Are we ever ready?
I went to a different parish yesterday. A little tiny building nested into a neighbourhood, behind a row of stores on the main street. It was the only one with confession open at that moment. But once I got there, the doors were locked and I stood outside in the snow wondering what to do. A minute or two later, I could hear the door latch unlock. I wasn't stranded after all.
As soon as I walked in, I could smell faint traces of incense. It felt familiar, in a very foreign place. Comforting. Another thing I noticed immediately was an actual confession booth. There is no such thing at my parish. I looked at it dumbly. How did it work?
Instead of trying to figure it out, I decided to pray the rosary. I sat myself down, with a plonk. A resounding, way too loud, plonk. As I gathered myself to pray, I took a moment to properly take in my surroundings. The altar was beautiful. The ceiling was a deep dark blue with painted gold stars and moons. Jesus hung from the ceiling on a cross. It was a very different aesthetic than I am used to.
I sat by myself praying for a bit until some people started to come in. I turned around and saw a Sister stripping off her coat in the pew behind me. Relief flowed through my body. I timidly greeted her and asked her how the booth worked.
She got up and pointed out the stole hanging out from the curtain. She explained that it meant that Father was not there. He would wear the stole while inside the booth. She reassured me and went to go get him in the back. In the sacristy, probably.
I stood along the wall, terrified. There was no way for me to not be known by Father. But I don't go to this parish, surely it would be fine for him to know me?
Eventually he came down the aisle and popped inside the booth. I knelt down at the side of the booth. The screen slid open and I could dimly see through the grate. He sat there in his white vestements, in the dark. We whispered. I felt... Guilty. But I felt comforted by what he said.
We can admire the beauty of others but they are ultimately not ours.
Chastity has been on my mind for a while. Chastity is something I struggle with.
I wondered about the priest. This is probably my prejudice, but I could sense from his voice that maybe, possibly, he might not be straight. I wondered what it meant for a gay man to become a priest. Of course, it's not unheard of. In the Philippines, the joke is that if you're gay and religious, the only logical thing to do is become a priest. Tasteless joke. You've heard of the countless atrocities. Those are the negative examples. But to deny yourself so fully and come to the Lord instead. I don't really understand it. I'm even a bit saddened by it. It feels like a betrayal. But who am I to talk, trying to come back to the Church as a bisexual woman with many queer friends? Am I not doing something similar? Betrayal?
He absolved me. Conscience cleared. I can partake in the Eucharist again. I went back to the pew to do my penance: one Our Father and one Hail Mary. After, I decided to stay for mass. To see what it was like. To stay out of the cold.
They did things extremely differently. There were two priests. The main priest, stood with his back facing us, facing the altar instead. It felt important. A lot more kneeling . A lot of words recited that I've never heard before. "Thee's" and "thou's" instead of "you" and "your." "Holy Ghost" instead of "Holy Spirit."
Father, despite the seriousness of the mass, was extremely warm during his homily. He joked. He referred to parishoners by name. He gave unsolicited advice ("because there are youngsters present"). He gestured to the young couple near the front. He talked about raising kids. How he suddenly had to raise his nephew.
Parents are never ready.
Waiting ten years to have kids means robbing them of time from you.
Food for thought. But truthfully, he said some things that irritated me. Biological clock and such. I've heard it all before.
I know this little tangent was mainly directed to the couple that he so obviously knew. But this homily of his applied to me as well. As I get older, I've been thinking about kids. I think I don't want them. I'm terrified of having them. I could never be a good mother. I'm not even seeing anyone right now, how could I possibly think of having kids?
The priest went on about celibacy. An alternative. Tell me why did something ease inside of me? Funny, considering my struggles living chastely.
The priest went back to the Gospel.
Jesus picked these unqualified fishermen to be his disciples. They weren't ready. He didn't chose them because they already had the tools, they were chosen and then given the tools. We should not be afraid when He calls us.
I teared up. Tell me why do I keep tearing up in mass these days? It's always around the same things: purpose, being called, being lost. I've been feeling lost lately. I don't know what to do with myself. I desparately want to be called. But I don't know if I'm making up a call in my head, hearing things that aren't there.
We are never ready.
He closed with a joke about face cream. I smiled and laughed along. He seemed personable, nice. Human, after all. I don't get that feeling often with the priest at my own parish even though my mind knows it. I wonder if that's why he intrigues me so much.
The Eucharist confused me. I had to kneel in front of the altar. I forgot I needed to say Amen. The priest put the host on my tongue. I had to go through a side door. I felt embarassed and the woman behind me had to guide me through.
I felt relief after it was all over. Maybe I should have been grateful instead. Grateful for having confessed. Grateful for the kind parishoners. Grateful for the engaging priest. Grateful for the other priest's gentle advice. Grateful for the little tiny church, existing in the midst of every day living.
d.v.