Pride is Ugly, Too

For two months or so now, I've been attending Mass at home with my father. We go to the chapel of a nearby university where my father sings in the choir. The chapel has a wonderfully welcoming atmosphere, and people are always friendly there, whether they saw you last week, or they've never seen you before in their lives. As a college student I appreciate that, because college means a lot of unknowns and new beginnings, which are hard enough under the best circumstances. And let's face it, it wouldn't hurt for more people to behave more kindly.

However, this is not typically an experience I enjoy. I do my best to appreciate the Eucharist, but most everything else is hit or miss. The sermons, the music, the congregation, and sometimes even the vestments or where Mass is said (the chapel when it's cool, the adjoining lecture hall when it's hot) all carry the possibility of arousing my ire. I have a growing mental catalogue of faults to which I add each week, which includes but is not limited to: fluff homilies, contemporary, anti-Catechism, anti-people-with-any-appreciation-of-good-music hymns, people talking whenever the priests aren't, people in shorts, mini-skirts, flip-flops, and t-shirts, and a general lack of knowledge or reverence for what exactly is taking place.

I find that Mass in the Archdiocese of Washington has spoiled me. There is almost always beautiful music, reverent worshipers, orthodox priests, appropriate dress, and an acute understanding of what we're doing and why we're here to do it. I have attended Masses celebrated by two cardinals, at least two monsignors, and several outstanding priests, at some of the loveliest churches I have ever been in. Like I say, Washington has spoiled me. There are a preponderance of things there that I am sure I will never find in my home diocese, and with each week home, I find that more and more troubling.

However, I find that not only are Masses here bad for my senses, I also allow them to be bad for my soul. In Simcha Fisher's first blog post at the National Catholic Register, she addressed how many people (herself included) suffer through the occasional ugly Mass. Maybe the building is ugly, or the music is awful, but whatever it is, as commenter and fellow NCR blogger Stephen D. Greydanus notes, one is tempted to think "I am being crucified with Christ". Then she stops to think (as I have never once done) "Christ is here, and if He can stand it, so can I". Jesus Christ is present at every Mass, and if He can take whatever ugliness is there (which is a lot, what with all that "being perfect" people claim He does), then we can do the same.

I've mentioned before that I struggle with pride. This is nothing new to me, or to anyone who knows me, but Ms. Fisher's revelation certainly was. I find that too often I walk around like the Pharisee in Luke 18:9-14, saying "Lord, I thank you that I am not like these other dopes, who go around sinning all the time, and have no sense of what is proper in Catholicism; I confess weekly, and wouldn't be caught dead getting drunk and hooking up", and these ugly Masses certainly help to bring out the worst in me. And that is definitely not something I'm proud of. I catch myself doing it every week, and am quick to go "Wow, Lord, that sure was nasty and condescending... um... yeah, I'm really sorry about that, so can we just start over?" I then promptly return to doing exactly what I was doing before I caught myself.... again. This is a cycle that repeats a couple of times every Sunday, and frankly, I'm surprised that I find the time to pay attention in there.

But, I suspect that Simcha is right when she says that a little bit of ugliness is good for us. It's not good while it's happening, but it is good when we return to our regularly scheduled regimen of beauty. When I experience something beautiful and transcendent, my thoughts are immediately lifted to God to thank Him for the wondrous gift of beauty. A piece of great music, a breathtaking sight, or words that speak straight to my heart are all personal means of experiencing God in my life, and at the very least I'm not dumb enough not to appreciate that. I imagine, also, that when I go back to Washington to be liturgically re-spoiled, I will appreciate the ugliness I'm experiencing now because it allows me to appreciate the beauty that much more.

Finally, and this has nothing to do with beauty or ugliness, part of the beauty which I am able to appreciate now is the existence of the internet, which has led me to the National Catholic Register, and specifically to Simcha Fisher's blog (which is hilarious, witty, and Catholic in the best way). I hereby recommend that everyone have a look at the Register, and/or Simcha's blog, just because I like them so darn much.