Matching Tracksuits

In Mass, there are a lot of temptations every Sunday morning. It really begins well before Mass, when as is always the case, we’re running late. My temper flares, and I have to consciously tell myself that barking out orders won’t make L put her shoes on any faster. But once we’re there, the temptations only increase.

Inordinate pride is a big sticking point. I like to say that my children will be well-behaved in Mass because

1. they understand the ontological reality of what’s going on there and respect and believe in it;
2. I am such an awesome parent that I have trained them like good little monkeys; and
3. I don’t want to disrupt anyone else’s experiences in Mass.

In reality, it’s that second one that gets top billing: I’m just embarrassed because my kid isn’t as saintly as that kid, two pews up, just to the right.

Clothing is another area of temptation. Women come to Mass dressed like they’re going out for a night on the town, and men come dressed like they’re going to the beach or for a hike in the mountains. “Can you believe he/she wore that to Mass?” is on the tip of my tongue, and sometimes the temptation is just too great, and I point out to K the fashion offender. “Don’t they know why we come to Mass?” I always finish, then regret that I even brought it up, that I gave into the temptation.

Then of course there are the temptations of distraction:

• “Boy, that lector is really stumbling over that reading. Perhaps he should have reviewed more.”
• “Oh no! She’s singing the responsorial psalm?!”
• “Dear God in heaven, could he distribute communion any slower?”
• “Really? Checking Facebook just after receiving the Eucharist?”
• “Well, if I’d known he was giving the homily, I might have just stayed home.”
• “Why in the world would anyone select that hymn?”
• “Doesn’t he know any better than to wipe his nose with his right hand just before we do the sign of peace?”
• “Cheapskates: they never put anything in the offering basket.”
• “I’m still kneeling here: you should be too so I don’t have your nasty hair in my face.”
• “There is nothing in the missal to indicate that we should all be holding hands during the Our Father! Uggh!”
• “If that kid doesn’t stop putting that kneeler up and down and up and down and up and down, I’m going to…”
• “Dang, if that guy behind me sang any more off key, he’d be singing in a whole different mode.”
• “Wow, that’s a big hat.”
• “Really, only the priest should be praying in the orans position!”
• “That is just the nastiest perfume on the planet. What is it? Eau de Dead Fish?”
• “That’s right — do the Judas Shuffle: receive and leave. There’s piety for you.”
• “You snotty little teenagers: this is the crying room, not the ‘don’t want to sit through Mass and would rather chat it up with my friends’ room.”

Of course in the summer, there’s a whole new batch of temptations, most commonly about clothing selections. It usually goes like this: “He is a grown man, with graying hair and kids who appear college age, and he’s still wearing shorts to Mass? Does he not realize that there comes a time in one’s life when one understands that comfort is not always the be-all, end-all goal in life?” That thought is more often than not amended with, “And he’s wearing flip-flops for heaven’s sake! There’s not a beach within three hours’ drive of here, and even if there were and even if you were going to the beach immediately after Mass, you should be dressed like you’re going to the beach while at Mass especially when you’re a grown man!” Occasionally I can match it with another gripe: “She’s wearing that top to Mass?! Really?” And every now and then, I can tack on one more: “And their teenage daughter is wearing tight short shorts?”

Pride is truly at the heart of all sin.