During this morning's homily at mass (at St. Francis Seraph), the priest was talking about religiosity versus true faith. This weekend's gospel reading was the parable of the two sons where one says to his father he will do what he's asked and then doesn't while the other says he won't and then does. The point the priest was trying to make is that our rituals don't mean anything if they're just empty rituals.
This made me think of my home church. I am currently very disenchanted by the parish where I grew up. Before this summer, we went to St. Joseph's Church in the West End twice - once on the Urban Plunge retreat and once on our preparation retreat for this semester. This church is incredibly welcoming and informal enough to make anyone comfortable. It's a primarily African American church, but we were very welcomed. This summer, I went to mass at home, to the 5:30 youth mass that I went to all through high school. The mass I went to was the first mass for the newly instated Knights of the Holy Temple. I was familiar with the Knights from OLMC, another church at home that I participated in events with, but I never expected them to come to Seton. Basically, the Knights wear cassocks (the priest-dresses, as some call them) and use incense and carry candles everywhere. And there are a lot of them - like seven - for a mass that normally only has three servers. That mass was particularly funny because of all of the ridiculous rituals performed during the mass by the Knights. I stopped going to that mass because of the Knights. This morning when the priest was talking about empty rituals, that's what I thought of. My church is great when you're a member, when you're involved, when people know you. But when you're new, I can't see anyone introducing themselves and welcoming you.
I like to attribute a certain comment by my pastor to the religiosity of my parish. I've come to the idea that, to an extent, suburban churches miss a large part of the gospel. Suburban churches see the dignity of life only in the issue of abortion. They don't want to see it in the issues of an unjust criminal "justice" system, from the horrible conditions that public defenders work in - not allowing them to properly defend a client - to the injustice of the ways laws are written - they are incredibly classist, from the difference between cocaine and crack cocaine to the war on drugs in general to white collar versus blue collar crimes - to the injustice of the death penalty system - you can't challenge your sentence based on your innocence after, I think, something like six weeks after the initial trial. They don't want to see it in the injustices that lead to poverty. Yes, I'm being accusatory. But I'm also accusing myself. I was blind to these issues for so long. These issues are easy to overlook when you're surrounded by people who don't face these issues because they have money (or benefit from these injustices). I also recognize that this doesn't include everyone in suburban churches.
Christ calls us to more than ritual. Christ calls us to service. Pope Benedict XVI says, "Love for widows and orphans, prisoners and the sick and needy of every kind, is as essential to [the Church] as the ministry of the sacraments and preaching of the Gospel" (Deus Caritas Est, quoted in Forming Consciences for Faithful Citizenship by the USCCB). This is a huge calling. It's not an easy calling. It's one that gets left behind amid the ritual and spirituality. This calling is one that's central to the Gospel. We CANNOT forget it.
That's the reason I wanted to participate in this semester. I came to Xavier with the intent to become more involved in service. I can't think of a better way for that to happen than for me to be here. I'm blessed because of this opportunity. I'm most blessed in that this opportunity gives me the chance to seek out injustice. Actually, I don't even have to seek out injustice; it comes knocking on my door through the readings for my classes. What a gift to learn about this. At the same time, it's a challenge. It places me in a place where I know there are incredible injustices but have no clue what I can do about them. I'm also in a place where I am frustrated that others refuse to see these injustices (although I understand why). I feel a little like Frederick Douglass in a document we read for history. He essentially said that he's tired of trying to convince people that slavery is wrong. They're not going to see it because they don't want to see it. He wants to be angry. And he has a right to be angry at the injustice. It's like the gospel story in which Jesus overturns the tables of the money changers in the temple. It's a righteous anger.
I know I wasn't intending to make this blog a faith-related one, but today's homily drove me to a reflection. So if you're not a religious/spiritual person, ignore that part of the blog. There's still injustice, and that's wrong. I promise I will eventually get to explaining many of these issues from a non-faith-based stance. But that'll take more work, and for now, I have to get to doing some readings and shopping for brunch today with our leader/teacher.
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