I’m one of those people that goes to church every Sunday. Every Sunday. Every. Sunday. I’m Catholic – a practicing Catholic. This means I HAVE to go to church every Sunday. NOT going is a sin - breaking a commandment. The third one to be exact. Thou shall keep holy the Sabbath. The Catholic church says that means, “Go to Church!” So, I do. And, yes, I take all four of my kids. And I have since the very first one was born. No, it hasn’t always or ever been easy – just getting all six of us fed, dressed, and out the door is a monumental task. No, I don’t always, “Get something out of it.” No, I don’t always want to go. No, I don’t think those who don’t go to church every Sunday are going to hell. This is just something that is very important to ME.
I don’t go only because I’m afraid of hell, brimstone, or breaking commandments. I have a feeling God has more to keep up with than tallying whether or not I make it every single, solitary Sunday AND each Holy Day of Obligation. There are a couple of different reasons I go every Sunday.
First of all, I go because I SHOULD. I go to mass each week for the same reason that I make myself watch Saving Private and Band of Brothers at least once a year – respect, remembrance, and realization that there is something bigger than me. Someone gave everything they had for me. That’s heavy stuff and something I take very seriously.
Every time I walk into the church – usually late – with my husband and kids, I feel that I am offering each of my babies and my marriage to God. By going to mass each week, I am doing this over and over, saying to God each time, “Thank you for this. None of these souls are mine; they are yours. Thank you for trusting me with them. Help me do this right because I canNOT do it by myself.”
Also, I like the homilies (sermons to you Protestants). When there’s a great priest – which our parish has been very blessed to have – I learn something new or am reminded of something pertaining to my relationship with Christ and others. Yes, there are many Sundays that I don’t get to hear all or any of the homily, but if I’m not there at all, I won’t even get the CHANCE to hear a message that God has sent just for me. Just like today’s message was about expectations – ours of God, God’s of us, ours of each other, ours of ourselves. Do I expect too much of myself or not enough? What about my husband? Sometimes I think I expect WAY too much of him. Being married to and living with me is a big and not always enjoyable or rewarding task. I have been thinking about these expectations – off and on – for the past five hours. Had I not been at mass to hear that message, I would not have even considered this reflection. Hopefully, this reflection will cause me to be a better wife, mother, teacher, friend, daughter, and sister.
Last of all, I like getting gussied up, but about once a week is all I can handle. Church is the perfect excuse to do this. And the greatest part about it is that I only HAVE to wear my fineries about an hour. If it’s constricting and uncomfortable like most fineries can be, I know I don’t have to stand it very long. But the best is when the whole family is gussied up, and we have a great experience (ie. Neither I nor my spouse have had to “take anyone to the restroom.”). We all leave church feeling a bit “high,” load into the minivan, and I look at my sweetheart and say, “What do you want to do for lunch?” Which is code for, “I’m feeling lucky – let’s take this party to a restaurant.” And we go let someone else cook and clean up after us. And the rest of the day has this dreamy and contented vibe to it.
Yes, I always look forward to another Sunday morning coming down.
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