That is "mess" not "Mass." Mess as in messes. As in puddles of tears and stains on clothing, and the flowers crushed with enthusiasm. I've often mused on how God makes some of the most amazing things rather messy. Eating for example. While there is much I do to limit the hazards, inevitably there is waste and dishes that follow the culinary satisfaction. Children are often the definition of messy, starting with their birth. Yes it is beautiful, joyful, a miracle of God - the most powerful thing most women ever experience - but I can't agree with those who claim it's not messy. Those raw days with the newborn too: the bleary eyes, frumpy clothes, and baby leaks don't lend a aesthetic beauty to the scene, but rather a human one. It is the deep beauty of love poured out for another. The cross was extremely messy, gruesome, and horrifying to look at. Many of us in our tidy American churches have rather clean looking crucifixes (for which I'm grateful) but the end result is rather sanitary looking. The crucifixion was not remotely sanitary, only those numb could bear to look upon it without being overcome with tears and shock by the horror. Yet in meditating upon it and consuming it's power we are given life. It seems that God permits a great deal of disorder and mess in order to speak of a higher beauty. The loveliest of flowers fades and a garden un-cared for will have a great deal of ugliness until it is tidied up. Yet somehow God makes beauty out of the falling of the flowers, for the trimmings of dead plants are broken down - also not a pretty process- and give new life to the soil. Nothing is wasted. The suffering and misery of a cold, with all it's disrupted schedules, old kleenexes, and extra laundry, can be joined to the cross to draw out more grace for the world and the softening of one's heart. Nothing is wasted.
Even our relationships with God and each other are terribly messy. We forget and start over, misunderstand, make mistakes, laugh and dance, try too hard, and sometimes feel rather foolish. If we go into a relationship expecting perfection we are sure to be disappointed - it is only with a healthy dose of reality and humor that we can laugh about all the flops that inevitably are made. There is a beauty in the comedy of our humanness, as if God is laughing right along with us at the folly of it all. The messiness is best taken for granted so we can continue to grow. So in coming to Mass, I see all the unpleasantries: the child who lays on the pew, tapping her foot loudly, the music that was rather off-key, the poor old priest who is hard to understand... And I marvel that our God doesn't shy away from imperfection. We do our best and it is crumpled flowers that we bring to Him, and He embraces them anyway. Why do I get so flustered about all the little things that are lacking, when it doesn't bother Him? He still comes to hide His glory in a piece of bread, and be received by one as imperfect as me. And he delights that we are there to be with Him, though our intentions are imperfect and we can't stay focused well, and we will walk out and continuing sinning. So the arrangement behind the altar is tacky, it doesn't have to take away from my prayer. He is Lord, even of the mess.
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March 2017
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