ANTICIPATION!

(Who’s more worth the wait than Jesus?)

by Kelly Clark — the lady in the pew — May 27, 2003

When Mary, pregnant with Jesus, approached her also-pregnant cousin Elizabeth, the latter’s unborn son “leapt for joy” at the approach of this First Most Blessed Tabernacle, and the Savior inside. And with good reason! His ancestors had anticipated this moment for eons. I’ll get more into that in a second, but first:

Let me tell you about a family I met on the Fourth of July!

I live in Boston, and here, the Fourth of July is an Extremely Big Deal. Gazillions of folk from all over the globe travel to the banks of the Charles River to experience quite a show, courtesy of the renowned Boston Pops, various celebrities, and sheer pyrotechnical genius.

The ideal way to enjoy the show is to own a penthouse apartment very near the river and park yourself on your roof deck. If you haven’t the foresight to own such an establishment, then your next best bet is to suck up to someone who does.

For a few years, I chose the latter option. Then, alas, my So Called Friends had the temerity to move, and so one year I sauntered over to the Esplanade to actually mingle with the crowd. And such a crowd!

I found myself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with my fellow revelers, hardly able to breathe, never mind move. Finding this unacceptable, I meandered farther away from the stage and found a spot a little less populated. Since the festivities weren’t scheduled to begin for at least 45 minutes, I decided that a little time-killing was in order.

With my typical unerring eye, I spotted a likely victim: a rather harried-looking lady trying valiantly to tend to various possessions, including a thermos, cooler, binoculars, several coloring books, and four little kids cleverly tethered together by what looked like a dog leash. My opportunity came as the wind blew what looked like a program out of her hand and in my direction. Deftly catching it, I carried it over to her and struck up a conversation.

Me: “Some crowd, huh?”

She: “Sure is.”

Me: “I wish they’d get started.”

She: “Oh, it shouldn’t be too long now.”

Me: “I guess a half hour or so isn’t that long to wait.”

She: (laughing) “Not when you’ve been here all night, it isn’t!”

Me: “Huh?”

It turns out that this lady, her husband, and their four pre-school children had arrived at the concert site the night before and camped out.

Lest you think this unremarkable, allow me to delineate it.

Two presumably sane adults drove from their Upstate New York home for endless hours until they reached Boston. Upon their final arrival — please keep in mind the pit stops necessitated by four little kids — they had to make accommodations for the storing of their vehicle, which, in Boston, usually means taking out a second mortgage. After that, they wove their way through a confusing array of streets that would give pause to the Magi, until finally finding the concert area and staking their temporary claim. Once there, they set up a tent big enough to comfortably accommodate perhaps one of Snow White’s dwarfs, and proceeded to brave a night punctuated by intermittent rain, and, no doubt, numerous requests to visit the nearest (and oh-so-charming) “Johnny-on-the-Spot.” Following an eternally long night’s journey into day, the family was greeted by a smiling sun. That same sun that would, incidentally, cause the littlest one to break out in a rash by noon, and the father (who forgot to wear his cap) to sport a ferocious looking burn on his bald spot.

With a rare burst of tact, I abstained from asking the most logical question in the world (that would be, of course: “Are you out of your mind??? “) and instead mumbled something about “persistence.” To which the lady enthusiastically replied:

“Oh, we’ve done it for four years now! When they start playing the `1812 Overture’ and the fireworks start — why, what else could be more worth the wait?”

Wow.

“Assuming you’ve got one, what’s the point, Kelly?”

Well, remembering this meeting got me to thinking. About waiting for things we want, I mean. Because we do it all the time, don’t we? And willingly, too!

We wait in long lines for movies we want to see. To be seated at restaurants we like. When the Red Sox are hot (and even when they’re not) long lines at the Fenway ticket counter are a common sight.

For the tonier among us, the notion of being placed on a country club waiting list isn’t an abnormality.

We wait for what we deem worth waiting for, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But, as a Catholic, my only question is:

How come so many of us don’t want to wait for Jesus?

I’m edging here, toward a phenomenon I’ve written about before: Extraordinary Ministers of the Eucharist, or as they’re popularly, albeit erroneously called, “Eucharistic Ministers.”

