Last week a small hurricane blew through the land of
literate Catholics when we read that a liturgical draft was in the
Vatican circuit that hardly encouraged female altar servers. And if
that wasn’t enough, the same draft downplayed Communion under
both species, encouraged the return of communion rails and altar gates,
and a bunch of other stuff.
The scariest one was giving official recognition to the responsibility
of reporting liturgical abuses to the bishop and to the Holy See.
This type of “turning people in” is hardly new in the
Roman circle. We’ve been “turning people in” for
centuries, now. The cloak and dagger part now receives ecclesiastical
approbation.
Many of us were plummeted into depression. There were others who were
forming militias. Some of us saw it as a last-ditch effort of the
retro-fiends to get their last licks in before the pontificate changes.
As it was, the draft went to yet another mysterious committee of prelates
and archprelates and super-archprelates. The last report leaked out
was that the passage on the female servers was eliminated and the
document will be more sane.
That spasm of encouragement, however, does not dispel the shakiness
of the dark sky.
Maybe it’s because our business has our emotions riding so close
to our skins that the panic sets in. When one produces prayer in a
musical way, the emotions are the avenue by which the effect happens.
You can’t make art without tapping into the emotion bin.
The anger was not located only in “folks like us” but
in moms and dads and priests who were troubled by what to tell their
daughters should this possibility become a reality. The flash of pre-Vatican
II Taliban mentality seemed a little too real.
The sky didn’t fall.
The prophecy of last things has not been fulfilled and business as
usual controls my day. In all of the e-mails that landed in my machine
and in reading all the local newspaper coverage, I had a mini-spasm
of hope that wouldn’t go away: when the skies fall, then guess
Who’s coming back?
I know that sounds like water cooler chitchat with some of today’s
Washington upper-uppers. But, you know, we’ve been singing “O
Come, O Come Emmanuel” for an awfully long time now. We’ve
been praying “thy kingdom come” for over two thousand
years now . . . but I’m really not ready.
So, I’ll sing and pray:
My Lord! what a morning,
My Lord! what a morning!
Oh, my Lord! what a morning
When the stars begin to fall.
When the stars begin to fall.
You will hear the trumpet sound
To wake the nations underground,
Looking to my God’s right hand
When the stars begin to fall.
You will hear the sinner cry
To wake the nations underground,
Looking to my God’s right hand
When the stars begin to fall.
You will hear the Christian shout
To wake the nations underground,
Looking to my God’s right hand
When the stars begin to fall.
You can reach Fred Moleck via email at fmoleck@earthlink.net
