The Mission

So I went to a funeral yesterday at the San Xavier Mission.  It was an interesting day.  I went a little early because, heck, it's the Mission.  There's a lot of things around there to do and see, and I haven't been there for about 20 years.  I also had 3 days worth of daily meditations to catch up on, and what better place to read up on writing from Franciscan monks than at a place founded by Franciscan monks?

So, there was this flower there.  I looked AMAZING!  The photo came out pretty well also, but like all life, even the photo can't quite communicate how vibrant this flower was in real life.  I really, really enjoyed soaking in that moment.  Beautiful.

Later, my mother and I trundled into the chapel (which is being restored these days, so it had a lot of scaffolding over many of the statues and icons, but there were still plenty to see), and sat down next to Jesus (my father, not the Messiah, although I'm sure HE was there too), and got to see a very kind elderly man propose to a sweet older woman right in front of the alter.  It was, again, a beautiful moment to soak in and enjoy.

And finally, the service began, and I was afforded the opportunity to say goodbye to a women that I've never met.  Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that didn't I?  So I have this cousin who I spent some time with growing up.  She's very sweet although she's struggled with a number of curve-balls like has thrown at her.  Her biological mother is who we said goodbye to yesterday, although through quirks of family dysfunction, I'd never met her.  This wasn't a problem.  I enjoy attending events that only happen once (or ideally only happen once).  Weddings, funerals, births.  Anytime I'm invited to one of these things I will move heaven and earth to try and attend if possible.  And this time I got the added benefit of supporting a cousin and seeing a place I've not visited for a couple of decades.

The service was pretty standard, the eulogies were as well (heartfelt, if not inspiring, but how much could I allow myself to be inspired by someone who's life I've never touched).  I was somewhat less impressed by the fact that of those attending, about 4 of us knew the proper responses to a standard Rite I liturgy service.  But then again, I haven't taught my sons the the same, so perhaps I shouldn't throw stones hmmm?  I did silently get to say thank you to the departed for giving me a great cousin, and praised God for such a glorious day with pretty flowers and the opportunity to visit a house of God and share communion in a place that has worshiped and honored the sacrament for over 300 years.  Fantastic and uplifting stuff . . .

So as communion approached and I'm reciting the standard prayer I always say before I approach an alter in my head (the prayer is, "Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner." there's long story behind that I'll share in another post someday, assuming I don't forget), the priest messes it all up.

He says "Let all those who practice the Catholic faith come forward for communion."  Hmmm, Practicing Catholics only huh?  So now I'm considering getting into a theological argument with a catholic priest on his home turf, and am immediately reminded of the one and only time Jesus got violent (Matt 21:13,   John 2:16, Luke 19:46, Mark 11:15).  It was important enough to make it into all 4 Gospels for crying out loud!

But I held myself back, and considered my options.  I could walk up and take communion anyways, just to show him (although he'd never know and probably couldn't care less), and he never charged me money to enter the chapel in the first place, and I've been praying the whole time regardless, and seen plenty of the presence of God.  So what would I hope to learn or gain or help with my personal protest?  Nada.  So I sat and opened my Spirit to see if I heard or felt and instructions to the contrary, and hearing nothing moved on with life.  There is a small stone labyrinth in front of the mission that I walked after the service, before heading to my car.  I didn't stay for the after-party (which I'm told included reefers.  I have a side of my family that really lives differently), but did pick up dinner for the kids on the way home.

So, moral of the story?  God is everywhere, not only in church.  And I was reminded once again why I tend not to attend as often as I once did.  And why does it matter if people have memorized the rote responses to the liturgy?  It's how they live and pray and breathe that matter.  I should teach my sons THAT little lesson long before I teach them how/when the Lord's Prayer or the Nicene Creed fits into a church service.