Since I’ve been living at home with my parents, and especially since I’ve stopped using mind-altering substances we’ll call them, I attend Catholic Mass basically on a weekly basis with them. The biggest reason for my going is out of respect for them. I don’t particularly agree with the standards that Catholicism has entailed, but the church is definitely a peaceful environment for me. And yes, there are certain aspects of the religion that I like; I’ve always loved going to the Easter Vigil in April when a chunk of the Mass is said with all of the lights turned off so that it’s pitch black, symbolically and acutely representing Jesus’s death on the Cross. But I don’t wholeheartedly agree with the views on marriage and abortion. I know, I do sound more socially liberal, but those are two issues that I do feel very certain and passionate about.
However, Catholic Mass is a quiet time once a week where I can pray, recite beautiful and classic prayers by heart, meditate, spread peace to family, friends, and even strangers, sing along with the melodic hymns, etc. Lately, I’ve tried to look at every situation in life that I end up in as entirely to my advantage. I’ve adopted this very positive mentality where I attempt to adapt to every single scenario that life throws at me, even if I typically don’t like it. In doing this, one will likely become happy and successful in the long run. I used to really hate going to church; part of that came from my fear of death & dying. I still haven’t warmed up to the prospect of eternal life. More on that another time. Maybe.
I wanted to share my experience at Mass yesterday. It’s not a complex anecdote; it’s just a little detail from our clerical outing that truly riveted my mind. My mom and I went together to the 4:00 pm Mass at St. Anthony’s Church in Westbrook. We like this church; they have a kind and funny priest, beautiful architectural design, and it’s earlier in the day. Usually, it is announced at some point in the beginning that the ceremony we parishioners are there for is dedicated to someone. That someone is almost guaranteed to be a deceased person. Last night, this was not the case.
Last night, the Mass my mother and I attended was for a living, older married couple that was celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary. I was shocked and felt so joyous from that moment on. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen something like this, personally. That married couple was among the crowd, too. It was so special.
This little tidbit from that part of my day really had me thinking. Tributes and dedications are like acknowledgements in our empathetic souls, I think. It’s an area of our existence that is customarily reserved for those people in our lives that have passed on, sadly. Nevertheless, I learned only yesterday that we don’t always have to recognize the ones in life that have died. It’s definitely important; it’s how we grow accustomed to the idea of cessation of life. Yet, I learned that we can also recognize and appreciate the continuation of life. Two people that have built a life together which has been maintained for six decades is wonderful and miraculous! It unquestionably warrants a celebration. More importantly, I think it enables us to savor the fact that life is a gift. It really puts a smile on my face.
God bless everyone.
