Planning liturgy for our life in the world

Last night our (bilingual) parish Liturgy Planning Committee met to look at an overall plan for Advent. Our conversation began with sharing how the current climate of rudeness, incivility, anger, and arrogance that has seemingly swept our nation in recent weeks paints an even-darker-than-usual-picture as we approach the end of the Church Year. (Kanye West grabbing the microphone at the awards, Michael Jordan badmouthing at his induction into the H of F, a US Representative yelling out that the President is a liar, and more.)

While our evening of brainstorming through the readings surfaced many possibilities for a response (many of them rooted in the behavioral prescriptions in the second readings - about how we are to be ready, pure and blameless when Christ comes again) we adjourned to ruminate until October in hopes of putting something "final" together by that time.

It came to me that liturgy planning for each season is not only for the current cycle of readings, for the time of the year, but also for responding to the signs of the times. In these times of egomaniacal rudeness, of raised fists at rallies and parents who are phobic that a president might "indoctrinate' their school-age children by speaking to them, with whispered warnings about racism, an economic downturn that is stressing and depressing... these are indeed the times that try our souls... the true signs that we are, and have been since the beginning of the life of the Church, in tribulation.

Advent this year comes, as always, in a dark, dangerous time. While we wait for the light of Christ to enliven us, the question is what do we do in the meantime and how do we do it in the dark?

Fall Ordinary Time

In these waning days of summer, as we approach autumn, we continue to hear Gospels focusing on the teachings of Jesus. They are leading up to those final weeks of the liturgical year in November, when we will hear about last things and judgment.

When I teach people about the liturgical year, I often explain to them that Ordinary Time is when we are in storytelling mode: less about the narrative of Jesus's life and more about the ways he showed us what his mission was, and through what he did and said, about the kind of people he wants us to become. In that case, it's only fitting that the liturgical color of the season is green... symbolizing the season of growth in understanding of our discipleship in Christ.

During these next two months, the shade of green displayed in liturgical environments should perhaps deepen, "ripening" with the natural season, along with our growing understanding of what Jesus is calling us to do. When the end of the liturgical year, with its heavy imagery of harvest time comes - when we speak of the time when our souls will be "harvested" and gathered into God's presence, we will, in effect, step out of the green, growing time of our life, into the deep purple stillness of Advent, when we contemplate the Christ who was, who is, and who, at the end of time, shall be.

"All my thoughts are slow and brown..."

Over the past two months, as I continue to grieve the major loss in my life and reconfigure the contours and rituals of my own existence, I have occasionally turned to Edna St. Vincent Millay and the poetry of grief. Here is part of her poem "Sorrow" -

"People dress and go to town

I sit in my chair.

All my thoughts are slow and brown:

Standing up or sitting down

Little matters, or what gown

Or what shoes I wear."

Grieving the untimely death of a loved one can put one into the very depth of Paschal Mystery... that place deep within the tomb when no light yet creeps in. I have always said that when someone is in the middle of it, you cannot tell them of future light in a way that is meaningful to them. To be sure, there is comfort in hands to hold, in hugs, in shared tears and in good listeners. There is comfort in the liturgy of the Mass, while at the same time I am experiencing the urge to scream at God and demand to know the "why?" of this seeming betrayal.

This is especially true when the Word proclaimed begs me to argue with it. (Why when my "poor one" cried out, did God not deliver him? Or, more to the point, why did his deliverance from all his fears have to be into the arms of death?)

Worshiping God in the midst of grief has been a huge challenge - stretching me out of my self and into the public prayer. Asking me to praise and thank a God with whom I want to argue. It is a very human place to be: knowing on one level that God loves me, at the same time I am reluctant to agree to God's apparently revised plan for me and say "Thy will be done."

This all causes me to ask: how many people in our pews are in deep personal struggle? Does their presence at liturgy signify their acceptance of God's will, or does it merely represent their assent to the struggle? How does how well we celebrate as a community help them frame their struggle in terms of the presence and action of God in their lives? Is the ritual comforting to them or, like me, does it instead pour purifying but painful salt into raw wounds? Questions. No answers....

Catechizing from the Rites

Yesterday, we had a workshop with Sr. Catherine (Kate) Dooley, OP - a veteran catechist and writer whose passion is liturgical catechesis. She spoke, in part, on the importance of using the full resources of the rites when catechizing children and adults.

Specifically, she referred to the minor rituals in the back of the Rite of Penance, which she showed us how to use in prayer to help people of all ages develop a way to examine their consciences.

It occurred to me after hearing that - how many catechetical leaders and catechists are preparing people for sacraments without ever having read through the ritual books for those sacraments? I suspect this is true for the vast majority! If we don't read about the intention of the sacraments, and know about the underlying theology behind them, how can we know if we are preparing people well? How do we know what resources we are missing by not being familiar with the rite and its accompanying material?

And, more to the point, why do we trust textbook authors and publishers to do this thinking for us? Programs for First Communion and First Reconciliation, as well as Confirmation, vary widely in methodology and focus. A few do catechize at least sometimes from the rite itself, but that is the exception and not the rule. In the case of one Confirmation program that has this focus, the response I got in reviews from parish directors of religious education was largely negative, because this approach was not familiar.

Certainly something to think about. The Rites and their accompanying materials are not just for the celebrations, they are not just for the presiders, but they are also essential for those who are catechizing people in preparation for them. It behooves us to be familiar with them, and not just withthe textbooks that sometimes rely on them.

Apologies for lack of posts

I apologize for the dry period in blogging - grieving has been a somewhat debilitating process... my mind is only just beginning to grasp higher-level concepts again!

USCCB Passes All 4 Pending Items for Roman Missal Translation

Well, the good news is that the mail-in votes are now in and counted and all four items that the USCCB failed to approve at their June meeting have now passed. That is certainly an indication that the new translation will move forward... inching slowly toward a recognitio from Rome.

It's interesting to see the process, the progress and the occasional substantial minority opposition from some. See http://www.usccb.org/comm/archives/2009/09-159.shtml for the USCCB news release and the voting numbers.

Yes, whether we agree with this or not, it seems inevitable that we will have those new tranlations!

More on Liturgy and Grieving

It has been two weeks since the person I loved most died, and I have been the role liturgy and ritual are playing in the grieving process.

Mass the first weekend after the burial was difficult, bcause even though I am a seasoned choir singer and cantor, it's hard to praise the Lord when you do not understand why something devastating has happened in your life. Words in several songs brought me to tears. This last weekend was better - I was "drafted" when the scheduled cantor did not show up, and made it through with almost my usual degree of energy, only losing it on the final verse of the communion song, Bob Hurd's "Ubi Caritas" where the saints in heaven gather to sing praise.

Today, in comforting someone who was also a close friend of the deceased who is not Catholic, I witnessed to the power of the funeral liturgy. I told her "The reason I did not cry much during the liturgy at the funeral home and at the cemetery was because even though it was not quite all according to the book (the priest got a little mixed up a few times) it WAS liturgy - and there is comfort in the ritual for us Catholics. It grounds us and gives us a familiar place to go when life gets painful..."

Have you found the liturgy a "familiar place" to go when all else in your life is chaos? What has that meant for you at the time, and in later reflection on the experience? (OK, let's do mystagogy here!)