I’ll never forget the first time I went to midnight Mass. It was a few years ago, when our third child was still an infant. In retrospect, it was not the best year for us to try this; considering that we were already getting precious little sleep with a three-month-old and two toddlers in the house, we would have been better off going to one of the mid-morning Masses on Christmas day. But I’d never been to midnight Mass, and I really wanted to experience it, so my husband and I made our way down to the church an hour after we normally would have gone to sleep for the night.
It didn’t take long for things to go downhill. We couldn’t find parking, and had to walk a long way in the cold air. A crowd of thousands was packed into the sanctuary, and we had to stumble over a long row of people to find what seemed to be the last seat in the entire church. Then, as O Come All Ye Faithful filled the air, I started to feel tired. Incredibly, deeply, bone-weary TIRED. I tried to focus on the entrance procession through bleary eyes, but I was overwhelmed with thoughts of how overwhelmed I would be the next day (my husband affectionately calls this “pre-worrying”). With three children under the age of three, Christmas morning promised to resemble some combination of a circus and an insane asylum…and it was going to start about six hours from now. The baby would undoubtedly wake up at least a couple of times before then. And, come to think of it, had I really gotten as many gifts for my son as I had for his sisters?!
As the last people poured into the building, I heard some commotion behind us. A lady had squeezed into the pew and was greeting what seemed to be her husband and her sister, hugging them and telling them merry Christmas. At various lulls in the Mass she would occasionally turn to them and quietly exclaim something like, “Isn’t this wonderful?” or “This is so exciting!”
Meanwhile, when we kneeled for the consecration, I leaned heavily on the pew in front of me. My mind drifted once again to the task of pre-worrying about all the stressful things that could transpire the next day. And then I remembered that we had to go out of town later that week, and my will to live took a dive. To even ponder what it would take to pack up everything we’d need to take three young children on a five-day trip made me want to use the kneeler as a pillow and give up and go to sleep. Just when my mental whining reached a crescendo, the lady behind me exclaimed breathlessly:
“There he is.”
I was so consumed by my selfish thoughts that my first reaction was, Who? I lifted my head to look around, and my eyes rested on the consecrated Host that the priest held above the altar. Of course, I thought. There He is. I had been in the presence of a miracle, and all I could do was think about how many diapers I’d have to pack to go out of town.
At the end of the Mass, as we all got to our feet and Joy to the World! shook the sanctuary walls, the lady behind me giddily shouted: “Merry Christmas! I’m so excited, it’s CHRISTMAS!” And then I saw her introduce herself to the people I thought had been her husband and sister. As it turns out, she didn’t know them at all. She had hugged them and exchanged ebullient greetings with them simply because she wanted to share her joy. I turned around to smile at her, and she silently mouthed, “It’s CHRISTMAS!”
I laughed and shook my head as I considered what a grouch I’d been earlier in the evening. It was Christmas, for goodness’ sake! It’s the holiday that still sends shockwaves of peace and joy throughout the world, that inspires people of all walks of life to be more kind and gentle for this one season. It’s the celebration of the coming of the Savior, the opening act of the greatest story ever told! It’s the holiday that led me to experience Christ, even before I believed.
I walked out of the church that night with a new awareness of the joy that was all around me on this most special of days, and it lasted all through the next day (even though the baby did wake up in the night an things were about as crazy as I’d imagined they’d be).
I never did see that lady again, though I’ve often wondered about her. Was she in town from somewhere else? Was she a parishioner who then moved after the holidays? Sometimes I like to think that she was an angel, sent by the Holy Spirit to smack me upside the head when I needed it most. I think of her every Christmas, and the she still inspires me to set aside my worries, let wonder overtake me, and simply, joyfully exclaim as she did: “It’s CHRISTMAS!”
Comments
Post a Comment
Jen,
Today I have been feeling sorry for myself. I have been miserable, fed up, so very tired and so wrapped up in my own mental whining (as you so well put it). My father was diagnosed with lung cancer last week. We are preparing ourselves for this to be our last Christmas together. This post has come up at just the right moment for me and you have no idea how you have helped me to realise that, where it all got lost amongst the presents and gift wrapping and shopping and food buying… it’s Christmas!
It’s Christmas!
Merry Christmas to you and your family, and everyone reading this.
I so needed to hear this right now! I’ve been caught up in my own mental whining as well. Thank you so much!
