CHURCHGOING ON SUNDAY

CHURCHGOING ON SUNDAY

Every Sunday if I can, I always attend the 6:00 a.m. Mass and like me there are other habitual Churchgoers on that time. We are supposed to be those who are “seeking first the Kingdom and Justice of God, hoping that everything shall be added unto us”.

Almost all of us are regularly occupying the same pews as a force of habit or for what ever particular reason as if they are our own territories. I always go to the area near the frame of the 10th Station of the Cross depicting the touching drama when Jesus told Dismas: “Today you will be with me in Paradise”. It is the only area where I could clearly hear but not necessarily because Dismas is my favorite Patron Saint.

A few seats in front of me is the choice of a white-haired octogenarian because it is near the side door of the Church where she ‘could easily exit should an emergency occur’, she told me one time.

I observed that she is the most greeted churchgoers. So many younger ones approach her to kiss her hands or just to whisper something. When she is not there I know she is either not feeling well or brought by a son to Manila for whatever reason.

Immediately in front of me a young man, always in old white T-shirt occupies the pew. There is always a small towel inside his back, one end of it is folded backwards to keep in place. It probably protects him from cold or absorbs his sweats.

One day I saw him wearing an oversize checkered polo shirt. It must be a hand-me-down of his employer or was bought from a cheap “ukay-ukay” store. But I could sense that he was feeling so happy with his new attire. It must be his birthday…

Another regular is the old spinster with her unusual style of dressing accentuated by a matching umbrella and a dangling something from her carefully gathered hair. She always leads the praying of the “Oracion” but for two Sundays she was absent. Somebody took over. When she came back the “Oracion” was not prayed anymore. Something interesting must have happen.

From where I sit I can always feel the passing of a limping lady carrying a guitar hurrying to join the choir. On other days a lady senior citizen is the one passing-by, this time carrying a mini electric organ to lead her own choir.

The late comers are almost, always the same person. One middle-aged lady always arrive at the height of the “Gloria” while another lady comes usually after the first reading and then tries to “insert” herself at the most crowded pew.

I never miss the routine of one tall, humpbacked, white-haired, Lay Minister who always come early, sometimes to do the Station of the Cross or at other time to approach one by one the displayed images of Saints ending at the Blessed Sacrament where he stays a little longer.

While everybody is waiting for the start of the Holy Mass, the Power Point screen is continuously showing different rules to follow, schedules to remember or a review of the catechism played repeatedly to the point of boredom. Same things are again verbally announced before the end of the Mass.

Meantime, 'lectors' and collectors come in uniform with their own peculiarities. There is that one who keeps on going to different parts of the Church as if so busy doing something aside from disturbing the concentrations of those doing their personal morning prayers. There is that one who comes often not in uniform but in her own special fashion so everybody would notice how different she is from everyone else. Together with the visual activities happening inside the Church are the very loud and disturbing conversations of the candle vendors with their equally noisy costumers.

This experience is not exclusive in our Parish. It also happens, sometimes even worse, in other parishes in the Philippines. The Church is alive. In European countries, Churches are seldom that active on ordinary days because many Churches in other countries are “dying” already.