Grudgingly … we adore Thee

Jun 07, 2024

Word in Progress - Karen-Michaela Tan

My 82-year-old dad has been beset by a wonky knee of late. That’s the only reason we sat at the back of the church at Mass last week. He decided that it was safer for him to receive communion at the back half of the church instead of hobbling all the way to the front. As such, our seats were not what we would have preferred — the beautiful gestures of the Mass were lost in a sea of heads.

What really got my goat, however, was the man I was seated beside. While I understood it was early (Mass is at 5.00pm, we were seated by 4.20pm), he was on his phone until the celebration began. I began seeing red when he got on his device again during the homily, but what really did me in was the way he clearly turned away from everyone when the sign of peace was exchanged.

It made me wonder why he even bothered to come. He seemed to be seated alone, so either he had separated from his family who had gone on in front, or he was a solo worshipper (although the term hardly fit). Why bother to come if one does not even pretend to adhere to the basics of Mass, which is communal worship and communitarianism?

Then I recalled how once, in a period of ennui that many Catholics experience, I too was church-dissociative. I went to Mass on Sunday because it was a rule. I was burnt-out with serving as a lector, choir member, RCIA catechist and BEC liturgy head. I would go to the earliest Mass so I’d get it over and done with. Uninspired homilies and off-key congregation singing all seemed to conspire against my entering the loving embrace of the Mass. So, one Sunday I walked out.

I just left the Mass after consecration, and sat in my car (which was blocked by the vehicles of more participative, incommunion parishioners) and stewed. Why is Sunday Mass compulsory? Why can’t our priests preach with fire, or at least proper pronunciation? When Mass finally ended, I drove home in a huff.

The next day, my late granduncle came to visit. I spoke to him about the aridity in my Church life, and told him what I had done. As a former schoolteacher, he was used to the shenanigans of misbehaving students pushing the envelope, so I thought he’d brush off my transgression. I was wrong.

My school teacher-turned-priest relative looked at me and asked, “You walked out on God?” I was going to say it was God who left me, but even in my recalcitrance, I knew I didn’t have a leg to stand on. While in an ideal situation Mass is about humans forming a relationship with each other so that we amplify the worship we bring to God, we sometimes forget that God does not need our prayers. He desires them because the One who created us knows that in our drawing closer to Him, we, the lost, wandering and lonely, find our solace and home in Him.

Our God is not like the gods of the Greeks, fighting amongst each other for human worship, dependent on human prayers and offerings to remain relevant. Our God calls us to the mandatory once-a-week bonding session because He knows we need the refreshing and strengthening of spirit in order to continue living in His love and wisdom during the week.

My turning away from God by leaving Mass was akin to telling God I had no need of His strength, love and grace. I was cutting myself off from all the gifts of the Spirit that would have helped me deal with the ups and downs of daily life in a calmer, more gracious, loving and merciful way.

I asked granduncle Ignatius Huan what to do when I was beset by the ‘blahs’ when at Mass. I continue to do as he advised, even up to this day. When I am emotionally collected, well-rested and at peace, it is easy for me to worship. Fuelled by thankfulness, it is easy to be gracious and pray for others, and petition for the well-being of the Pope, archbishop, priests and the rest of the world community. My prayers entwine with the fervency of others in the congregation to lift like incense to heaven. In times like this, I am a positive participant, making a joyful sound unto the Lord.

However, when I am run-down, grieved, tired, stressed at work or mentally bogged down by some family or work issue, I come to Mass and seek of my priest and faithfamily to pray for me. I have now come to realise that being a person of faith is not about always answering the call to serve others. If I am to emulate Jesus, I must also realise that Jesus Himself asked others for help.

We are not always expected to be the strong towers of strength for others. It is okay to throw yourself on the mercy of others and ask for sustenance for the journey. Doing so, however, requires humility. It takes the inner strength of the publican in Luke 18:13 who abandons himself to the mercy of God and prays, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

Whatever the sin that weighs us down: pride, over-confidence in our ability to handle the things that life throws at us, stubbornness in not allowing ourselves to rest – it is up to us to truly bring forth our belief in a God that loves us in all conditions, and ask for His help in navigating the trials.

Even when we struggle against the close proximity of too many parishioners squeezed into a pew, or the off-key braying of the person in front, or the fidgety child behind, we must realise that this is the family of God who we are trusting to pray for us. Believe that like the leper in Matthew 8:2, God wants to heal us. But we need to ask. And we can only ask when we are secure in our son and daughtership as children of the Most High.

There is a meme online that says, “On the darkest days, when I feel inadequate, unloved and unworthy, I remember whose daughter (or son) I am, and I straighten my crown.” As Catholics, we wear the crowns of life. Admittedly that life may be difficult and wearying, but there is refreshment and peace available to us always. We only need to ask. And Mass is one of the best places to do it.

(Karen-Michaela Tan is a poet, writer and editor who seeks out God’s presence in the human condition and looks for ways to put the Word of God into real action.)