Of Holiday Greys and Grace

In order to keep up with the overabundance of holiday spirit in the air,as well as to combat the holiday madness, I find it necessary to stay true to my spiritual fundamentals. And that means getting my Irish Catholic butt to church on Sundays.

For several different reasons, I am traditionally an early morning mass goer. This could be interpreted as my attempt to get the best possible start on the day, or more cynically, the chance to get it over with. (Especially before the really heavy singing masses at 9 and 10:30 add valuable extra minutes to the proceedings.)So, either way, this is why I usually can be found at the 7am mass.

The odds are stacked against the 7am mass. Although normally at this time of day on a weekday, I am battling 405 traffic, I find myself having difficulty getting out of bed. Something happens to your bedsheets on Sunday morning that make them much warmer,much cozier, much more..oh..what's the scientific term.."snuggliscious"...?

Add this to the fact that the previous evening was filled with a bit of revelry, which for me, doesn't mean standing in line at Panama Joes, but rather, watching some Netflix with Karen and Murphy, and a nice 9 dollar bottle of Pinot Noir. (The good people at Vons told me that it's on sale from 12 dollars..so check me out..all fancy..)

So, despite these challenges, I drag myself out of bed, get dressed in the rumpled clothes I wore last night, brush my teeth, put some gel in what remains of my hair,apply some after shave lotion to give the impression that I have showered, and I am off to church.

Of course, things don't get magically easier as soon as I step foot inside the church. I usually arrive just as the Priest is making his way down the aisle, so I am feeling a bit out of sorts as I find my seat. (Very easy to find a seat at the 7am.)

Once I get to my seat, I find that my brain is not yet ready for a spiritual experience. I find myself scanning the room to see who's made it in today, then my internal monologue takes over in a desperate attempt to derail me from actually focusing on what's going on up at the altar. I start to wonder if my lips are stained from the red wine the night before, then I wonder why my calf is hurting this morning, could it be some sort of calf disease? Then I notice that the older lady 2 rows in front of me is coughing uncontrollably which surely means that now I will be sick. This goes on and on. For the first 9 minutes of the mass, I  become Woody Allen.

Then I remind myself to breathe.

When I am under attack from these damaging internal voices, I know I need to start breathing, and so what I do is a simple activity that I took from a book about Zen Buddhism (It's taken me a long time to come to terms with getting myself centered in a Catholic Church by doing an exercise from Buddhism. But it works, so i do it.)

Slowly but surely, I become more focused and centered in the mass. Yes from time to time my mind will wander and the internal voice will rear its ugly head, asking me why in fact the Priest today sounds exactly like Napoleon Dynamite, but for the most part, I am able to accomplish what I set out to accomplish in this mass, which is to fill up my spiritual tank.

It is probably an overused metaphor, but I find that going to church for me, is akin to filling up my tank, after a long week of spiritual commuting has rendered it all but empty.

The challenge of course, is how to take the grace I feel walking out of the mass, and keep it going throughout the week. After 41 years on this planet, I have discovered that it is not some huge monster that will derail me from feeling this grace, but rather many many little things that will slowly and subtly take me off course. Death by a thousand cuts. For instance, on Monday, it could be someone cutting you off in traffic, on Wednesday, a pointless meeting at 4:30pm, on Friday, it is getting annoyed at Entertainment Weekly for saying that Coldplay is better than U2. (They are NOT, for the record...)

All of these little things add up to an empty tank by the end of the week, and if I don't fill it up in someway, I will feel more and more adrift.

I do my best to combat this by trying to find 10-15 minutes a day, preferably in the morning, to just breathe in and out. When I am able to do this, everything seems to get easier, and my life is put in better perspective. I am able to fend off these little "cuts" and realize that I am a healthy, happy person, with loving friends and family, a great dog, and a place in beautiful Belmont Shore.

Of course, I am not always able to find these 10-15 minutes...but I keep trying, hoping that I can truly feel the grace of the holidays, the way that it is meant to be.