
A little over a week ago we celebrated my son's first birthday (pics coming soon). My parents came to town for the weekend, bringing with them gifts, smiles, hugs, and also concern, for their son is becoming catholic.
Much to my mom's chagrin, we didn't have time to discuss my conversion in detail. But on Saturday night, I invited them to come to Mass with me the following morning. Currently I go to Mass at 9 a.m. downtown, and then take my wife to her protestant service at 10:30. So, I jokingly asked my parents which one they'd like to attend, and if they'd prefer "worshipping Mary or worshipping the Bible". I'm not sure if they got my joke, but they and I went to both.
My parents had been to a small handful of Catholic Masses in their lifetime and have had some contact with those that run the Newman Center in their hometown. But on the ride there to church, I did try to give them a crash course and prepare them for the fact that I would be genuflecting, signing the cross, not talking, and that none of us would be receiving communion.
My dad brought in his large, leather-bound NAS Ryrie Study Bible in with him. He laughed and joked: "should I not bring this in?" I told him the missalette would contain all the readings, but that it was fine if he wanted to bring it in and stand out as a capital P Protestant.
The liturgy and homily was typical for Good Counsel; that is to say, it was excellent. My parents were impressed by the choir and the deep and reverent voice of Monsignor Blacet. The hymns that they knew, they belted. They stood and sat and tried to follow along. They chose not to kneel. This last choice was a painful one.
After the Agnus Dei I move my kneeler to the floor and promptly assume the posture of prayerful adoration. It is only a split second before mom grabs my arm tightly and gasps in pain. The kneeler had crunched down on her foot! It is all she can do to not cry out in the quiet sanctuary.
She was not badly hurt, but continued to cry through the Mass and was still upset for much of the time at my wife's church afterwards. The pain of the kneeler brought home the pain of her son becoming catholic.
Overall it was a good experience. My dad asked me what was "behind the curtain" on the high altar. I said "It's called the tabernacle, and it's where the consecrated Host is reserved. That's why I genuflect when passing it." Seeing that this might not be the clearest explanation, I rephrased: " Umm. We believe Jesus is in there." After that ecumenical smorgasbord of a Sunday morning, mom apologized for being so emotional, but I understood. I thanked my parents for coming with me to Mass and mom said, "We wouldn't have it any other way."