Admittedly, I don’t go to church very often. I’m Catholic, but I’m one of
those Catholics...you know, the big holiday Catholics. The ones who take up your parking space at Christmas and Easter, who cry during confession because of guilt and shame from not going to Mass for months on end (and who forget we prefer the term “reconciliation” over “confession”.)
But Ash Wednesday is a good reason to go to church, and so I drove down to South Pasadena to hit up Holy Family for some forehead ash. Or at least that was my intention. Driving down Fremont, I saw the front door of the church, open and welcoming. I made a turn onto the side street and went around the block to enter from Monterey.
The church looked different somehow, but it had been (*ahem* over) a year since I last set foot inside so I ignored the lack of familiarity. I was surprised by the singing congregation when I walked in, since it was supposed to be ashes only, not a full Mass, according to the Holy Family schedule on the website. But I slid into a pew, knelt for a quick prayer, and joined in.
A cute young priest read the Gospel and I noticed that the people around me didn’t exactly say "Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ" when he announced the reading. I chalked it up to them being irregular attendees like me. Then I noticed the supposed priest was wearing a wedding ring, which I attributed to him being a deacon because it was just ashes, not a full Mass. (Note how I rationalize everything. Because I am the crazy.)
Then a woman in purple vestments got up to speak. She did a lovely sermon on Lent and I thought, “Wow, a woman! This is a really liberal church! I don’t remember it being so progressive. I’ll have to come back again soon.” There was a lot of singing, much of which was somewhat mournful and almost all of which I didn’t understand except when they said “Jesus” or “Lord”.
I got my ashes and when I sat down, I (finally) noticed a purple sash that had been in my line of sight the entire service that read, quite clearly, “St. James , South Pasadena 1904”. I turned my head and saw a picture of Mary, who's quite obviously our thing (and by our, I mean Catholics). I felt reassured, but still a bit unnerved. Then I looked down at the collection envelopes in the pew and noticed they said “St. James” followed by the words “Episcopalian Church”.
Panicked thoughts: OH NOES! I AM IN THE WRONG PLACE AND AM GOING TO HELL!
It seemed rude to run out of there screaming, so I sat quietly, contemplating the fact that if I died that night, I would have spent my last hours in a heathen haven. I apologized to God and wondered how quickly I could set up a confession...er, reconciliation session. I also noted that Anglican churches have an interesting and unintelligible interpretation of music.
An observation about Episcopalians, from an anthropological perspective: they’re not conformists. At one point during the service, half the people knelt down and I followed suit, only to look around and find that the other half of the attendees remained stubbornly standing. “Uh, what?” thought I. We Catholics don’t do that at Mass. We’re big on homogeneity.
Also, I’m pretty sure they don’t believe in transubstantiation. I didn’t take communion (or whatever they call it) just in case. And embarrassingly, to show you how deeply ingrained the patriarchy of the Church has wormed its way into my head: when the female pastor(ess?) took the host and started breaking it up, I was like, “Oh no she DIDN'T. A woman’s touching all over my Body of Christ! I CAN’T EAT THAT.” Yes, I have been brainwashed to believe only men can touch the consecrated host. *sigh*
At any rate, it was a very nice service but I still feel guilty and shameful about going to the wrong church. Also I got lost trying to leave and felt very freaked out and had to shout “This isn't my church please help me where is the exit!”
Lord, forgive me! (Also any Episcopalians I may have offended. You seem like a very nice people.)
