Why Don't People Take Their Coats Off In Church?

Last winter I noticed something when I went to church.

I noticed it because I became acutely aware of people looking at me.

It happened when I arrived and entered my pew.  I'd walk in to my favorite spot on the pew (don't we all have that?!)  and would take off  my gloves and hat, my backpack or bag, then unwrap my scarf and fold it, then, finally, my coat, being careful to fold it just right so that it sat on the pew next to me.

It was my usual pattern. Until one day, as I was going through the motions, I noticed that everyone around me was watching me.  I thought maybe I was being loud.  But I knew I was very careful to not intrude upon the stillness of the space.  In fact, when I'd purchased a new winter coat that year, I'd intentionally avoided one with a shell that was loud and made lots of 'rustly' noise.

But as I looked around at my fellow parishoners, I suddenly became very self-conscious to the fact that I was one of but a few people who had taken their coat off.  In fact, at communion time, I observed that less than 20% of us had taken our coats off even when coming up for communion.

Why?

I suppose there are some common sense reasons:

• theft
• takes up space in the pew
• temperature of the church

Yet the building was fairly warm and nothing a sweater couldn't handle.  And in all my years at the Parish I'd never heard of a coat being stolen.  Yes, my coat did take up another seat in the pew (had their been someone who wanted to sit next to me), but you can always sit on your coat, so...?

Keeping your coat on in Church makes you seem like you're on your way somewhere else.  I can't imagine keeping my coat on in church, and yet, I think that's where my Protestant roots influence me to this day.  In the Methodist Church, which I attended during my elementary school years, there were coat racks in the church hall, where you left your coat during services.  It's also where you returned after services, to join other congregants for coffee and fellowship.  Catholics don't seem to have a big tradition of that - certainly not in my Parish.

For me, church is home.  When I go, I want to sit down with God, my fellow parishioners, and spend an hour in song and prayer and reflection and communion.  I want to stay and be comfortable.  I want to be present mind, body and spirit.  Keeping my coat on would feel like I had one foot out the door and on the way to the next activity.

So I'll keep taking my coat off in church.  And perhaps those who chose not to will wonder why.

Faith Grows Old With Us

The Communal Penance Service was tonight.

I'm always left feeling deeply touched and slightly surprised when I see older people participating: writing their confession on a slip of paper to take to the Priest, asking for absolution, then adding their paper to the communal urn where it will be burned at the end of the service.

I'm surprised because I believe older people have it all figured out and live life completely, divinely: well past the transgressions of youth.  I suppose that's what I want to believe.  I must admit, I've met one or two older people who don't fit that description - far from it!

Perhaps it's my hope that the years will leave me wiser and more certain, having made my mistakes early and not doomed to repeat any.  Wishful thinking, I suppose.

When I see older people making confession, my heart is touched.  I'm reminded that life is a process and we are never fully complete.  We must keep reaching out and asking forgiveness.  We must keep trying hard to live our lives as loving, faithful people.

Faith grows old with us.  How surprisingly touching.

How Loud Do Our Prayers Need To Be?

My church has a Sunday nite Mass during which we're invited to share our prayer intentions with the whole congregation during the Prayer of the Faithful.  For those non-Catholics, that means that in addition to the Priest reading off a list of prayer intentions, he takes the microphone and walks down the aisle and invites people to come out of the pews to share their own, personal intentions.

Over the weeks, I've noticed something.  When prayers are offered up for countries, conflicts, people and places far removed from our parish community, the people respond faithfully, but somewhat dispassionately, "Lord, hear our prayer".

But when one of our own prays for one of their own - a father/mother, aunt/uncle, sibling, cousin, best friend, neighbor - there is an infusion of energy and commitment to "Lord, hear our prayer".  Even if we personally do no know an individual offered up in prayer, our connection with the congregant sitting with us is enough to bring passion into our response.  Our voices get louder.  We stand up a bit taller.

