Day One: Happy New Year.

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I don’t like odd-numbered years. Something about them makes me feel off-kilter, a little uneasy. Even-numbered years give me a sense of security; I feel grounded. This is probably why my emotions started to get a little out of whack at the close of 2018. Where would this new, odd year take me? How could I feel a sense of purpose and not feel like I was adrift?

One solution might have been to seek some sort of professional help. Who experiences anxiety every other year because of numbers?

Another solution popped into my head as I awoke at 12:02 a.m. on January 1, 2019. (I’d been asleep since 9:45 p.m., the first time in my life I’d slept through the New Year.) The idea seemed promising and yet daunting, perhaps the perfect type of challenge for an odd-numbered year. Why not go to Mass every day this year and blog about my experience?

There are several reasons not to do this. First of all, is anyone really going to care? (Certainly not everyone, but maybe a person here or there.) Second of all, am I really prepared to commit to attending Mass every single day, for 365 days? (I’d like to think so, although I’m already stressing about how to fit it into my weekday schedule.) Finally, isn’t it a little self-serving to write a blog about going to Mass every day; shouldn’t you just go and not tell anyone about it? (Possibly, but the blog part makes it that much more of a commitment.)

So I talked myself out of why not to do this, and now there’s no turning back.

Day one has been easy enough to handle. January 1 is a Holy Day of Obligation according to the Latin Rite of the Catholic Church. And for reasons that will be explained throughout the year, I am wavering between following the Latin Rite and Vatican II.

Mass is at 8 a.m. at Immaculate Conception Church in Cleveland. It is a beautiful but austere church, with soaring ceilings and elegant statues that demand reverence. Immaculate Conception is referred to by those in the know as the MAC, which I like because it makes the church seem a lot less austere.

Fr. Bede breezes through Latin in a way that makes you think he can’t wait to head back home to watch today’s football games. Actually, he often moves on from the MAC to other churches as he is in high demand to say the Latin Mass.

Today, I’ve decided to not look at the missal and instead test how much of the Latin Mass I know. Short answer: I don’t know a lot. But I’m able to follow the general outline and understand what’s going on. This has taken me several years to accomplish. (Again, we’ll get to this whole Latin Mass thing later.)

When I do look at the missal, it’s toward the end of the Mass, after communion, and I catch a phrase that’s going to be my theme for 2019: “May this communion, O Lord, cleanse us from guilt.”

Yes! How to escape the Catholic guilt. You’re either not doing enough or doing too much, saying too little or saying the wrong thing. It’s enough to make you crazy, to be honest. Perhaps this Mass-a-day project will help to ease the guilt. Or perhaps it will encourage me to do the things I should do so that I don’t experience the guilt. Or maybe I’ll always have a twinge of guilt. Maybe it just comes with the Catholic territory.

At any rate, here’s to a successful New Year, odd-numbered as it may be.

July 15: Week at a Glance

Let’s try this again.

Instead of the intended promise (to myself, at least) of posting every day, I’m cutting myself (and, thus, the reader) some slack and writing a weekly update. I may throw in an extra post now and then for special occasions.

Without further ado, here is the first installment of the week in review and a glimpse of the week ahead.

We came back from an amazing vacation at the Jersey Shore last Saturday, all rested and relaxed–so relaxed, apparently, that all 5 of us were nodding off during Sunday’s 8 AM Latin Mass. Now, it can be especially easy to drift asleep during the Latin Rite because the Mass moves in a melodic pattern of words from a “dead” language. If you’ve been sunning yourself and stuffing your face for the past seven days, it’s even easier.

We were in various stages of semi-consciousness, when the priest suddenly (or maybe it just seemed suddenly) began belting out a fire-and-brimstone homily. The homily, by the way, is always in English at the Latin Mass (thank goodness). The priest was probably about halfway through his sermon when his voiced raised to a dramatic pitch, and he began to remind us what being Catholic should be all about.

It certainly felt like the priest was doing this for our benefit — wake up, sleeping sinners! — but it’s more likely that he was just trying to get his point across. His stern admonitions certainly set the tone for the rest of the week.

This leads me to a confession: I don’t physically go to Mass every single day. I had every intention of doing so. Sometimes, though, your circumstances just won’t allow it, so you look for alternatives. Two of the easiest for me have been 1.) listening to morning Mass on my way to work, courtesy of EWTN radio on Sirius XM, and 2.) reading the scriptures for the day via Bishop Robert Barron. While neither of these offers the ultimate benefit of receiving the Eucharist, I can at least have some daily time with God and scripture.

