Passion Sunday

One of the really nice things about belonging to the universal church is that, as a Catholic it's generally pretty easy to find a local Sunday service. Coming to Ireland, I must admit that I had this dream of meeting a kind, Irish priest, who would take me under his wing and reignite my connection to the church. So far, no such luck. In fact, the few masses I have been to, I really haven't liked. Of course the churches are beautiful, and the history is rich, but the masses themselves are cold.
Last night I went to a Palm Sunday Service, and I was wildly disappointed. You have to understand, I love Palm Sunday. Sure, it's the longest mass of the year, but it's worth it. The children in the church excitedly playing with their palms, the dramatic affect of participating in the gospel, and the overall feeling that someone loves you so unconditionally they are willing to die for you. Sunday night, I didn't feel the love, the joy, the celebration. Sunday night, I felt cold.

I went to St. Augustine's Church just around the corner from my apartment. I'd never been there before, so it was quite a shock when I walked in the main doors and saw that the Alter was in the middle of the aisle, and all of the seats faced the middle if the church rather than the crucifix. Speaking of the crucifix, it was this weird, silver modern adaptation. It was really beautiful on its own, but in a church that looks to have been designed hundreds of years ago, something was wrong. I suppose it looks much like I felt - simply out of place.

Anyway, the mass began with little warning, as the priest walked up to the lectern and said, "We will now begin our celebration of the Passion Sunday mass. This day marks the beginning of the holiest week in Christianity." After rushing through the opening prayer, a young woman took her place behind a second lectern, which was facing the first. She read the first reading, then led us through a spoken hymn, and finally through the second reading. It was rushed and impersonal, but I thought maybe she was told to speed through because we would be focusing on the Passion. Nope. We sped through the Passion too, sometimes the congregation slurred so quickly through the audience participation sections that I couldn't even catch up. And then, the priest didn't give a homily!

You may be thinking, why would I be upset that the longest mass of the year was only 45 minutes? The answer is that I love Passion Sunday. It makes me feel loved, it makes me feel impassioned about my faith, and this mass was just cold. The stark white walls of the church, the monotone Asland voice of the priest, and the coat-necessary temperature made for a not-so-life-affirming experience. Let's hope that Easter at Galway Cathedral is better than last week.