matching tracksuits

We’re reliving the past in more ways than one. Promised sun disappears; plans change.

We end up visiting the outdoor ethnographic museum in Zubrzyca Gorna — for probably the fifth time.

Certainly it was a different age altogether. Survival was at stake; comfort was an after-thought. That was what Christmas and Easter were for: a few creature comforts.

We wind through the museum, seeing how Polish highlanders kept bees in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries,

how they made fences (theoretically without nails, but in this particular case, clearly with modern intervention),

and how they forced oil out of flax seeds long before electricity and hydraulics made the task simpler.

In many ways, such a life is enviable. Sure, no Facebook and cell phones, but the slower pace and rough, subsistence living created in everyone an appreciation for what was, and a realistic understanding of the difference between wants and needs.

A roof over one’s head, windows and doors to keep out the cold:

Things we take for granted as we reach for more and more were, at the time, the goal.

Visible caption: “Cook — after amputation of leg”

Leisure was a thing for the relatively rich. Even then, simple pleasures: reading a month-old newspaper by lamplight.

The same might be said of the soul: spirituality was not something to be squeezed in between recovering from a hang-over and watching the afternoon football game.

I used to be horribly offended at the reality of beautiful churches built in the midst of poverty. “Think how many mouths those resources could feed,” I’d say, as if the body is the only thing that needs nourishment. In the last few years, I’ve come to understand a couple of things: first, these churches were not built at the expense of the poor: usually, the rich subsidized the construction (probably with mixed motivation).

Second, these churches served to provide something of an aesthetic oasis for many. Finally, if one believes in the doctrine of the Real Presence, wouldn’t one want to create the most beautiful house possible?

More photos available at Flickr.

To hear Catholic Mass in one’s own language was, for centuries, impossible for the majority of Catholics. Vatican II changed all that, allowing Mass to be celebrated in the vernacular. As a result, Catholics worldwide hear the same Mass yet different sounds.

Poles in America experience a certain foreigners in the English Mass, regardless of the individuals’ fluency. This goes a long way in explaining the significance of the Polish Mass celebrated in Greenville today. A Polish priest, on loan from Polska, is stationed in Columbia, a mere hour-and-a-half from Greenville. After much persuasion, he came to a little church outside Greenville proper, and probably almost every Pole in a thirty-mile radius was there. The kids stood and knelt at the all the proper times, but being raised in the States, they didn’t know the hymns or the responses/prayers. They seemed lost. I would imagine that’s what they’re like visiting Poland as well: strangers in a land that sounds strangely familiar.

For me, it brought a smile. The first time I ever attended a Catholic Mass was in Poland, and Polish is, for me, the language of liturgy. From hearing alone, I know the prayers and formulations in Polish better than English.

Aside from the language, there are subtle and not-so-subtle differences. Poles still do the mea culpa in the Confiteor. “Moja moja, wina, moja wina, moja bardzo wielka wina,” all chant in the church, jabbing their thumb into their chest with each “moja wina.”

At the end of the Mass, he asked for a show of hands for a commitment to a monthly Polish Mass. Every hand in the church went up, including mine (after some prodding from K — I was simply absent-mindedly daydreaming about the oddity of hearing a Polish Mass after so many years).  Critical mass achieved, the priest then announced that there would, henceforth, be a monthly Polish Mass. Applause broke out, and it was then that the significance of the moment was clear. A bit of their heritage, their youth in Poland, their past given place right here in Greenville, home of Bob Jones University, one of the most virulently anti-Catholic institutions in America.

While I was living in Poland, the closest I ever got to getting a taste of my own culture was to drop into McDonald’s or watch the latest American blockbuster.

On Holy Saturday (called “Great [as in, big, important] Saturday”), Poles (and others in Eastern Europe) head to the village or neighborhood church to have baskets filled with food blessed.

Usually, the contents are some of the main ingredients of the Easter morning breakfast: eggs, sausage, etc.

In the States, we’ve always sought out churches that have this tradition. And it’s almost exclusively Poles who attend.

Today was no different. We were different, though: K and L both put on their finest Polish Highlander outfits for the service.

We had a brief photo session before the blessing. The shots with K were easy enough, but it was tough to get the Girl to sit for a moment for an individual picture.

She kept wanting to go dance on the manhole cover.

Before long, our friends had arrived, which meant the Girl’s friends had arrived: everyone was thrilled.

A group picture followed, with everyone seeming to forget that we were using digital cameras: “Here, take one with mine!” “Get one with mine next!”

Before leaving, one of L’s friends had some words of wisdom to share. We’re not quite sure what he said, but it must not have been pleasant: the Girl was fussy and whiny for much of the afternoon.

She wasn’t the only one getting advice.

On returning home, K took the basket out for some pictures,

and I, with a cigar, Guinness, and Drive By Truckers in my ears while smoking meat in our barrel/smoker, felt positively conflicted.

Ever since I first attended a Catholic mass in person, I’ve been fascinated by the Eucharist and the accompanying theology of transubstantiation: the idea that the host is outwardly bread, but inwardly — substantially — Jesus’ body.

I was once in a basilica when a Eucharist minister tripped and spilled the remaining consecrated hosts on the floor. However, I’d never seen it intentionally desecrated, until now.

A YouTube user, fsmdude, has put up a series of videos in which he desecrates consecrated Eucharist wafers. In one video, he shows how he gets them: he holds them in his mouth until he’s outside the church, then he takes out the host and pockets it.

I must admit: he has some fairly original ways to desecrate the host. He feeds one to a duck, another to Venus Fly Trap, and a third to a groundhog. He grinds one up and burns another with a magnifying glass. Some methods, though, are predictable, like flushing a host down a toilet.

The reaction is what one might guess. A few samples of text comments left on his videos include:

• Satan will do worse to you. Fag.
• Believe me, this toilet was far cleaner than the putrid heart of the Judas who did this.
• i’ll pray for you.

There are also video responses. One video response, from p3martab, was, “This is probably the worst thing you could do to mankind, in terms of its relationship to God.” Yet he continues, “All I’m asking you to do is please stop this.” Another user has initiated a flagging Campaign.

I learned about all of this from Blogging Religiously:

I got an email yesterday from a Catholic group praising YouTube for removing a series of videos showing the desecration of the Holy Eucharist.

But today the group—America Needs Fatima—is reporting the videos are back up on YouTube.

America Needs Fatima has initiated a petition:

It seems you removed a video showing the desecration of a Holocaust memorial and a trailer to a Dutch documentary that claims Islam inspires murder and terror.

But Catholic bashing seems to be acceptable.

I therefore vehemently protest your decision to give a platform for anti-Catholic bigotry. I will urge my friends and family to protest YouTube for as long as it takes, until you change this decision, and no longer facilitate blasphemous postings.

A fairly good point, I think.

However, I want to concentrate on something I haven’t seen: death threats. Some of course are saying, “You’ll burn in hell for this,” but I don’t know of anyone adding, “And I’ll send you there myself!” We don’t see massive protests with people holding sights saying, “Decapitate those who desecrate the Holy Eucharist!”

Instead, we hear someone asking politely, “Please don’t do that.” And as such, I’m more likely to be sympathetic.

I think, though, banning the videos would be the wrong move. User p3martab has the right idea: find out where fsmdude is going to mass and deny him access to the Eucharist.

Simple solution that protects free speech.