With that in mind, I listened to Mass on my way to work last Monday. On Tuesday, I visited the Poor Clares Monastery in Cleveland for Eucharistic Adoration and a special treat: the chance to reconnect with a friend from grade school. Not high school or college. Grade school. As in, we lost touch after 8th grade. There were a lot of years to catch up on, and we probably made it through about half of them over lunch. Before that, we had an opportunity to visit the beautiful little chapel. It was a lovely day.

Wednesday brought another day of Mass on the road, while Thursday and Friday led me to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, where I lit candles in front of St. Teresa of Calcutta (for the ability to unselfishly help others) and St. Anthony (praying in advance to help me find things I’ll lose in the future).

Yesterday, the gospel was about the Good Samaritan. I could dive into political waters at this point, discussing what is and isn’t our obligation as Good Samaritans, but let’s leave it here: Any time there is an opportunity to help someone in need, we should take it. The gesture can be as small as holding the door open for someone or as large as donating a kidney to a stranger. The Good Samaritan doesn’t stop to think about what the consequences might be for him/her; the focus is always on how to help the other person.

The most important part about being a Good Samaritan is taking action, not just thinking about how important it is to treat others with kindness. So this week, the emphasis for me is on really helping others rather than pointing out the inaction of others. I’m also going to take a shot at helping others (especially my family members) without complaining. Wish me luck.

June 21: Curses

I hope I make it to church today because I need a good spiritual cleansing. This morning, as I often do, I was saying the rosary while driving. It’s usually very calming and keeps me from listening to talk radio shows that give me heartburn. Sometimes, though, I forget that I’m supposed to be in a state of holiness because, well, some people are really bad drivers.

In the middle of my first decade, right when I should be focusing on prayer and meditation, a car — no two cars — pulled out from a side street and proceeded to drive slowly across four lanes of traffic to land in front of my car. Here’s the thing: If you are going to pull out of a side street and get in front of me, do it fast. I have major respect for drivers who nearly cut someone off but immediately drive 40 miles an hour to avoid any issues. If you pull in front of me and you’re driving 15 miles an hour, though, you incur my wrath.

Which is why as soon as the second car pulled out and proceeded to drive at a snail’s pace in front of me, I lost all sense of grace.

“You JACK ASS,” I yelled to no one except myself. Then I laid on the horn because that’s as far as my road rage escalates.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to chop them into little pieces and throw them in the nearest trash can. Like, in the middle of a Hail Mary, I’m yelling “jack ass.” Who’s not feeling the spirit this morning? That would be me.

Bumper-to-bumper traffic is not my thing.

In these instances, I really think (hope) that God has a sense of humor. I mean, it’s a pretty clever piece of irony that I’m supposed to be focusing on prayer and I’m instead swearing at drivers. That’s funny, right? Right, God?

This is when your personal interpretation of the supreme being becomes particularly helpful. Who wants to think of a god that would be miffed because you chewed out a driver while praying? Maybe Jesus would have been annoyed in a similar way, although, let’s be honest, probably not. He would, of course forgive me, and that’s a good thing.

So two important musings on this sunny Friday:

  1. It’s okay to get mad at someone’s bad driving and forgive yourself for doing so.
  2. Maybe saying the rosary behind the wheel has its drawbacks.

June 17: No Resistance

How pertinent today’s gospel is, and how quickly it is to forget:

Jesus said to his disciples:

“You have heard that it was said,

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

But I say to you, offer no resistance to one who is evil.

When someone strikes you on your right cheek,

turn the other one to him as well.

If anyone wants to go to law with you over your tunic,

hand him your cloak as well.

Should anyone press you into service for one mile,

go with him for two miles.

Give to the one who asks of you,

and do not turn your back on one who wants to borrow.”

Matthew 5:38-42

June 13: Lost & Found

Today is the feast day of St. Anthony of Padua, a man who needs no introduction, especially if you know me. I have relied on this saint to find everything from my car keys to my car. He helped my daughter find her purse last winter and my son to find his spelling book when he was in third grade. Of all the saints who can make you believe that there is a God and that they have a direct connection to Him, St. Anthony is one of the greats. I could go on and on, but instead I’ll let you read this nifty article about him. And I encourage you, Catholic or not, to call on him the next time you’re lost or you lose something.

