Sheila Sims Iding
We go to Easter Mass at our home parish, St. Gerard. It seems that we are never out of town for Easter so our Easter Mass is always at St. Gerard. It’s kind of a routine…7:30 a.m. mass Easter morning. You get there over 1/2 hour early. You wear your dress up Easter clothes…sometimes new…usually not. You greet first grade students who got up early to see what treats the Easter bunny left. You greet friends and your kids’ friends who have returned home for Easter. The church is beautiful. Spring flowers everywhere. The church is celebrating new life and so are the people there. The lector, the cantor, the congregation…all a little more dressy…a little more spirited…a little more celebratory than other Sunday masses. Easter morning mass at St. Gerard feels like home…except when you aren’t home.
So today in Indianapolis we ventured to find a church near our hotel. St. Joseph Church was a few miles away and had an 8:00 am. Mass. Perfect. Like most people, I get a little excited about going to a different church out of town. What will it look like? Is it old? New? What will the priest be like? How will the music be? What will the decorations look like? It’s kind of exciting…especially on an Easter morning. I didn’t know what it would be like but I did know I didn’t want to be late and I didn’t want to have to stand.
So…we went early. We found the church and we realized we weren’t home anymore. It was a very simple church…it’s cement cinder blocks made it look like a parish hall. It was small and not crowded. There were only a few flowers. The piano player was putting up the song numbers… but she got them wrong. The cantor started to welcome everyone but she wasn’t prepared so she just said “I’m not prepared but welcome to Easter morning mass.”. The lector had on a really nice shirt and jeans. Not that it matters because it doesn’t. I guess for Easter morning mass…I expected more. Just as I was feeling disappointed about the decorations, the unprepared musicians and the place we were spending Easter mass...just as I was wishing for more…”more” came and sat around me.
There was the little old man next to me all by himself who smiled when he saw me grab the missal and he whispered “page 70”. He was so sweet.
There was the African-American woman in the front pew who, during the sign of peace, turned around to everyone and waved her cane and blew kisses to those she knew best. Alleluia, indeed!
There was the lector who processed in with the Word of God and proclaimed that word as proudly as he wore that new shirt and those old jeans.
There was the priest with the gentle southern drawl who spoke about when he was a seminarian.
There were people dressed up in usual Easter clothes but mostly it was just common, simple people who wanted to be there for Easter morning mass. There is something special about simplicity. I quickly realized there was as much beauty in that as there is in the fancy clothes, prepared musicians and beautiful flowers that other churches might have this Easter morning. Just as I was putting judgment aside and realizing the beauty of cinder blocks and simplicity of decorations and songs and people…that is when three very special people sitting in the pew in front of me resurrected the real meaning of Jesus, and Easter morning, and new life.
The three people were a mom with a young son and daughter. Both kids looked to be about first grade so they stole my heart immediately. But first, if I am honest, they stole my judgment. The little boy had a Mohawk haircut and the little girl’s hair hadn’t been comb in days. The mom looked older, tired-er, and sadder than most moms. I think she was missing her bottom teeth…but she was beautiful in her own way. You could tell she had gotten them ready for this special Easter morning. She had a pink spring jacket, her son had a special sweater vest and the little girl had a purple dress with flowers and she wore sparkly shoes that she loved.
You quickly realized the boy had special needs. Very special needs. He was deaf and defiant and grunted most of the mass. The little boy required so much attention, no wonder the little girl’s hair wasn’t comb. The mom couldn’t even kneel during mass because if she did the little boy would get around her. So to contain him she sat with her knees against the pew in front of her to form a barrier.
She took him from mass at one point and left that little girl sitting there alone. That is when she smiled at me. That is when she took off her sparkly shoe to show me. And…as I was whispering “I love your shoes.”, she showed me her rolled up one dollar bill for the collection. And I fell in love with her again and I got a bit weepy seeing her sit there alone.
I know the scripture readings are important. I know the homily was supposed to teach us. I know the music was supposed to move us. But I don’t really remember the readings, or the homily or the music as much as I remember that special family in front of us.
I remember that little boy settling enough to smile at me and reach his hand out to Pat.
I remember that little girl as she took off her shoe to show me how sparkly it was and I remember how happy and proud she was to put that crumpled dollar in the collection basket.
I remember that mom trying desperately to settle that boy and how settled he was when she held his hand during the “Our Father”.
I remember when that little girl turned around during the “Our Father” and invited me to hold her hand too. She has no idea what a gift she gave me by that invitation.
I remember that mom using sign language to try and give direction to her son and trying to show the little girl the same sign language so she could help her brother too.
I remember admiring that mom because she made it a priority to be at that mass. I knew that mom getting to that mass with those kids was a huge sacrifice that morning and it was a powerful message for God…and for those of us who got to witness her love.
I remember wondering where the dad was…or if there was a dad…or did this mom bear this cross alone?
I remember how well behaved that little girl was during mass and how well behaved that little boy was…considering his special situation.
I remember sitting at the beginning of mass disappointed that we weren’t in a more beautiful church…until I saw the beauty around me.
And I remember how the scripture, the music and the homily are supposed to bring you closer to Jesus…especially on Easter morning. And today…on an Easter morning…I looked past the scripture, music and homily and saw Jesus on the faces, the trials, the struggles, the smiles…and the sparkly shoes…of that special family in the pew in front of me.
Today as I left mass I felt like my faith had been resurrected. Today that family taught me more about sacrifices than Lent. Today they taught me about carrying a cross. Today they resurrected the hope of Jesus in my Easter heart. On a day when I had hoped for an Easter celebration and spring beauty and unending faith…I got to witness all three…and more..in that special little church…in that pew in front of me...where that family sat...where Jesus sat.