the road to emmaus

 

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.