This Might Have Been a Pout Session

Little White Book, Wednesday 3/26

Okay, for whatever reason, I have noticed that most parishes close down to a degree right after Easter and Christmas.  What this means for me (egomaniac that I am) — I don’t get to go to Mass at 6:30 a.m. before work.  Certainly, I do the readings, and, of course, I pray (God didn’t make me with a mute button, people have looked), but I don’t get to receive the Eucharist.  And for this reason, I was all set to playfully pout all week.

Until I read today’s readings, both in my missal and in the LWB.

In the LWB, it says kind of the same thing as yesterday:  “Could it be that the Risen Lord has been with me these past few minutes, and I haven’t realized it?”  The Gospel for today is Lk 24:13-35, with the disciples on the road to Emmaus.  The discussion talks about how they didn’t recognize him in his words, but only after the breaking of the bread.  “Ha ha!” I thought.  Justification for my pouting, and so I was all ready to gleefully push out my bottom lip just a little bit further.

Then, I started on the readings for the day.  In the little blurb before the actual beginning of the readings was this sneaky little sentence, “The glorious mystery of the Holy Eucharist is in itself a continuing miracle of the love of God for his children.”  Then skip down to, “Each day through the Eucharist we will then move one step closer to attaining the fullness of Christ.”  At this last sentence, I thought again that I had justification for my pout, after all, I was not that one step closer, now was I?  But before I could continue with my readings, I was made to go back and read that first sentence again.

“…[the] miracle of the love of God for his children.”

Oops.  Isn’t this that thing which I have been talking about?  That which my confessor thinks that I really need to know?  Perhaps, instead of indulging in my playful pouting, I should use this time where I cannot get to Mass on a daily basis, and reflect upon the fact that He does love me and that I am incredibly privileged to be normally able to attend Mass every day.  I say playfully pout, because I am not really upset.  I would, yes, like to be able to go to Mass, but I certainly recognize that my priests work very hard (how could they not — they have me as a parishioner), and may need a break every now and again to recharge (if that is the intention of the reduced schedule).

But then, even if I am only giving a token complaint, how enormously selfish and spoiled am I?  There are people who don’t get to receive the Eucharist but once a year, if that.  There are still people who are dying for their faith.  And here I am in my sheltered little existence, play-whining?

Oh, time to wake up, little girl.  Where is that ClueBat?  Or, as Archangel’s Advocate’s guardian angel uses, “a 24 carat Gold Plated cast iron skillet 1st used on a certain apostle on his way to Damascus”?  I may be in serious need of a skilleting….

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