First up tonight: an apology. I hijacked Mom's blog for an entry I thought would give us all a laugh about how life was for Tom through HIS eyes, and how the same trip that Mom remembered was remembered differently by Tom. Whereas it was a weekend that Mom would just as soon forget, for Tom it was an experience that opened his eyes to our father's unconditional love for us. I was not in any way trying to ruin Mom's version. My apologies if it came across that way.
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Second up: Every time I make these weeklong trips away from home, I start missing Marilyn terribly about 2 days in. And I'm so busy during the day, I don't get a chance to call her and let her know I love her. By the time I get to the hotel or find the time, I'm sure she's already in bed. That's what I get for being a night owl married to an early bird. But when I get home from these trips, it's Marilyn that my thoughts are honed in to and I can't do anything else until I've kissed her and let her know I've missed her. Then it's on to Lily Bug! That's a whole 'nother chapter!
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When I got here to Bakersfield last Thursday, I checked on the Mass times for each parish in the Bakersfield area to see if I could visit a church I haven't been to yet as part of my pilgrimage. I found out there is a 5:30 Mass on Tuesdays only at San Clemente Mission church. I was absolutely "giddy" with anticipation of visiting and worshiping Our Lord in a new surrounding. I was not disappointed. What a quaint church! As the name implies, it is a Mission church. I did not see any literature on it, but I could feel the history. Check out some pictures at http://www.sanclementemission.org/gallery/scmp/index.html .
The courtyard was replete with green grass, fruit and shade trees, fountains and statues of Jesus, Mary, and about 2 dozen saints all around. It was almost like a hacienda, with the church as the centerpiece of architecture. Kind of a Southwestern style of buildings. The walls of the church were adorned with statues of the early church fathers and a couple of patron saints like Mary Magdalene, Father Pro, and Father Serra, as well as Rennaisance style paintings depicting the stations of the cross and many other small pieces of hand-me-down family heirlooms (or so it seemed to me) that were hung with care near the beautiful stained-glass windows. The artwork reminded me of the churches I visited in Ecuador.
I got there about 4:30. I wanted to look around before I went in since, after all, I am on a pilgrimage. When I walked through the doors, it took my breath away! It is much larger than it appears from the outside. I felt like I was in a different time. Very pious, very holy. I didn't see anyone around, yet most doors to every building were wide open. That's not something you see anywhere anymore. Most churches I've visited as of late are locked until just before Mass, then locked again right afterward, unless there is Adoration going on--and even then, most of those doors have "combination lock" security type doors to prevent unwelcome "guests". Which is very sad, because "the church" ("we") should not have to worry about the safety of Our Lord or our neighbors in our chapels.
I was alone for about 15 minutes before anybody else came in. He was the deacon, I found out during Mass, and also the sacristan for today. He saw me sitting quietly saying my rosary, smiled and said "Welcome! I haven't seen you before!" I told him I was there for the Mass that was advertised in the "net" for 5:30. He said, "Oh, that's supposed to be 6 pm". I told him that was ok, I was used to sitting quietly and speaking to Christ in the tabernacle and that I was having a real spiritual experience with all of the history going on around me. He smiled and continued to prepare the altar for Mass. About 10 minutes later, he came in and asked me if I would like to go to confession, because the priest had just arrived and usually heard confessions before mass. I thanked him and said no, that I had just recently, within the last couple of weeks, gone and I had not made a sufficient examination of conscience to confess "off the cuff", so to speak. I then asked if the reason he thought of me was because I looked guilty of something. He just smiled and let out a little laugh and went on about his business.
More people started trickling in until there were about 30 of us in all. I must have stood out as the only Gringo in the place! They were chattering in Spanish to one another at the doorway, but when they spoke to me, it was purely English. The priest was caught up in my "Gringo-ness", as well. He was saying the Mass in Spanish until he saw me sitting in the front row and would occasionally "slip" and say the introductions in English--which threw the Spanish speakers out of sync! It was funny--when he said "The Lord be with you" in Spanish, everyone responded in Spanish. When he looked at me, he said "The Lord be with you" in English and I was the only one to respond (loudly) , "And also with you!" Our eyes would meet and I could tell he wanted to laugh at my obvious discomfort at being the only guy with no clue what he was saying otherwise.
But, as I've said before, the Mass is the Mass no matter what language is spoken, and I am filled with joy and wonder every time I get to partake of the Eucharist with my brothers and sisters in Christ.
Hail, Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the Fruit of your womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.
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