It’s a practice that’s gotten ‘way out of hand, in my opinion. I’ll cite some examples to support this opinion in a bit, but let me tell you what happened at my parish last Easter Sunday.

The place was packed.

The church was crowded for two reasons. One, because it was Easter Sunday, and a lot of Catholics figure they really outta go to church on Easter Sunday.

Two, Easter happened to fall the day before the Boston Marathon, and so there were many visitors in attendance.

As there were no deacons or concelebrating priests present, the celebrating priest arranged for a number of extraordinary ministers among the laity to help out at Communion time. Fine.

What wasn’t “fine,” to me anyway, was the brouhaha that took place during the distribution of the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ.

After maybe ten minutes into the distribution, people started complaining.

Audibly enough for me to hear it. Comments included such pieties as:

“What’s taking so bleeping long?”

“This is ridiculous.”

At first, I — yeah, I know, I’m naïve — tried to tell myself that some folks were just terribly eager to receive Jesus into their souls. Ah, but my hopes were dashed upon hearing, for example:

“We’ll never get to Aunt Susie’s in time for supper!”

“Do you realize it’s almost noon???” (The Mass started at 11:00 AM.)

“Now I’m going to have to pay an extra hour for parking, sheesh.”

When a guy yanked out his cell phone to angrily inform a friend that he was going to be “bleepin’ late, bleep it,” I found myself contemplating the true meaning of the term: “Church in Crisis.”

“Kelly, wouldn’t more lay ministers have helped the situation?”

Helped what situation?

Helped the “we’re-gonna-be-late-for-Aunt-Susie’s-supper” situation? Probably.

But it wouldn’t have done diddly to alleviate a far graver situation: many Catholics simply don’t want to wait for Jesus.

Our ancestors waited for thousands and thousands of years for the Messiah. Some of us, evidently, can’t wait more than twenty minutes for Him.

(Or maybe we can’t wait for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass itself to be over and done with.)

Some, like my friend in Kentucky, would wait a lifetime.

She’s gifted with a wonderfully intense devotion to the Blessed Sacrament. Read her words:

“I was a non-Christian in 1991. On Ash Wednesday, my then-boyfriend (now husband) insisted on going to Mass, so I asked if I could tag along. What I knew about Catholicism could fit onto the head of a pin, but I had read my Bible and was open to the grace of God.

“At Mass, I had a profound conversion experience. I recognized for the first time in my life that Jesus truly is the Son of God. I had thought that He might be an imposter because of His command that we eat His flesh and drink His blood. I didn't know how that could be possible. At Mass, I found out how it is possible.

“When the congregation filed up for communion, it was, to me, as a line of people filing up to the gates of heaven. It was very beautiful to me. But I felt very left out. Then, in the pew behind me, a little girl told her father: “Daddy, she’s not going to communion.” Her father whispered back, “That's okay.” At that moment I knew that God gives me the choice, and I knew that people who are truly holy will allow me space to make that choice freely. I was overcome with both joy and sadness because I had found God, at last, but knew that I was not in communion with Him. There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to be baptized (I had never been baptized) and to be a member of God's family which is the Church, both visible and invisible.

On Easter my husband proposed marriage to me. I accepted. When we went to the priest for marriage instructions, as soon as I got the priest alone in his office I told him of my experience at Mass, and that I wanted to become a Catholic. Getting married was great, but becoming a Catholic was the most important thing to me.”

“As a line of people, filing up to the gates of heaven.” That’s about as apt a description as I’ve ever heard.

“We’re too busy.”

Sadly, my friend has been ill lately, and can’t always make it to the Holy Sacrifice on Sundays. So, she asked if it would be possible for someone to bring her the Blessed Sacrament, at least on Sundays. The response?

“We’re too busy.”

This is a parish that makes lavish use of “Eucharistic Ministers” during Mass, where, presumably, everybody can see them in action. (Are you like me? Have you actually seen proud friends and relatives photograph “Eucharistic Ministers” as if they were newly ordained priests celebrating their first Mass?)

But to reverently — and without fanfare — bring the Sacrament to one who is, literally, starving for Jesus?

“We’re too busy.”

And so my friend, who would wait a lifetime to receive the One who brought about her conversion to Catholicism, often waits in vain.

