I love The Mass

The Things I Will Remember Forever

If I asked you to remember when you were 8 years old, could you?  I know I sure do.

I remember my elementary school where there were only four classrooms with two grades in each room.  Now, I look back at that little school in Dayton, Ohio, in Old North Dayton and realize how “perfect” it was.  St. Adalbert Catholic School and the adjoining Church was my childhood.  The Franciscan nuns who taught me to be, not only a good person, but to be a good Catholic, were saints on earth dressed in black and white.  Did the principal, Sister Paulette, scare the liver out of me?  Absolutely.  Somehow, she convinced me that I didn’t dare bite into the host which I received on my tongue, because somehow, I would hurt Jesus.  Did Sister Jennifer teach me how to thread a needle and how to sew?  You bet!  Did Sister Margaret Mary scare the hiccups out of me, literally?  Yes, that happened too, as she snuck up on me from behind and screamed my name to help me get rid of them.   I am the person I am today because of those wonderful angels of God.  And those nuns marched me and the other 90+ students to church to attend Mass every morning.  And not only did we attend Mass, but we also prayed the rosary every morning before Mass.  Now, as an older adult, I look back and realize how blessed I was to have been a part of that wonderful experience.

My Childhood Church

I remember the day our Church was built and blessed in 1968.  I was 8 years old and in the second grade.  Earlier that morning, Sister Margaret Mary said to our class that the church was to be blessed that evening by the archbishop and “I heard” her to say, that we were to attend.  That’s what I heard, and of course, I always listened to Sister.  That evening, it snowed like nobody’s business.  It was one of those nights when no one had any business being on the roads.  And the snow fell and fell and fell.  I told my father that Sister Margaret Mary said we had to attend.  God bless my father, he put me in his 1956 Chevy and drove me to school where we were to gather for the Mass.  We arrived and as I ran down the hall toward my small classroom, Sister Margaret Mary had a shocked look on her face when she saw me.  As she gathered me up in her arms, she asked, “Debbie, what are you doing here?”  I responded, “Sister, you told me we had to come for the Church blessing.”  As she looked at me with her kind eyes, and saw my father standing there, she began to politely laugh and explained that I didn’t hear her correctly.  She told my dad that it would be nice if her students could come, but clearly had not instructed them to do so.  My wonderful father….he laughed, when he clearly could have been very angry, as the snow was still coming down and driving was difficult.  After receiving a big hug from Sister, I, my father, and others proudly walked through the snow to the church which was about 100 yards away on the school and church grounds.  I remember being so happy to be there for Mass.  My classmates were not there, because they didn’t hear what I had heard.

At Our House…..

When I was a child, it wasn’t an option at our house…you attended Mass.  As I mentioned earlier, I attended Mass everyday while in elementary school.  I didn’t attend a Catholic high school, but it still wasn’t an option not to attend on Sunday.  And for my brothers and myself as well as my parents, of course you attended Mass on Sunday (or Saturday evening vigil).  I don’t ever remember thinking I wouldn’t go to Mass.  And of course, being of Polish Catholic heritage, it made being part of a parish family even more joyous.  Whether I lectored at Mass, filled in as a sacristan for Sister Joann, or made breakfast for the pastor in between Masses, it was just the way life was.  I miss that simpler time when there was an ‘order’ to life.  It is now some 50 years later, and I continue to pray that the ‘ordered’ way of doing things can come back to those who call themselves Catholic.

Mass is………

It’s strange what some of us remember about our childhood.  The many experiences which stay with us and shape our future.  I remember once, again as a child, a priest asked the students, how we would describe Mass.  Some talked about the water and wine becoming the body and blood of Jesus, some mentioned the readings, some mentioned the time when we receive Communion.  I remember answering it differently.  My answer was that Mass was a prayer.  Mass begins with the sign of the cross and ends the same way.  Holy Mass is all of the things my classmates mentioned.  It is also a celebration.  Mass is our prayer to Jesus, inviting Him to be part of us.  It is a prayer reminding us of how Jesus died for us.  It is a remembrance of The Last Supper.  It is the Liturgy of the Word.  It is music.  It is time when we, who share a profound faith in the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, are blessed to be present when our Lord actually is present on the altar.  And we who are Catholic and who believe with all of our hearts that this miracle happens every time we attend Mass, couldn’t be in a happier place on earth.  Mass is our Disneyworld.  What better reason to attend Mass than to be there when Jesus actually comes to Mass with us.

Mass Should be a Personal Experience

I know as I get older and am likely on the other side of half of my life, Mass is a place I want to be more often with the passing of each day.  I find myself attending daily Mass far more often than I would have when I was younger.  And just to be in the physical church is a heart-warming experience for me.  There are times when I attend Mass more than once on Sundays.  Mass is a personal prayer for everyone who attends Mass.  It is a way for all of us to develop or reinforce a personal relationship with Jesus.

There are times when I leave for Mass hours early just to spend time with Jesus quietly in church.  This is my time to talk to Him.  It is not just time to ask for "stuff", but to thank Him for the many gifts I’ve been given in my life.  It is also an opportunity to pray for guidance.  When I am feeling sad or lost, Jesus is who I go to first.  And in many instances, I believe, following my plea for his help, he has sent people who are close to me to telephone me, to allay my fears or dry my tears.  And then comes The Mass.  The Mass is the topper; the cherry on the cake; the time when I can spend physical time with Our Lord.

Where is everyone?

I find myself saying “Don’t call yourself Catholic, if you don’t attend Mass.”  I suppose I believe this deep down, but I also remind myself that it is not for me to judge.  That is God’s job.  This would, however, force me to ask, “then what does it mean to be Catholic?”  Mass is the ultimate sacred event when each of us can show our Lord how much we love him.  To be Catholic is to love our Lord and when we attend the Mass where he comes to be with each of us, we affirm that special love. 

As the years have passed, I have watched attendance at Mass lessen and am saddened.  There are plenty like me who can’t imagine calling themselves Catholic and not attend Mass.  So, where did everybody go?  Covid didn’t help, but I recall seeing less people at Mass pre-Covid.  So, let’s not use that excuse.  Maybe I am old fashioned, but “there are rules” in the Catholic Church, among others…. You attend Mass!!  THE MASS is a love event for every Catholic.  Jesus gave his life for our salvation.  The least, the very least we can do is spend 45 minutes to an hour with him each week at Mass.  And frankly, Jesus should be on our shoulders all the time.  He is here for us every minute of every day of every week of every year.  Surely we can visit with the One who loves us!

Some will say “times have changed”.  Maybe.  But spending time with Jesus at Mass has not changed.  It’s those pesky Ten Commandments which God the Father gave us which give us the direction we need.  That ‘ol Fourth Commandment, “to keep holy the Sabbath Day” is still on the books, as far as I know.  There is an obligation to attend Mass.

Remember your Catholic past.  Come to Mass, or come back to Mass.  It’s good for the soul.

Debbie Field