, was a structured service of prayer and scripture with a
short sermon and the focal point obviously being Holy Communion.
Almost none of the
songs were familiar, and yet, when the psalm was being chanted (as it
was that first mass), it just fit. That first time, I don’t know
that there was any choir or organ, but when I did become aware of it,
I noticed that the choir loft was out of sight up and behind the
congregation. This instantly made sense to me, to have the choir out
of sight. The notes of the organ hovered above us inviting us to
join in the song, but the eyes were left free to contemplate our
crucified Lord.
I mentioned the
quiet. People would talk about church being a house of prayer, I
remember being prayed over to receive the Holy Spirit in a prayer
meeting. The person praying was obviously trying to effect
something, but it felt hollow. A friend of mine spoke in tongues at
one such event. It was a common occurrence to hear the babble of
tongues whether during “praise & worship” or during a prayer
event. In contrast, when I walked into St. Catherine’s for the
first time and it was quiet, it was obviously an actual house of
prayer.
There was also this
sense of questions being answered without words. The praise team up
front had been a familiar feature of churches that I attended while
growing up, but when I was asked at the previous place about playing
my instrument with them, it suddenly seemed very questionable. Why
were they up front? Why did they often seem to overshadow the
preacher in a way? They might leave when he was preaching, but the
instruments would remain in place; the drum kit in the center
particularly stood out. The comparison between a concert and “Sunday
morning worship” was too apt. So, when we went to St. Catherine’s
and the organist and choir were all hidden away, it just seemed so
obviously right. Here, the choir was serving as an aid to something
higher and more important than themselves. Whether the individuals
were personally modest or not is irrelevant, the placement of the
choir was modest.
One would have to
verbally ask and get a response to know what was the focus of the
congregation in the former wellness center. As soon as I walked into
St. Catherine’s, the crucifix proclaimed this central mystery of
the gospel in one striking image—the incarnation and suffering of
God. I would learn the messages of the windows later.
Going to mass was
like nothing I had ever experienced, and yet I knew that it was good
to be here, that it, in a manner of speaking, felt like home.
I am more accustomed
to feeling like a “stranger in a strange land” wherever I am.
Even so, when I go to mass, now more than ever, I know that in point
of fact I am home; I am am where heaven and earth meet in the
sacrifice of Christ. I am in the midst of the communion of saints
adoring our Eucharistic Lord.