What’s wrong with this picture?

It makes no sense to me. If there ever was a valid reason for using non-ordinary ministers, it would have to be to bring the Blessed Sacrament to invalids. Right? I’m not saying that this doesn’t happen, because I know that it does happen. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to happen much in Louisville, Kentucky, among other places.

And there are other problems, and grave ones at that. Quite frankly, I don’t think many of us — and I’m talking about lay people here — know what the heck we’re doing when it comes to, literally, handling God.

I’ve been to churches — I’ve mentioned this before, but it bears repeating — where the “Eucharistic Ministers” process in with the celebrants, stand around the altar during the Eucharistic Prayer, and then self-communicate. This, I’ve been told, promotes the feeling of “inclusion” among the laity. Never mind that self-communication for the non-ordained is forbidden. What the heck, it “feels good.”

Then there are the other horror stories.

Mrs. So-and-So refusing the Chalice to Alice What’s-Her-Name in retaliation for some grievance or another (possibly an altercation at either a recent “Parish Pastoral Council” meeting or at Bingo Nite)

A hissing exchange — in front of the open Tabernacle — because Ms. Beetlebrain inexcusably “took over” Ms. Poppycock’s “station” (Evidently certain “Communion Stations” are highly coveted spots!)

Oh, I could go on, but you’re probably — at least I hope so! — getting as tired of reading this as I am of writing it.

“What’s the answer, Kelly (and can you make it short?)”

Hey, just because I act like I’ve got all the answers, doesn’t necessarily make it so. But since you asked, I’ve got a couple of thoughts.

First, just as an experiment — which would make it perfectly in league with what’s going on in Catholic liturgy these days — why not call a moratorium in your parish, and in my parish, on the use of non-ordinary ministers of the Eucharist at Mass?

I mean, I hear people talk about what “they did in the Early Church” all the time. Well, hey, before 1971, guess what? Only an ordained priest distributed Communion at Mass. Let’s go back to that and see what happens.

Second, let’s start hearing some instruction — from the pulpit, in parish bulletins, wherever possible — on Who exactly we’re talking about when it comes to the Blessed Sacrament?

Third — I’m almost done, I promise — how about the celebrant, prior to giving the final blessing, reminding the congregation that the Blessed Sacrament is reserved in the Tabernacle (he might have to provide directions) and encourage his flock to take advantage of the opportunity for silent adoration following Mass? (The coffee and doughnuts can wait a few minutes, can’t they?)

Well, that’s my two cents, for whatever it’s worth.

The unborn John the Baptist leapt in his mother’s womb at the approach of the long-awaited, and also unborn, Jesus Christ.

My prayer is that we can emulate both his ancestors’ prayerful anticipation — and his own marvelous jubilation.

Speaking of patience, thank you for yours in reading this. May the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be with you this day and at every moment of your life.

In Christ,

Kelly Clark

Endnotes:

Actually, I’ve only got one. If you’re at all interested in an article I wrote a little over a year ago on a similar topic, go up to the archives (on the left), click on it, scroll down, and choose: “04-5-02: The Real Presence Wow.”

And now for the fine print:

Kelly Clark is your basic nobody. She serves on no parish councils, belongs to none of the myriad of designer-chic "Catholic" groups, or any Catholic group, for that matter, other than the Roman Catholic Church. Holding no theology degrees, she has no desire to see herself or any of her sex wearing a clerical collar. She figures Jesus knew what He was doing when He established His Church, and also figures that it’s His Church, not hers, and not yours. She’s an ordinary parishioner of Cathedral of the Holy Cross, Boston.

Use the links on the left to e-mail Kelly, to visit her parish, read past columns, and check out other cool stuff. (If you don’t see any links on the left, you’ve probably been directed here by a search engine. Just point your browser to http://www.pewlady.com to get to the main site.)

Copyright: Kelly Clark, 2003. I don’t care if you share this stuff with others. In fact, I hope you do! Only I’d appreciate it if you’d link me, or print it off as it is. In other words, don’t change anything. Thanks.

“The Lady in the Pew” column is updated regularly, God willing. To be notified of updates, please e-mail me. The link’s on the left.

“Mary, Mother of the Church, pray for us.”