(Pretty sure this is a rough draft.  Or some stream of consciousness babble.  Either way I thought I'd put it out there and edit live.)

Something about me is that I am visual. I mean if you describe something to me, I see it. So please, don't describe something gross. For something that is not really tangible, I give it physical traits and I see it in my mind as clear as real. This is true about things like lines, borders and boundaries.

I'm a newbie in the Church. This Easter marked 5 years-- and that's a baby, y'all. We all know that.  So I'm still learning. I don't always know when to kneel or stand or what prayer to say when. And I have to read some things that other folks know by heart. I get embarrassed when I “mess up” and somehow disheartened when I don't do something perfectly. Says a lot I know... but that's another blog.

When I first came into the Church I couldn't get enough of it. I wanted to be on the Parish campus 24 hours a day if I could. I saw my Church life and I saw my “real life.” Mass was this perfect thing and I cherished every minute of it. I wanted it to last forever. I would sit before the Blessed Sacrament in the chapel and I never wanted to leave. But I did. I would go out into the "real world" of money problems, skinned knees and cold coffee. And I longed to be back in that perfect place.

There was a line. A physical line. I could see it clear as day, drawn with a crayon or a Sharpie, that divided the Church world and the Real world. I wanted everything to be the Church. I wanted everyday to be the Church. The more I went the more I missed it when I was out in the Real world.

Then in the past two years things started shifting, and more profoundly this Easter. The line was still there, but Mass became the real world. And I saw that so clearly.  Everything about it is real. It's no longer the ideal. It IS ideal, but it's not this unattainable dream that I wish the real world to be. And I wanted it to last forever. I wanted to sit before the Blessed Sacrament and never leave. But I had to go. I had to go out into this other world and mark the time until I could be back at Mass. Marking time. I saw that too, so vividly in my mind... just like the old marching band days. Standing and marking time. And waiting. Waiting to cross that solid line and get back to the real world.

That line is there, but doesn't seem right. I see myself in my mind actually step over that line every time I head to the Church. It's not a big step, not dramatic. But it's a real thing in my head. But I don't think it should be there. It is all the real world. Turns out, I think, that the line was my own drawing. I should be carrying the Mass with me all day and every day, all places and everywhere. There should be no distinction between this and that. It is all real.

I haven't figured out how to do that. I'm not that holy. In fact, I'm not holy at all. Called to be so- yup. Failing miserably- you betcha. Amazingly, I can leave something as beautiful, perfect and profound as the Mass, cross the street, get in my car and think the most unholy thing about the fool who cuts me off on the expressway on the way to breakfast. Seriously. Pulling these two worlds together is going to take some outrageous amount of prayer and I don't know what else. It could be as simple as erasing the line, but that's not so simple.   

 


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    The Chef Says:

    A place to write out what's on my mind about the daily readings of  Sacred Scripture,  Sacred Tradition throughout the year, and  the Living Magisterium. 

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