Wearing a Chapel Veil

Fr. Z has an interesting post about wearing chapel veils in a place where other women don't do so.  I think he gives excellent advice (the comments, as is to be expected on such a topic, range from very helpful to downright crazy).  I have a few points to add to the mix.

I wear a chapel veil (a large, black, lace triangle kept in my purse) every time I set foot in a church.  I am a convert, and in the place where I converted it was customary for women to cover their heads every time they stepped into the church.  I have adopted this custom.

At first I was self-conscious about wearing a veil in churches where I would be the only woman doing so.  I was afraid of being chastised by the parish priest.  I found over time that I was even more uncomfortable with not wearing a veil.  I have, on various occasions, worn a hat, shawl, or scarf instead.  I recommend this option if you are concerned about drawing attention to yourself or appearing overly pious.  This was recommended several times in the comments over at Fr. Z's blog, and it is a good solution.

I find that a veil does indeed help immensely with distractions (on of the reasons the questioner gave for wanting to wear a veil).  I think this is partially because of the reduction in peripheral vision, partially because it is a reminder to myself that I am in church and I ought to at least try to focus, and partially because it tends to discourage people who might otherwise want to strike up a conversation with me.

It is unfortunately easy to start thinking badly of anyone who doesn't do the same optional pious practices that I do.  There are plenty of pious practices that I don't do and can't do to keep me humble, but I recognize the temptation.  If wearing a veil would add fuel to the fire, it would probably be better not to do so.  That said, I wouldn't worry too much if the concern is that other people will think that you think that you're better than they are.  As long as you don't actually think that, those opinions are irrelevant.

At this point, wearing a veil has become a non-issue for me; it's simply what I do.  I no longer worry about what other people think, or what other people might think I think.  I do find it refreshing on the rare occasion that I find myself in a place where the majority of the women are wearing veils.  I feel at home, as I do in places where people are quiet before and after Mass and many stay for a few minutes to pray after Mass has ended.

Okay, I'm done.  Soapbox over.

To See God

Tomorrow, my sweet baby, we will go to see God.  Where will we see Him?

When we arrive at the church, we will see the red sanctuary lamp burning, which tells us that our Lord is present in the tabernacle.  Seeing this, we will genuflect as we enter the church as a gesture of reverence because we are coming into the presence of God.

The tabernacle is on the altar, which is also Christ.  That is why the altar wears vestments, which will be green tomorrow.

You will look around at all the other people in the church.  They are made in the image and likeness of God.

The priest, also, is another Christ, and he will wear vestments to match the altar.  When he speaks the words of consecration, he will speak the words of Jesus, in the person of Jesus.  When he touches the host, it is because his hands have been anointed and consecrated for the service of our Lord.  His hands are the hands of Christ.

During the beginning of Mass, before you fall asleep, you will look around at the stations of the Cross on the walls of the church.  These are images of the passion of Christ.

After the consecration, the priest will lift up the host so that we can see it.  That is Jesus.

After Mass, as I kneel behind the back pew making my thanksgiving for Communion, I will hold you as you sleep.  You also are made in the image and likeness of God.

Gratitude

Holy Communion is the highlight of our day, our week, our life; why not linger awhile to enjoy the intimate presence of God Himself?

When you are given a gift, you are expected to write a thank-you note, or at least to say "thank you" to the giver in person.  If this is what you are expected to do, having received something that is merely material, and therefore passing, is it not much more important to pause and give thanks when our Lord has given us Himself?

If you recived a guest into your home, you would set aside chores and other activities and spend time with your guest.  Why not, then, take a few minutes to entertain our Lord Jesus, having received him in your soul?

Tomorrow

Tomorrow, my sweet baby, we will go to Mass.  Tomorrow we will rise early, and I  will feed you, if you will let me.  Tomorrow I will dress you in a pretty dress, because it will be Sunday.  Your daddy will put on a coat and tie and drive us all to the Church.  Tomorrow I will wear a chapel veil, as St. Paul says, "because of the angels," and out of respect for the Eucharist. 
Tomorrow you and I will sit together in a pew near the back, not far from the cry room, just in case you need to nurse, while your daddy goes to sing chant in the choir.  Tomorrow the priest will come in and process down the aisle with the altar boys, and then kneel down and intone the Asperges, and sprinkle everyone with holy water while the choir sings "Sprinkle me with hyssop and I shall be cleansed.  Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow."  It is a reminder of baptism.  Do you remember your baptism?  It wasn't so long ago.
Tomorrow you will watch the priest and servers go up and down the aisle.  Tomorrow you will look at the stained glass windows, and smile at anyone who is sitting behind us, and smile at St. Anthony and St. Patrick if we sit near their statues.
Tomorrow you will watch everything with great interest until you get tired, and then you will fuss, and sometime during the sermon you will fall asleep (just don't tell Father!).  Tomorrow, all during the
Canon, I will kneel on the floor behind the back pew, because there isn't enough room to kneel in the pew and hold you.
And tomorrow I will receive Our Lord Jesus.  I will go and kneel at the Communion rail, with you asleep on my chest, and I will receive Holy Communion, as you also will do when you are old enough to understand.  And my heart will ache because I long for that day, just as today I am longing for tomorrow.

Celebrating Sunday

My mother-in-law says that every crazy man has his theme song.  This is mine, so it will be my first post.

Sundays are special.  Every Catholic knows the necessity of hearing Mass on Sunday, but there's more to it than that.  There's a deeper, wider, more profound richness to the life of a Catholic family on a Sunday.  Sunday is a day set aside for prayer, rest, recreation, and family -- the little images of the Church which God has given us for our sanctification.

In celebrating Sunday, what we don't do is perhaps as important as what we do.  Because it is a day of rest, we don't do work.  In order that others might be free to rest as well, we don't require them to work; we don't shop or buy things (except in cases of real necessity, like a sudden illness requiring medication), because this would require someone else to work to keep the store open and sell to us.  Besides, how can we enjoy a little taste of heaven on Sunday, when we are tied down to the cares of this world, among the first of which are the getting, saving, and spending of money.

Sunday is a little bit of heaven.  The seven days of the week of the old covenant represent time.  The seven days of creation were repeated over and over and over, until Christ came and broke the cycle:  rising early on the day following the seventh day, He opened the door to the eighth day, which is eternity.  Therefore on Sunday, we ought not allow ourselves to be bound to time, but to guard carefully the privelege of the baptized soul to fly to God, and bask in the promise of eternity.