In Season and out of Season

"Preach the word, be urgent in season and out of season, convince, rebuke, and exhort, be unfailing in patience and in teaching."  

- 2 Timothy 4:2

Recently, I began attending early morning Mass at a tucked away Parish in my city.  I have grown to love this Mass.  I asked myself exactly why one day.  Because in this Parish, daily Mass is said in one of the classrooms in the empty school to save on energy bills in the big Church...a REAL concern for some parishes down here in my city.  It's a simple, square, 70's era school room, with windows lining one wall.  There are simple chairs for the congregation and the walls are lined with hanging shelves containing simple, wooden, but tasteful icons.   The altar is simple wood, with a simple but well ironed altar cloth, the candlesticks are gold but plain and polished with love and attention.  A little, tiny neat and tidy, smiling Vietnamese lady makes flower arrangements that are simple and symbolic of the Trinity.  She places them there with quiet devotion every once in awhile.  There is nothing ultra elegant about this set up.  There is no lace, brocade, gold trim, berettas, or extravagance. 

 So, what is it that makes this room so beautiful?  

The daily communicants are mostly elderly Southside city folks, with snarky wits and a willingness to always tell you what they are thinking.  They usually drift in one by one and talk to each other about grandchildren and their latest recipe.  

But promptly at 10 minutes before eight, in walks the Pastor of this parish to prepare for Mass.  The minute he hits the door, everyone gets serious and quiet.  He isn't imposing or arch or scarily stern.  He is a quiet sort of priest, unassuming and self possessed with a patient face that exudes devotion - someone who is used to putting himself in the presence of God.  These elderly people like him, I can tell. 

He walks to the cupboard and silently puts on his vestments.  His Deacon does likewise.  The vestments are green for the day, very simple, neatly pressed and tidy, but not noteworthy of praise for golden threads or lace.  But not outrageous either in crazy colors or patterns.  Just appropriate vestments.  He begins Mass and every rubric is followed to the tee.  Not affectedly or ostentatiously.  Just faithfully obedient.

And his fidelity to the rubrics makes the congregation do likewise without saying a word.  His example is enough. 

His example is enough.  And after a few times attending this Mass so well prayed, you begin to find Jesus in the quiet.  It's not because of the costly vestments, or elegant surroundings.   It's simply because you are assured that the rubrics are being followed, everything is properly worn, prayers are prayed correctly, readings are read with clarity and simplicity, sermon short and pithy.  Because this faithful priest is doing his job.  And after awhile, you don't even remark on him either.  He has made everything so right that it disappears and all you see is Jesus in the blessed Sacrament come down once again to help us through our days.  

I wondered about this priest on the day after the priestly scandals hit the news.  Would he be different? sheepish? afraid?  But no.  Promptly at 10 minutes to eight he arrived and we prayed  the age old beauty of the Mass together.  No questions asked.  It was as if he were saying by his steady and unassuming devotion:  I will preach Jesus by my words and actions in season and out of season, no matter what evils befall, or scandals, or strife or fear... I will serve with devotion and fidelity to my calling to bring Christ to others and to get out of the way while doing it.

That spoke volumes to me and gave me more hope for the Church than I had when I got there.  It convinced me to stay.

Let's pray for  priests like that because that daily fidelity is harder than you think.  That steady devotion is born of selflessness, love, and an understanding of vocation. All hard things in this world of ours.  That it exists at all is a miracle of grace.  And I find comfort in that miracle.