So it got me wondering....Does it make a difference to God which prayers we say with more conviction?  What happens to the prayers we acknowledge out of obligation but whose issues, locations, politics seem far away from our own?  The ones to which we respond in almost hushed voice.

Are we loud enough when in comes to offering up poverty, war, terrorism, crime, natural disasters, famine, genocide...?

How can our prayers become as passionate about those issues, as they are about the ones closest to our own homes and hearts?

Going to a Bread Box Church

They say you can't judge a book by its' cover...but I did.  With my parish church, nonetheless.

I live a block away from my church.  I've lived a block away from the church for over sixteen years. But I waited nearly seven year before I went in.  Why?

Because it was a bread box church.

Huh?

I know...but look at it.

No steeple.

What church has no steeple?

What happened to that little ditty we used to say when I was a kid?

         "Here's the church,
          Here's the steeple.
          Open the door,
          Here are the people!"

I know.  Pathetic.  Pathetic that I wouldn't go into a church, my parish church, because it is just a big, rectangular building sans steeple.  It reminded me of a giant bread box. I couldn't get past the wrapping for the longest time.  I assumed it would be as boring and 'boxy' on the inside as it was on the outside.

It reminds me of last Christmas and my gift to my brother, Al.  He lives in the Midwest, so after carefully and lovingly finding his presents, I had to find a box in which to ship them.  In the name of "Reclaim-Restore-Recycle" I found the perfect box - reusing a box from a purchase I'd made a few months earlier.

On Christmas night I called Al to see if he liked his presents.  He and his family were just finishing dinner and he was thrilled that I'd called at the right moment: "Your timing is perfect!" he said.  "Your niece is just getting ready to do the dishes!  She's been waiting for this moment all day!"

Huh?  I assumed it was my brother's typical cynical humor.  Doing the dishes at Christmas dinner sounded torturous - especially for a teenager!

"She can't wait to open the gift you sent!" Al explained (facetiously).

"Really?  She didn't open her gifts this morning?"  I was really confused.

"You remember what you sent, right?" Al sounded a bit more tentative now.

"Uh...no...I'm not sure what we're talking about, Al"  I racked my brain, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

"The dish rack and drain,"  Al announced which great enthusiasm!

Oh, my.  Al was talking about the reclaimed< > recycled box I'd sent with his presents in!  He'd never opened the box with the gifts I'd so carefully picked out and sent him!  He thought I'd forgotten him!

He was wonderfully surprised and excited (and my niece was relieved!).

That's what my 'bread box church experience was like.

Once I got beyond the packaging and opened the doors of the Church - it was like an unexpected gift at Christmas!

I love my bread box church.  It's full of wonderful gifts that I cherish in my life.  And it's taught me to look beyond the outside.  To have courage to open the doors and go inside - whether we're talking about new places, new people, new experiences.  You might just be surprised! (a little relieved!)

It's 5pm and the sun fades behind the stained glass....

A few months ago our Parish began a Sunday 5pm Jazz Mass. It was a slow start. Not a lot of people, few musicians, difficulty getting used to having music you don't sing to. But now it's packed. There's at least a trombone and tenor sax and piano, if not more instrumentation. There's a team of greeters with name tags you can read. This week there were so many people, Fr. M. had to go back into the Tabernacle and get more hosts!

It's a beautifully mellow mass. Lots of candles, dimmed lights. The music is jazzy, but soothing. Today there was a little Gershwin at communion. There's a whole other level of reverence. It's easier to still your mind and open your heart. The prayers of the faithful are done communal style. Anyone can offer up a prayer. There is so much pain and loss and Faith and grace out there. It makes me realize what a blessing my life is.

And this time of year (as well as in the fall), 5pm is when the sun is beginning to set outside, lending a special light to the stained glass windows which is off-set by the darkness inside the church. The space, the light, the quiet, the calm...I only wish I didn't have to wait for Sundays at 5pm to experience it.