P.S. He is also really good at finding lost souls.

St. Anthony, pray for us!

June 12: (Saint) Tolton

First, a confession. Every single time I go to church, I count the number of “minorities” in the space. I am always disappointed that the majority of attendees are white; sometimes, they are all white. I grew up in a diverse community, but I didn’t know a single black person who attended a Catholic church. When the Hispanic Catholic church in town was asked to merge with our Italian-American parish, it at first caused quite a stir. Why are we not integrated in our faith, I keep asking myself.

One day on NPR, I heard a deacon speak. His name is Deacon Harold Burke-Sivers. He is black and he wrote a book about Fr. Augustine Tolton, a former slave who became the first black priest in the United States. Why hadn’t I heard of either of these men before? Now that I finally had, I couldn’t stop thinking about either of them and their challenges within the Church.

Imagine my surprise and joy this morning when I read that Pope Francis is advancing Fr. Tolton for sainthood. From the article:

Despite rampant racism and discrimination, he became one of the city’s most popular pastors, attracting members of both white and black Catholic communities. He spearheaded the building of St. Monica Church for black Catholics and worked tirelessly for his congregation in Chicago, even to the point of exhaustion. On July 9, 1897, he died of heatstroke on a Chicago street at the age of 43.

He was known for persevering against all odds in pursuit of his calling and quietly devoted himself to his people, despite great difficulties and setbacks.

Carol Glatz, Catholic News Service

You can read more about Fr. Tolton in the article and in the deacon’s book. God bless Fr. Tolton, hopefully soon to be St. Tolton!

May 8: Anniversary blessings

While I did not attend Mass in a church today (listened to it on the radio), I fondly recalled my wedding Mass 20 years ago on this date. It was a windy, overcast day; my father had accidentally dropped my wedding gown on the floor; and my mother was recovering from the removal of some sort of killer corn that clearly was more painful than anything ever experienced by another human being. Still, nothing could cloud the beauty of my wedding day.

To be honest, my parents were nervous, although I don’t understand why. By the time I got married I was 34, so you think they’d have been ready to push me up the aisle. But that’s how my family rolls. And so they had to be forgiven for their clumsy hands and corn complaints. As I recall, absolutely everything else about that day was perfect.

I wish I could remember the words Monsignor Ashton said during his homily. It’s a shame that I don’t, but I do remember kneeling at the foot of Mary’s statue while the organist sang “Ave Maria,” and I remember that our communion song was “One Bread, One Body.” I distinctly remember telling my bridesmaids that they could cut the long black dresses I’d asked them to wear so they could reuse them — a huge lie told by many a bride and one that I had sworn I’d never tell. Getting married makes you do crazy things.

It has been a wild 20 years, and I can honestly say I haven’t been bored for a minute. It’s because of my husband that I’ve chosen to reconsider my faith and what it means to me, and because of him that I’ve gone back to Mass on a regular basis. I’ve also lost the “Catholic guilt” that I carried around for a few decades, while increasing my appreciation of what it means to be a Catholic. At the same time, every Mass I attend or listen to on the radio makes me think about the faults of the Church, especially of the abuse that went on (and possibly still goes on).

If I had the short-sighted faith I once I had, I would have left the Church for good in 2002. Even now, it’s hard to look at a priest and not wonder if he was hurting others. What has made me go on is realizing that the Church is really God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit. They put mortals in charge of it, and mortals have a tendency to screw up. It’s unfortunate, especially when the problems are so severe and so hurtful to many.

It’s very flawed. And so is marriage, to be honest. So is just about any situation you encounter with another human being. You get angry, become self-involved, hurt someone else, let others hurt you. It’s messy. We don’t expect that kind of a mess when it comes to the Church. Then again, I wasn’t expecting some of the messy moments during my marriage.

If you’re lucky, you learn from the mistakes and move on. That’s what my husband and I have done. It’s what the Church is trying to do, but it’s hard when new stories emerge on a fairly consistent basis. I feel like I got a do-over more than once in my marriage, and it helped a lot. I demand a do-over for the Church. It’s the only chance of saving the relationship.

May 7: Some Quiet Time

Today, I’m sitting in a perfectly empty cathedral. I got here after Mass was over, and I’m actually pretty happy. It’s just me and the saint statues, and so I’m getting in some private reflection.

