A bit embarassing to say that I had a sleepy-teen tantrum during mass today. Getting up at 4am was a bit harder this morning. Because, BED. Cuddling me with its warm, soft, silky sheeted essence. It was acting real bae-like, “don’t leave me, you know you don’t want to”. Then my body was feeling increased fatigue from this break in my normal circadian rhythm flow. Yet we PERSIST! ✊🏽
It has been said that the brain has 6,000 thoughts per day. I was noticing how many random bits was running through my waking-brain as I sat there blinking my 5am red eyes, listening to the guest priest make the early mass attendees laugh during his sermon. It’s always been interesting to witness the different styles of preaching from guest priests. In some ways, I appreciated our resident priest’s sermon yesterday because we were out earlier than expected. That’s a nice thing about early masses, when it gets closer to the 10am or noon times, they tend to add more song and fluff (repectfully), so mass ends up being 1.25–1.5 hours longer. This was probably thought #50 that passed through my mind.
As the priest attempted to create a message tied to the daily gospel, he somehow landed on “mortification”, within context that really didn’t make entire sense to me. But joking about people’s sleepiness, lack of make up, eyebrows, and potential neglect of showering prior to mass made a few church-goers laugh louder than someone’s random alarm clock going off mid-mass. I can’t blame him for wanting to energetically commodify off that engagement, especially when half the church was probably half-awake. But there is a part where it’s like, (respectfully) “okay, time to wrap up, Father…” Aha.
So the tantrum happened during the next part of mass when the sermon concludes, the choir begins to sing, and baskets pass around to “ask” for donations (of course). Random volunteers are selected to carry light brown woven baskets, with long handles, and red cloth lining to place the money in. The money handlers walk down the aisles, gently place the donation basket in front of your face, and then dedicated church members/attendees slip their weekly offering envelopes and/or extra cash. While this occurs, people also bring up the wine and bread (blood & body) of Christ, to be blessed.
My mother, who sometimes orchestrates some of the “show” behind the scenes, unintentionally yet abruptly grabs my arm as I was blinking my tired eyes to the melody of a pretty song, and hurriedly gestures for me to follow her. I, in slow mode, was immediately in resistance to moving fast. I knew she was going to ask me to do something in front of people. As I followed her, I saw my father at the start of the aisle to the alter, holding a glass bottle of brown colored wine, which she had probably placed in front of him (just like the money handlers), which little to zero choice in saying no. As she placed a silver bowl in my hand with the unblessed bread, both my parents observed my tantrum face. My dad whispered, “if you’re going to look/act that way you shouldn’t offer that”. My mom squeezed my arm affectionately, giving me choice then and there to walk away. “I mean, I’m already here…” I said. It would be seemingly whack to walk away, when clearly her intention was to witness her family give offerings.
I attest it to that got danged loving mother’s touch and grounded father’s words that allowed my rational brain to check my teen amygdala. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and apologized to God for my momentary brattiness. I gazed down at the shiny silver bowl, with a shiny lamb shaped figure on top, caressed my fingers as I admired the engraved flower figures on the sides of the bowl, and realized I needed to shift my attitude quickly. Then, maybe thought #144 came, and I was actually in gratitude to be able to offer this piece of Catholic/Christian soulfood with today’s mass-goers. Like, aww, yalls don’t mind this spiritual decolonizer hand off this bread though?
Oh the blessing and heaviness of being aware of the transference of energy dynamics. It reminded me that energetic saying, “we are what we eat” or “how we feel when we eat becomes us”. And quite frankly, I didn’t want the responsibility of transferring bratty energy into this unofficially blessed silver bowl, traditionally representing Jesus. That’s some supernatural energy I was not about to mess with, oquay. Amen.
