The Catholic Church is Like a Spiritual Xanex

Ahhhh. Mass at 5:30 last night. The silence. The statues. My God-o-Meter is at about 75 today. Quite an upswing from a couple days ago. Why the shift? I needed silence in a holy, sacred place, so where do I go? Why right on down the block to my local Roman Catholic church of course. Now all I need for perfection is incense. I love the smell of incense, but there is none to be found at Sacred Heart Church. I wonder why the Catholic church decided to get rid of it? Have they all gotten rid of incense? Why? In the Greek Orthodox church there is so much incense floating around my husband sneezed perpetually through the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostomos! But I miss it anyway, even though it made him feel weird. The incense wafting up to heaven is supposed to represent the prayers of the people floating up to God. There’s nothing like the pageantry of a Greek Orthodox church, let me tell you what!

Here at Sacred Heart you sit in the creaky wooden pews with the worn vinyl kneelers, imprinted with the impressions of a thousand knees over the years. The entire church is spotless. You can’t sneak into the quiet. The soles of my Merrells on the vinyl floor announce my entrance. We try to walk quietly to the front pews, where nobody wants to sit but us. We have an unobstructed view, however. The altar, the statue ledges, and all the wood surrounding the tabernacle are made of a light colored almost blond wood reminiscent of the living room furniture style of the 1950s and 60s, highly polished of course. Red, velvety curtains hang high from behind the space, accentuating the area. Long tapers sit on either side of the tabernacle. Curiously, I’ve never seen them lit. Four, thick, yellow candles are alight and grace the altar itself. The priest’s chair sits in front of the altar facing the parishioners and Fr. sits there silently, reflecting back to us all of his ancient 80+ years as he surveys the crowd. It’s a big crowd for a summer night. I see several families filing in, genuflecting toward the altar, and arranging themselves across the aisle in a noisy fashion. Each family has no less than 4 kids. Good for the perpetuation of the church, I’m sure Fr. is thinking.

Up front I see St. Joseph and St. Anthony of Padua (at least I think it’s this Anthony with the child Jesus standing on a book in Anthony’s arms) on the wall ledges to the right of the altar. A gorgeous bouquet of red flowers grace the table directly below them. On the left ledges stand the Virgin Mary, all blond and blue eyed with baby angels arranged around her feet, her arms are crossed across her bosom, soaking up our adoration. The picture at right is similar, but our Mary has her hair uncovered and of course her arms are different. Next to her, and situated lower, stands Jesus, arms outstretched and exposing his Sacred Heart for all to see. Below them on a table sits a spray of blue flowers and gladioli. Although as I come in, I am always drawn to St. Joseph. He is so overlooked in the pantheon of saints, but I envision him as a gentle, patient, loving father and husband.

There’s nothing like Roman Catholic iconography and statuary. Greek ikons (spelling theirs) are different in that they do not reflect the softer, classical Roman art of their neighbors to the West. Greek ikons are all angular and stern looking. There are also strict guidelines about creating Greek ikons. Not just anybody can produce them. It’s a sacred, sacramental gift. Yet, there’s something about Roman Catholic art that gets me. The rich colors, the human likeness, the way the statues seem to be looking directly at you in a kind way (unlike Greek ikons, like the one on the left, which look directly at you. You tend to want to turn away from their piercing gaze). Jesus’ statue in our church, similar to the picture at the right, makes you want to run up and hug him. His arms are outstretched and he’s just waiting to give you a “welcome home” kiss. I am always drawn to these statues for some reason. I don’t like wax figures in museums (too spooky), but I have no problem with Catholic statuary. Interesting. Perhaps it is their benignity or their sacred purpose that reassures me?

There is something comforting about going through the ritual of the Mass without having to even think, really. I have the appropriate parts memorized, except the Daily Offering to the Sacred Heart. I can never remember that one. I can let the liturgy soothe away all the chaos and just absorb it. It’s like a giant anti-depressant for the soul. I can cast off the work week, the draining effects of performance blogging (i.e. coming up with something someone might want to read vs. from the heart meditations), the insane commute each and every day. For once I don’t have to think about doctrine or try to untie the intellectual dogmatic knots that churches create. It’s so easy to just let them do it for me. All I need do is come to the table and eat. And that we did.

After Mass the hubby and I went to our favorite Italian restaurant. I had penne, scallops, and shrimp bathed in mushrooms, fresh tomatoes, and cream sauce. MMMM. After that we went to Target to bug my daughter while she was working and before we went to the Drive-in to see Pirates of the Caribbean, III. I, as usual, wandered over to the book section. As if I don’t have a thousand books to read already, I bought the latest Stephen King novel Lisey’s Story. I even broke down, reveling in my latest Catholic mood, and bought a book by Pope Benedict XVI. I bought Jesus of Nazareth, not because I like this particular Pope, but because I picked it up and started reading the first paragraph of the first chapter (I pick a lot of my books this way). It caught my interest. Unfortunately, and forgive me Catholics, all pictures of the former Cardinal Ratzinger are just downright SCARY (I had a photo on the right, but the server from where it came blocked my using it. I guess they don’t take kindly to criticism of the pope’s appearance). Shades of Sith here. I never knew how much I preferred looking at the beatific John Paul II (above) until this past year filled with Ratzinger pictures in the press. (shudder) They didn’t call Ratzinger God’s bulldog for nothing. But, it’s not up to me to like or dislike the Pope. Papal authority is pretty much irrelevant in this day and age (unless you’re European), similar to the status of the Queen of England. It’s merely a figurehead position. But, I decided to give the guy a chance and read his book. I can’t criticize unless I investigate, right? I’ll let you know what I find. In the meantime, I will go and bask in my spiritual high for the rest of the day, perhaps the rest of the week. TTFN.