The year we lived in Ireland, back in the 80’s, an Irish priest friend told me a story about the time an American cardinal was saying Christmas Eve Mass in the Pro-Cathedral. The place was packed, with priority seating going to dignitaries and honored guests. Just as Mass began, a raggedy old lady pushed past the ushers and crowded herself into the last pew. There she stayed, apparently enraptured by the music, lights, etc. Then it came time for the consecration and, as the cardinal raised the host up high, the old woman exclaimed in a voice loud enough to be heard all around: “It’s yourself, Lord! You’re welcome!” Her joy and acclamation was no doubt greater than anyone else’s there. She brought her joy as a gift and shared it with all around her.
Some years ago when I was in Ireland, the parish priest told me about the time, on a Christmas Eve, when a visiting American cardinal said the Midnight Mass in the Pro-Cathedral. The church was packed with people and, as usual, priority seating went to the dignitaries and invited guests. Just as Mass started, a raggedy old lady pushed her way past the ushers and crowded in the last row. People there shrank away from her grimy presence. Throughout the Mass she seemed enraptured by the lights and music. Then came the Consecration and she bowed her heard low. As the cardinal raised the Host on high, she looked up and said in a loud voice: “It’s yourself, Lord! You’re welcome!” She shared her joy with everyone there, an old, poor woman full of faith.
Back in the 80’s when I was in Ireland, a cardinal visiting from the U.S. was scheduled to say the Midnight Mass in the Pro-Cathedral. The church was packed, with dignitaries and important guests filling up the front pews. Just as Mass began, a raggedy old lady pushed past the ushers and crowded her way into the last pew. Everyone moved over to make way for her when they saw how grimy she was. As the Mass proceeded, she seemed enraptured by the candles and music. At the time of the Consecration, the cardinal raised the host high and the old woman said in a loud voice: “It’s yourself, Lord! Your’re welcome!” An acclamation of pure joy and faith. A gift to the entire congregation.
Interesting, this story reminds me of something curious that once happened to me. It wasn’t at Christmas but left me with the same feeling.
I recall that it was a Sunday and I was sitting in a pew before Mass started. A Sunday like any other. An elderly woman just happened to be coming into the pew ahead of me for Mass, turned to me and made eye contact, and said in the most curious of ways to me ” Today is your blessed or lucky day”. Then, she sat down. I didn’t know her at all and after she said it, I didn’t give it much thought.
Later that night, I was at my house. It was a strange evening because my wife and kids were spending the night my sister-in-laws house. Nothing was wrong, as I recall, they wanted to spend the night so that my sister-in-law could be with my kids. Our kids were very young then.
Anyway, it was one of the few rare nights since I’ve been married that I spent the night alone away from my wife & kids, and since. I also recall that I don’t think I was not in a state of Grace with God, that I had probably had mortal sin on my soul.
At around 1:00 in the morning, there were several loud bangs at my front door. A large, young and I believe disturbed man was banging desprately at the door asking for money - like a thief in the night except he was coming thru the door. His car lights were on in my driveway shing into the front wiindow and he was loud. After several minutes of threating to call the police on him, he still would not leave. I felt that if I opened the door he might attack me. I thought for a second and called a friend. He said dont open the door, call the police. For whatever reason, I grabbed my blue pieta book and said to myself, Lord, please protect me, whatever your will is.
I opened the door and gave the man some money. He looked at me, and then disappeared into his car and then into the night.
To this day, I absolutely question myself for daring to open the door, and I would highly recommend that if any of you are ever in that situation, call the police. I will never understand what happened there but when I thought about it later, what the elderly lady said to me earlier in the day seemed to make a little more sense. Right or wrong, or whether or not that lady was an angel, I absolutley feel that God showed me great Mercy that night.
“And the day will come when the mystical generation of Jesus, by the supreme being as his father in the womb of a virgin will be classed with the fable of the generation of Minerve in the brain of Jupiter.” Thomas Jefferson
get http://fr.eveningdressclub.org/ - fr.eveningdressclub.org and get big save
order an <a >yourclothstyle</a> for more detail
Post a Comment
By submitting this form, you give The National Catholic Register permission to publish this comment. Comments will be published at our discretion, and may be edited for clarity and length. For best formatting, please limit your response to one paragraph and don't hit "enter" to force line breaks.