Skip to main content

I did it! I found the stupidest article on the New Roman Missal!

Certainly, enough ink has been spilled on the changes in the language of the New Roman Missal that even most non-Catholics and nominally religious folk have heard about it.  Some of the stuff that has been written has enlightened, some entertained, and some, well....has been stupid.

This is one of the latter.

If you're not aware, we Catholics are adjusting some of the language of the Mass.  When the Mass was first translated into English from the Latin following Vatican II, some of the translations were sloppy.  Now, we're adjusting.  Honestly, the new language (while clearly going to take us a little while to get used to) is lovely and poetic and beautiful.  Unless you're her:

But Monica Malpezzi thinks the new language is stilted and confusing and will only create a barrier between people and God. "If we have to scramble for understanding in what our prayer life is, I think that will make it harder for us to feel that God is right there with us."

I'm sure Monica is a lovely woman, but guess what?  It doesn't make one bit of difference what you FEEL.  You can FEEL grouchy, happy, slovenly, or courageous:  God is there regardless.  And yeah, the language is going to FEEL a bit stilted and confusing until we get used to it.  That doesn't mean it's "bad".

Then there's this:

Bishop Donald Trautman, former chairman of the bishops' committee for the liturgy, says the priests now have to recite some sentences that are 90 words long. He also dislikes the formal tone. For example, in one funeral Mass, the priest implores God to give the departed "kind admittance to Your kingdom."
"If your mother or father or brother or sister died," Trautman says, "would we want one of us to say, 'Welcome into Your kingdom?' Or do we want to say, 'Give kind admittance into Your kingdom?' I have [an image] of someone being a ticket-taker at the door giving out tickets to enter, giving kind admittance."


Really, Bishop?  'Cause if I am standing outside the Pearly Gates, I'm gonna be begging for kind admittance.  Begging.  On my stupid, sinful, unloving, uncharitable knees: begging. Would I "like" kind admittance"?  Yeah, but I sure don't deserve it.  No one does:  Heaven is granted to us by God's kind admittance - so why not say it?

On the whole, Mass went well this morning.  Our pastor got a bit lost once, and we all stumbled a bit over a response or two, but the language is beautiful and uplifiting:

"Grant your faithful, we pray, almighty God, the resolve to run forth to meet your Christ with righteous deeds at his coming, so that, gathered at his right hand, they may be worthy to possess the heavenly kingdom." 

And isn't that all that matters?




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Trying to "end run" God

If you're a football fan, you know what an end run is. From Merriam-Webster:
a football play in which the ballcarrier attempts to run wide around the end of the line We try to "end run" God a lot. I do. I figure I know better. I've got this - no need to worry the Big Guy about such a trivial thing.

Of course, it never works.

Like the puppy above, when we try and evade the tough obstacle (even though we KNOW we will eventually have to do it), we end up - well, off in the bushes.

But oh! How I wished my way worked. I'd love to take a flying leap and land smoothly and gracefully. People would be in awe, as if watching Simone Biles nail a balance beam routine that no one else would even attempt. I would shyly look down and blush - just lightly - and acknowledge (But humbly! Oh so humbly!) my achievement.

But no: I am the one pulling myself out of the bushes, scratches all over my legs and twigs in my hair. I'd hear that gentle but loving voice of God saying, &quo…

Secret Santa!!

Too old for Santa? I think not.

Yes, there are discussions as to whether we should "lie" to kids and tell them that Santa brings them gifts vs. We can't lie to the kids; it's wrong.

There is also the "Christmas is about Jesus" vs. "But Santa is magical!"

You know, we have so few magical and joyful moments, and less and less as we get older. Santa is fun. And the kids usually figure it out, and no one I know was ever scarred for life for believing that Santa brought them and every child everywhere a toy for Christmas.

It's the magic of looking up at the sky on a clear December night, thinking "I'll wait up to see Santa" and later, as you fell asleep at the window, being in your daddy's arms as he carries you to bed.

It's the magic of putting out cookies and milk (or beer, because Santa does like beer) and maybe some carrots for the reindeer, and then checking in the morning to make sure the food was all consumed.

It's…

Advent Brokenness

It was a lovely May evening, the kind we in Michigan savor like honey. After the brutal cold of winter, flowers blossomed, grass greened, mosquitoes flocked. School was almost done for the year - just the formalities of 8th grade graduation were ahead.

Why not saddle up the horse and go for a ride? Why not, indeed. So my sister and I did. I took Prince out across the road from our house, to romp through the weeds on a path my father mowed for us. The view from horseback on a spring night - well, nearly Heaven.

Until Prince bolted. He spooked. I fell. And my arm broke. Compound fracture.

My dog, a collie, had followed us out. He was not particularly trusting of Prince, as Prince would never allow himself to be herded, and this vexed my collie. My dog, channeling his inner Lassie, ran home without me.

My sister had been in the yard with her boyfriend at the time, Gary, waiting for me to come back. Instead, it was just the dog loping across the road. That didn't seem right, so my si…