September 13-20, 2020 will see a gathering of the faithful from around the world at the 52nd International Eucharistic Congress in Budapest, Hungary. In preparation for this faith-filled congress, Archdiocese of Regina News Contributor Holly Gustafson leads us in a monthly series of reflections on the Saints and the Eucharist.
By Holly Gustafson
I can still remember The Messiest Mass Ever as though it were yesterday. We were a happy family of five, with three little ones, ages 3 and under. The youngest was only about four months old; however, he was the world’s fastest growing baby, and by this point weighed as much as a toddler. He was so thick that he could wear nothing with a waist, so he spent the first few months of his life with his baby belly bursting out of onesie pyjamas, the only thing that fit him (and just barely). He seemed to grow a full diaper size every week, which is how we found ourselves at mass with a woefully under stocked diaper bag.
At some point around the middle of mass, our mammoth baby had a diaper incident that escalated into a full-on crisis. I rushed him to the restroom, where I realized that 1) the onesie he was wearing could not be salvaged without me losing a little piece of my soul, and 2) we hadn’t updated the diaper bag recently, and the only diapers I had were three sizes too small. With no other options available to me, I threw the outfit in the garbage, secured the too-small diaper, and headed back into the church.
Of course, this was the one day that we had decided not to hide our beautiful but busy little family in the back of the church, but to sit right up front off the middle aisle, so that neither my escape nor re-entry could be executed with any sort of subtlety or dignity. I slinked my way up the centre aisle with my giant naked baby, who was wearing nothing but a newborn diaper held on by a single Velcro loop and the power of prayer. I truly believe that it was only by the grace of God that those diaper tabs held throughout the remainder of the mass, and when the priest finally pronounced “the mass is ended” I let out an exuberant “Thanks be to God!,” bundled my naked baby in a blanket, and got him straight home for a long bath.
I don’t miss those days of diaper blowouts, inconsolable babies and temper tantrums from toddlers when I wouldn’t let them crawl under the pew and smash the kneeler down on the toes of the poor unsuspecting parishioners behind us. I still remember those masses far too well to miss them just yet.
Out little family (of seven now) is only just now at the point where (for the most part) we can all sit silently, or at least relatively quietly, for the majority of mass. Nobody’s crying or fighting or crawling away; no one needs to be taken out for a little walk or rock or talking-to.
And I really thought it would be easier to concentrate during mass once the kids were all grown up, and not distracting me with their needing to be fed or changed or comforted or shushed. But the fact is: I’m just as distracted in mass as I always was. Only now I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.
It’s still just as noisy here in the pew, except now, the noise doesn’t come from the little people around me: it comes from my own little head. My mind – now free from the distracting job of hands-on, in-the-pew parenting – spends more time wandering, worrying, and list-making, than focusing on the mass at hand. And this is where St. John of the Cross comes in.
St. John of the Cross, sixteenth century Carmelite mystic, and doctor of the Church, is known especially for his writings on the spiritual life. And one of the things he loved to write about was silence.
“The language God best hears is silent love,” wrote St. John of the Cross. “It is best to silence the faculties and cause them to be still, so that God may speak.” He invites us to be silent, both in order to hear, and in order to be heard.
Robert Cardinal Sarah wrote a whole book about silence (a giant tome called The Power of Silence: Against the Dictatorship of Noise), and he suggests that it is through the Sacrament of the Eucharist that we are able to enter a little into God’s silence. “During the Mass and the Eucharist, the consecration and the elevation… we can glimpse the silence of heaven.”
This is what always comes back to me when I’m sitting in mass, battling the noise of my own making. Can I be quiet, for just this moment, while the priest lifts the bread and the wine? Can I find silence and stillness here, in the consecration?
God’s language is silence, says St. John of the Cross, and his silence is broken only by the Word. “The Father spoke one Word, which was His Son, and this Word He speaks always in eternal silence, and in silence must it be heard by the soul.” When we cultivate silence, especially during the consecration, we create a stillness in which we can hear the Word.
EUCHARISTIC CHALLENGE OF THE MONTH
Join me in a 12-month challenge to grow closer to the Eucharist this year! French priest and hermit Charles de Foucauld said, “Love pauses, contemplates the mystery, and enjoys it in silence.” This month, during the consecration at mass, pause the noisiness of your thoughts in order to contemplate the mystery and hear the Word in silence.
Holly Gustafson lives with her husband, James, and their five children, in Regina, where they attend Christ the King Parish. Holly received her Masters in Linguistics at the University of Manitoba, and now pursues her love of language through art, writing, public speaking, and unsolicited grammatical advice. The best advice she ever received was from her spiritual friend, St. Faustina, who told her that when in doubt, “Always ask Love. It advises best.”
