Before Mass yesterday, a Mass in which the Millette choir made its first appearance since January 1st, my brother and I were jokingly creating little gimmicks we could add to the Mass. For instance, turning the fan on high on during the first reading (been done before), turning the lights out and having a bonfire, or releasing a dove into the church. It doesn't take a genius to create gimmicks for Mass, but it does take a fool to implement them. BenedictXVI/Ratzinger famously said: “The greatness of the liturgy depends – we shall have to repeat this frequently – on its unspontaneity” (Spirit of the Liturgy, 166).

So Mass was going along nicely. Lots of Latin, chant, polyphony, and squirmy liberals. Then the priest stated he wanted everyone to speak the Our Father in a different language. What followed was the most awkward Our Father ever prayed at a non-clown Mass. Everyone, in hushed voices, "babbling" whatever language they knew. In unity with the Universal Church I did mine in Latin, but was cut off near the end. Apparently Latin takes longer to say.

The theology behind it all is astounding. Man, in his pride, wanted to build a tower to the heavens. God confounded the self-seeking plan at salvation, and confused the people with many languages. At Pentecost the Holy Spirit came and, by the birth of the Church, all people were able to understand the voice of the apostles. The apostles did speak with diverse tongues, but their voice was understood by all. A complete undoing of Babel. Two thousand years later we have priests wanting to still undo Pentecost. Never mind the GIRM: "It is desirable that they know how to sing together at least some parts of the Ordinary of the Mass in Latin, especially the Profession of Faith and the Lord’s Prayer, according to the simpler settings" (par. 41). Never mind Canon Law “In celebrating the sacraments the liturgical books approved by competent authority are to be observed faithfully; accordingly, no one is to add, omit, or alter anything in them on one’s own authority" (846 §1). 

Do your own thing. Just don't criticize.

Like the city that nurtured my greed and my pride,

I stretched my arms into the sky

I cry Babel! Babel! Look at me now

Then the walls of my town, they come crumbling down

                                      - Mumford and Sons

Miracle on Ice

Today we had a nice little Remembrance Day service in our school gym at 11am. For those of you from Ontario, Remembrance Day is a holiday in Saskatchewan (and so it should be!). That is why we had our school service today.

During the service, immediately following the O Canada, we were told to remain standing. Then, to my surprise, the Our Father was said. It took me a line or two to actually realize that this was being done. "Wow, in our public school!" Hearing the Our Father at my school was especially shocking considering I spent roughly 10 hours this week sifting through "appropriate" Christmas songs for our upcoming Christmas Concert (I'm in charge... *sigh*). Of course none of the songs have anything to do with real Christmas. So anyway, here they were praying the Lord's Prayer. Obviously I joined in. Curiousity got the better of me though, and I glanced up to see if other teachers were praying it. Many were, some weren't. I was actually surprised by some of those who were. But anyway, shame on me for looking.

This was not the most surprising instance of praying the Our Father that I have ever experienced. That honour goes to game one of my Midget hockey playoff game against Carrot River, probably 13 years ago now. You see, we were sitting in the dressing room in Carrot River nervously preparing for our big game. Carrot River was certainly the favourite going into the series. There we sat, kind of joking around, kind of just chatting about whatever. Then, one of the boys half-jokingly called out: "boy it's tense, we should pray or something." Someone then piped up the beginning words to the Our Father, sort as if to prove that he knew at least two words of prayer. Then, wouldn't you know it, the entire team joined it. There we were, all praying the Our Father before the big game. To put it mildly, most of these guys never, ever, went to church. Yet there we were. When it was over we all just looked at ourselves as if to say "whoa... that was... weird." But we all were strangely calm afterwards, and felt all around great. It was just... just... nice, you know.

We went on to win the game, and the series.


Now that's a true Miracle on Ice.