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The Gospel
at Mass today is one of my favorites (Luke 2:22-40). The account of Jesus’ Presentation to God in
the Temple reminds me of encounters I’ve had with “Simeons” and “Annas” in my own
faith life during daily Masses, back when I was in the habit of attending them (pre-retirement).
There is at
least one—or sometimes both—in every parish, it seems.
At Saint
Anne’s in Lodi, he’s there every night for the 5:30p.m. Mass. He’s the guy you go out of your way to cross
the street to avoid; unshaven, always the same wrinkled clothes, and cheap
sandals on his feet. But he slips into
the chapel every night at about 5:29 to listen to the Word of God and share in
the Eucharist. He never kneels, never
sits. He only stands with his hands
folded and his eyes on the crucifix. He
is always the last in line to receive Our Lord, both the Host and the Precious
Blood. When Mass is over, he feels
obligated to open the door for everyone to leave and to give them a smile.
At Saint
Helen’s church in Fresno, she’s the elderly Filipino lady who knows the words
to every hymn, but obviously not the notes.
She wears a head covering and the rosary beads in her hands keep count
as she says her Hail Marys under her breath throughout the Mass and her face
glows when she receives the Eucharist.
She is always last in line to receive both the Host and the Precious
Blood.
At St. Mary’s
of the Ascension in Downtown Stockton, it’s the 3 ladies who arrive at 11am for
the noon Mass to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet and a Rosary beforehand. Quite often it’s just the 3 of them. But they still lug out the microphone and
pass it between them as they lead the different parts of the prayers. Since Confessions are heard from 11:30 until
noon, it sometimes makes it hard to listen to the priest as I’m confessing my
sins. Still, I can’t complain. They could very well be praying for me!
In
Bakersfield, he's there at Saint Joseph’s, the old Mexican man with his
harmonica, his arthritis-gnarled hands, and his hunched back. His quirks are a little different from a lot
of other people, but they’re servitude in nature. He will grab a bunch of bulletins, or
missalettes, or whatever else is in the church to read then tap everyone on the
shoulder and offer it to whoever wants it.
During Mass, he's the unofficial "music minister". He knows about 5 tunes on his harmonica;
"Holy God, We Praise Your Name", "The Battle Hymn of the
Republic", "Taps" and "The Halls of Montezuma". Unfortunately, they all sound eerily
similar. He yawns loudly, though
involuntarily, throughout the Mass except during the prayer of Consecration and
when he receives the Eucharist; always the last in line to receive the Host and
the Precious Blood, even though he sits in the front pew, center.
At the
Cathedral in Stockton, he’s the guy who sits in the very last pew during daily
Mass when there are only about 20 people in total in attendance. But you hear him respond when he's supposed
to, in that booming, unmistakable voice.
Again, he's the last to receive, and under both Species.
And then
there was my mother who, after becoming so infirm she couldn’t leave the house
to attend Mass, arranged to have the Eucharist brought to her as often as
possible. For a couple of years, this
was my privilege. She, like Anna, also
prayed persistently not only for her needs, but for the needs of others.
All of these
people remind me of the parable of the persistent woman of prayer in Luke
18. At the conclusion of the parable,
Jesus asks His disciples, “But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on
earth?" (Luke 18:8)
I have
confidence that He will. I strive to be
like the "one in every parish" one day in a simple, fervent, and
humble faith.
