The Ash Wednesday mass times at Church of Our Savior – located between 37th and 38th streets in New York City – were no different than their usual weekday mass times. I found this rather peculiar, as the previous holy day of obligation I had attended there – namely the Solemnity of Mary – had unique times. Not that of Sunday or a weekday, but some kind of blend of both. Nevertheless, I was expecting a crowd larger than my typical Sunday night for the 7:45AM service at Our Savior for Ash Wednesday – one of the only holy days of obligation that really draws a crowd. No one takes the Solemnity of Mary, etc., as seriously – and you know why that is.
So I was a bit perplexed with my emotions when the 7:45 was absolutely packed, wall to wall, on Ash Wednesday. Something – albeit probably quite predictable – where are all these people the other 52 weeks of the year? It bugged me the rest of the day, and here we are one week later, and I am still not sure my distress has subsided.
I think every Catholic gets a little frustrated with the notion that certain Catholics are Christmas and Easter goers, and of that crowd some also go on Ash Wednesday and Palm Sunday (or just Ash Wednesday), just so they can get the physical tokens that prove they are Catholic. Instead of doing the things that make Catholics, well, Catholic, they do the symbolic gestures so that those looking on – those who they'll see once and never see again, for the most part – see these half-Catholics with their sign of good-doing, their ashes on their forehead, their palms in their pockets. I was sitting in the last pew in the church – where I usually sit, with the rest of the sinners – and I found myself irritated with the fact that so many of these people don't attend regularly. The more I thought, the more I was embarrassed for them. Are you so fragile in your relationship with both God and the church community that you need this football jersey on your forehead to show that you are all high and mighty? And while I recognize that the 7:45 is the most convenient mass for 9-5ers, so it's possible that just everyone was at this one mass, I had the sinking feeling that this was not the case – these were cheerleaders who just wanted to pick up their pom poms before practice.
However, I tried to take the opposing view on the spin as well. Maybe it does bother me that these halves neglect the faith the other 49 weeks of the year. But the ashes on the forehead might not be a sign for them after all – it might be a sign for others. A person walking the streets of Manhattan – one unfamiliar with the faith – might see every tenth person have ashes on their forehead that day. Surely noticing this abnormality, the commuter goes home and looks into it more – what does this mean? What is it for? Where can I learn more? Maybe this commuter thinks it's stupid. Maybe he finds it interesting for a week and forgets. Or maybe he is so fascinated and continues to learn more. Maybe by next Ash Wednesday, he finds himself walking to work the same way he was the year prior, but this time with a black cross fading above his eyebrows, piquing the curiosity of the next commuter the way it did to him once before.
This could apply to the nonbeliever – it could apply to the believer as well. I know it has happened to me before – I'm not and never would claim to be a perfect, model Christian. Consider a man going through a period of either 1) spiritual dryness or 2) spiritual laziness. There's a difference – in the first instance, a man is feeling lost, confused with his faith and spends his time thinking, going through the motions, trying to find answers. I imagine this happens to just about everyone in their lives at some point or another. The second, a man doesn't feel lost, but rather lazy, bored – he'd rather watch football and sleep in than make it to weekly mass and find community. In either instance, this visible sign of ashes can awaken a lost fervor in these men. Whether the ashes be on a devout Catholic or just the casual Chreaster Catholic (not like anyone can know the difference just from face value), either of these Catholics experiencing spiritual decay could feel guilted into catching their local parish's 7pm service. Maybe the community, the liturgy, or the sermon will reignite that fire that they've been missing.
I started writing this planning to take the negative point of view. In fact, when writing the introduction, I had included three other things that were grinding my gears from the mass. But after writing the counterargument, I realized that that is the right stance to take. Who am I to complain about people attending mass? Is that not exactly what I should want? In rereading, while I understand where I was coming from at first, it does sound a bit silly. And if other people out there reading this felt that same feeling of annoyance – it's only rational. You're doing the right thing, and you should want everyone else to do so also. But as my mother has said (much to my dismay) – comparison is the thief of joy. So don't rob yourself. I once heard a quote that went "it wasn't a large church, but it was always full." A full church – isn't that really the point?