I clearly have it better than poor Stephen, who in today’s first reading ticks off his opponents enough that they stone him to death. “You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you always oppose the Holy Spirit,” he says to them, along with some other choice words.

Back at my computer, it’s time to visit dictionary.com. Stiff-necked: The first definition literally says, “having a stiff neck.” The protesters didn’t all sleep funny the night before; that can’t be what we’re looking for. The second definition hits the nail on the head: “haughty and obstinate.” There was a new way of looking at things, and they didn’t want to see it; they didn’t want to give up the old and try the new. But Stephen was really persistent and many saw him as blasphemous. That didn’t stop him from preaching the Gospel until his death. Feeling like you could use St. Stephen’s courage in your own life? Well, he is the patron saint of deacons, headaches, horses, coffin makers, and masons. If you have a horse or are experiencing a headache, Stephen is your man. But like all the saints, you are permitted to call on him to intervene anytime you want.

May 6: Monday, Sunny Monday

It is a beautiful sunny day in Cleveland, and the perfect time to get back to writing about the Mass. Today, I was at the Cathedral downtown, where there was a nice amount of people on hand. (Does sunshine coax more people out of their homes/offices and into church?)

Things are not so sunny for Stephen in today’s first reading. Stephen is preaching the word of Christ and speaking very eloquently, and the elders don’t like it. They bring their grievances to the Sanhedrin.


“This man never stops saying things against this holy place and the law.
For we have heard him claim
that this Jesus the Nazarene will destroy this place
and change the customs that Moses handed down to us.”

Acts 6:8-15

Can we blame them for being upset? They had years and years of living their faith in a certain way, and then Jesus came along to say it was supposed to be different. And then they feel like they can relax because Jesus is no longer around, but then he’s got disciples coming out of the woodwork, talking about Christ and trying to convert people to Christianity.

Things don’t end well for Stephen. In fact, he is considered to be the first martyr of the Church. But it’s also said that Stephen was so filled with the Holy Spirit that he had to go out and talk about Jesus and Christianity. Can you imagine being that filled with the Holy Spirit? I have to ask myself, if I knew it was dangerous would I stand up and proclaim my faith or run as fast as my feet could carry me? I’d like to think the answer would be the former; luckily, I have yet to be put to the test.

Thursday, April 18: Crazy

We’re about halfway through the Latin Mass on Holy Thursday when it dawns on me: Jesus did some pretty out-there stuff. On Palm Sunday, he tells his disciples to go fetch him a donkey, then he rides it into town. This is to fulfill a prophesy, sure, but was anyone expecting it at that moment?

A few days later, during their Passover meal, Jesus just starts washing his disciples’ feet. Peter is rather appalled. Why in the world is the Lord washing my feet? Then, he does something even more cray-cray: He breaks the bread and calls it his body; he lifts the chalice of wine and calls it his blood.

At this point, the disciples are in a little too deep to just walk away. I wonder if any of them thought of it, though. “You know, Jesus over here is exhibiting some strange tendencies. I may have to cut out of this dinner early.” Everyone stays, though, including that scoundrel Judas, who’s about to turn in Jesus for some silver.

The point is, the disciples have followed Jesus all this time, and they’ve witnessed some unusual activity. Turning a loaf of bread and two fish into enough food to feed thousands of people, for example. By the end of the Passover with Jesus, they must think they’ve seen it all.

That is until days later, after he’s crucified, when he leaves the tomb and walks among them. Hold onto your hats, disciples!

Wed., April 17: Doggone It

On my way out of church today, a woman walked in with her dog. This was not a service dog; it was an every day energetic spaniel mix on a basic leash. The woman had obviously been on a walk with the dog — the blue poop bag in her left hand (which appeared to be empty at the moment) was a good clue — and decided to stop into the cathedral.

At first, I was going to do my sideways, middle-aged glance as a mild form of contempt. Throwing a bit of shade, as it were. Then I thought, so what? Who cares if this woman was out for a stroll with her dog and decided it would be great if they both went inside? Maybe the dog was sick and its owner wanted to say a quick healing prayer. Perhaps she had a sick relative or a pressing concern and this was the only time she could step inside the church to pray. Maybe she just felt like walking in with her dog because, why not?

I’m sure St. Francis had animals wandering in and out of his monastery. If you visited an ancient church in a faraway village, you might see a dog or a goat pad down the aisle. Why not in downtown Cleveland? Instead of looking askance, I gave the woman a smile. Peace be with you, and with your little dog, too.