. . . Warmup before a recent funeral mass which I attended included an organ-played rendition of “All the Things You Are” – lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II – from the loft. Only the music (by Jerome Kern) was played, however.

The words go this way and presumably would have been applicable to Jesus, though that would be a major surprise to both Hammerstein and Kern:

You are the promised kiss of springtime

That makes the lonely winter seem long.

You are the breathless hush of evening

That trembles on the brink of a lovely song.

You are the angel glow – that lights a star.

The dearest things I know – are what you are.

One day my happy arms will hold you

And someday I’ll know that moment divine

When all the things you are are mine.

 Ain’t liturgy grand?

. . . where reverence was palpable, vs. happy-go-lucky mainstream Catholic service, starring priest as Jay Leno, full of smiles because we’re happy to be alive! This one was all business.

People came to pray not play, not to meet and greet except after mass, when there was lots of that.

Low mass, 7:30 Sunday, in small ex-Presbyterian church (converted by hammer and nail) 2/3 full, families and others. One server (a young man), priest with back to us, all of us looking towards God.

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Weeks later, 10/10/2004: Parish bulletin warns people away from my illegal Latin mass church. It’s a “chapel,” says the bulletin, “that advertises itself as ‘Our Lady Immaculate Roman Catholic Church.'” But it’s actually not Roman Catholic but is run by the St. Pius X society founded by Archbishop Lefebvre, who was excommunicated, etc. etc.

 The bulletin quotes the Pope about the “grave…

At church today, a young man ahead of me in line for Communion shuffled up in expensive white sneakers, baggy white pants, and abbreviated tank top, the better to show off his extremely inflated muscles. It was muscle beach at the old parish.

 Earlier, there had been quite a handshaking of peace, with free-lancers going up and down the aisle to press flesh with any reluctant worshipers. Among them was the deacon, vigorously working the crowd as if running for office, which he should, since he’s such a nice guy, very personable.

 Father’s Day sermon had been by a tall, dark-haired, white-suited layman who talked about what Mary would have told Jesus after he was found in the Temple at age 12 instructing some white-hairs: Don’t get a big head, etc.

He got a hand when he finished, which is more than the pastor and his helpers get…

Father X discussed “what Mass is all about” in the parish bulletin, namely our coming “with full hearts to thank God.”

Moreover, it is “truly alive . . . when we bring to Mass the everyday things of our lives.” Some of his best mass-time experience, he confessed, has been when he is “truly bringing what was in [his] heart to God.”

The time-honored but now little-used phrase “sacrifice of the mass,” he said “refers to our self-offering to God”! [It does?] This self-offering “feels good” to him because it reminds him that “God is taking care of” his various problems. That’s it?

Nothing in what he said is about Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross and its redeeming value or its being re-enacted in the mass, whatever we bring. He speaks only about what we bring. Apart from his belief in God as protector, it’s as if there were…

We are almost done with the penitential season, but it’s not too late to take note of what happened to the ages-old message that came with the ashes . . .

In the spring of ’02, I dropped in at Old St. Pat’s on Ash Wednesday for my annual reminder that I am dust and unto dust will return — good to keep in mind when I am tempted to take pride in my considerable accomplishments — only to be told by a feverishly smiling 35-ish woman-with-ashes that God loves me, or something like it. She did not tell me to have a nice day, I’ll give her that.

I believe God loves me and can hardly object to being reminded of it. But what about paths of glory leading to the grave and all that, in this case the time-honored “Dust thou art, and unto dust thou…