We certainly are.

In the space of twelve hours, in one mid-sized city, members of my family participated in the following:

1) a very by-the-book Mass in English in a non-renovated Romanesque-style church, with a little Latin tossed in here and there (Sanctus), modified ad orientem stance, with a highly exegetical homily (I didn’t hear most of it, but I got the gist)

2) a Spanish-language Mass in a school gym during which (my son swears) the tune to the song during the presentation of the gifts was Jingle Bells.

3) a Byzantine-rite Mass almost in the middle of Nowhere, TN, in which the homily was divided between reading a letter from the Metropolitan Archbishop of the Archeparchy (which in turn quoted liberally from Pope Benedict) and a retelling of The Fourth Wise Man.

How’s THAT for Catholic, people?

Up to 9pm Monday night, the major stress in my life, aside from keeping Michael the Baby out of my dad’s cabinet of oral history tapes, was getting us all on track regarding our Mass attendance. To tell the truth, they probably felt perfectly on track without me, but every hour or so, I felt the need to sit down whereever the posse had gathered and say, "So…when are we going to Mass? Is that all right with everyone?"

I won’t bore you with the various permutations of scheduling I attempted to win approval for, so we’ll just stick with what happened. Although I really had wanted to spread it out over more than 12 hours, that wasn’t to be, and actually it was fine – 12 hours is actually a pretty long time between Masses, and the different experiences lent another degree of interest for all. I think.

We started out at one of the churches closest to my dad’s house, a place about which I’ve blogged before. The young priest there is quite serious, but not off-puttingly so. He’s quite meticulous about getting everything right, he doesn’t ad lib, he preaches an interesting, informed homily, and he does this intriguing modified ad orientem position during prayers from the presidential chair in which he just turns about 45 degrees so he’s facing the same direction as the rest of us. The prayers from the altar are versus populum, but as I’ve told you before, that slight angle makes an enormous difference. It’s a highly symbolic gesture in which the priest says with his body, "Stop looking at me. Let’s look in the same direction and pray together."  Music was traditional – organist and a cantor in the loft. A bit of Latin, Eucharistic Prayer I, and a tiny, deeply-bent over elderly lady of a lector whose energetic presence and wonderful, melliflous East Tennessee accent was a witness all its own.

Christopher, my oldest, wasn’t staying at my dad’s – we have reached the point of serious overflow so it is simply not possible for all of us to stay there, and even with Chris at a friend’s apartment, Katie still has to sleep on the couch. Which was fine with him – he wouldn’t have been up for an 8:30 Mass, anyway.

So he headed for a Mass he’d frequently attended when he lived in town – a noon Mass at a church close to his old place. Confusion set in immediately because there were no signs of life around the church. But there were signs of life around the school gym, and he soon learned that because of an electrical fire, I believe, that’s where Mass would be held. And the schedule he used to know (12 noon English, 1 pm Spanish) had changed, so he was walking into the Spanish Mass. Which was fine with him, despite the presuppositions of the priest (Anglo) who stopped him as he walked in and said, "You do know this is the Spanish Mass, don’t you?"

Well. yeah. He’s Catholic, he took some Spanish, he knows what’s going on. Unfortunately, he didn’t know why they were singing to the tune of Jingle Bells at one point. That will remain a mystery forever, I suppose. 

Which leaves us with one Mass to go. We didn’t want a packed children’s Mass – we hoped to get to either a 9 or even a Midnight, although the 9 was more doable for most of us. Michael had done a bit of research and suggested the Byzantine Catholic mission, which meets in a small Catholic church in Seymour,  south of Knoxville. Everyone was amenable, so, leaving the little ones at home with Grandfather and Hilary, we set out.

This wasn’t my first Byzantine Divine Liturgy (there was the Great Parma Dormition Escapade of 3 years ago that some of you might recall), but given the fact that on this evening…1) It wasn’t August during a power outage and 2) the children weren’t there…I could actually focus more than I had in the past.

Counting us, the rest of the congregation, the priest, deacon and servers, there were probably 40 people present. The little country parish church holds about 100-125 comfortably. The iconostasis was portable, on wheels, but substantial enough, with enough icons and grating to serve its purpose very well. The little congregation was diverse, with not many present over 60, I’d say. A couple of Slavic-looking folk, and various others, including some young bohemian-college types, and one young black man.

We have several Eastern Rite Catholic readers, so you all please forgive my description of this service – what I’ll say is no news to you, but it might be interesting to others. I’m not going to attempt a play-by-play, but will stick to the basics, as well as general impressions.

The entire liturgy is chanted, was entirely in English, and the congregation stands through most of it. There is occasional sitting, but kneeling is not part of the repetoire of ritual gestures.

No kneeling? In English? Hey! Where’s the reverence?

All over, of course. Constant and pervasive. Why? Because standing is an exceedingly reverent posture when you are spending an hour or so begging God for mercy over and over and over again, the God whom you praise in your chanting as ineffable and mysterious, crossing yourself every time the Trinity is mentioned, kissing an icon upon entering the church, standing in front of an icon, lighting a candle, kissing the icon, crossing yourself, then reaching down to touch the floor as a sign of humility.

It is not exactly the same effect as it is when the standing happens in a cultural context in which kneeling has a certain, deep-seated meaning, but the LIturgy Committee told you that you’re an Easter People celebrating your Dignity and Diversity, so, you know…stand up!

Do you want to see some full and active participation? Head over to your local Byzantine (or other Eastern Rite) parish. The entire Divine Liturgy is a single, unified, ancient act of prayer (Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom) in which there is constant antiphonal, responsive chanting between clergy and congregation in a cloud of incense. It never, ever stops, except for the homily. You get in there, and it just goes and doesn’t stop. The total, general effect is of something happening, something of which you are a part, but which is not dependent on you, and in which you participate to the extent that you are able, and whatever that is, is fine. That Eastern way of worship – a dynamic, busy scene of litanies, crossing, chanting and incense – has a very "come as you are" feel about it because, as Michael said tonight as we were talking about it, "you" are there with everyone else, and all of you together are voicing and articulating your dependence on God and gratitude for His mercy.

My children (the three who were there, the two little ones being tucked away for a long winter’s nap) were quite interested and engaged – there is, of course, a lot to see, and it was quite different from anything they’d experienced. David remarked afterwards, "Why is it the more arcane worship is, the more easily I can get into it?" Well, because "arcane" as he meant it, really translates into "timeless" – a moment in which you step into a space dwelt in by millions before, across the centuries, in which the latest pop stylings have no place. Christopher was particularly taken with an element that is striking the first (and I assume later) time you hear it – the call at various points of "Wisdom! Be Attentive!" Katie mumbled, before she retired to the couch, "I liked it because we didn’t have to sing any stupid songs."

Good girl!

And…that was that. Not bad for twelve hours. If you’re in East Tennessee, think about attending a Divine Liturgy over in Seymour – I’ve no doubt they’d be glad to see you, whoever you are.