Dear Father,

Mass at our parish seems to drag on because the priest has all these periods of silence. He claims that the Church wants silence. Most of us don’t like it. He needs to move it along. Can the bishop tell him to stop, please?

– Tijana

I recall hearing some years ago that we are supposed to have certain times of silence at Mass. Our pastor zips through the Mass like the church is on fire. It’s hard to pray. Even after Mass, the rosary begins immediately. Maybe if you write about this, my priest will see this and get the hint.
-Zed

Dear Tijana and Zed,

Time seems to drag on when we are bored or suffering. Time can also seem to slow down when we anticipate something enjoyable in the future. On the other hand, time speeds by when we are in the midst of friends or when delighting in the good things of earth and heaven.

Even the silent presence of a loved one makes time fly. I’m thinking of the stare of a mother or father holding their sleeping infant child. They are lost in wonder and contemplation.

If the Mass has become a weekly obligation to be dispensed with as soon as possible, it will seem to drag on interminably. Even priests may fall into spiritual torpor and feel the need to hurry the Mass consistently. Holy reverence evaporates.

In spite of the dictates of liturgical law, which mandate silence at certain prayers of the Mass, consider what the Mass is and why silence is an essential ingredient.

Imagine the crucifixion of Jesus nearly 2,000 years ago. It’s midday but dark because the sun is eclipsed.

Picture yourself standing in a cold wind on a hill with your sandaled feet wet with mud made of dirt and blood, blood flowing down the wood on which our Lord is nailed. Is there even a shred of human skin that is not ripped open after the brutal flogging? Is there any centimeter of flesh not shining with crimson? How ever did he survive that cap of 2-inch thorns covering his entire head, whose hair is matted with blood both new and dried?

Hear the wind and feel its moist chill. Hear the jeers of the religious leaders. Hear the moans of two men nailed similarly on either side of Jesus. Hear the soldiers’ mocking voices, telling the three men to hurry up and die. “Let’s get this over with!”

What would you say in the midst of this experience? See the two women and a man, sorrowfully staring up at Jesus. What words could you possibly utter to the Virgin Mother or to John? What could you possibly say to Jesus in the midst of the world’s most incredible agony?

What is going through your mind? That your sins contributed to this? That no one, even the worst criminal, deserves this kind of punishment? That it’s impossible for anyone to survive this? That it’s impossible for love to look like this? What did he ever do to deserve this? That healing on the Sabbath or protecting the holiness of God’s temple could lead to this?

Are you thinking that if God became man to do this, maybe he will take note of my sorrow? That he might forgive you? That when he said, “This day you will be with me in paradise” to a thief, perhaps he might include you?

Are you thinking that, having heard that he rose from the dead, he might now be present here, even in this white-washed church or that glorious cathedral? That he might show his power in your life?

That the bread and wine that he made into his God-body and God-blood might change your life? That if only you could get a morsel of that bread, that body, that maybe you would be eating divinity and become what you eat?

That if you could get close enough to that altar of sacrifice, maybe today will be different from the past? Maybe you, too, could forgive those who tried to crucify you? That maybe you could shed some of your wealth in the place of his blood? That maybe a few minutes of your time is nothing compared with the hours of agony back then, and still perpetuated in the least of his brothers? That maybe you could give more of your stingy self?

Silence is essential at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the re-presentation of Christ’s Upper Room Supper and his Golgatha and his Resurrection. For both priest and layperson, the Mass is the one moment of the day when we must take our time, if we have the least shred of human decency.

At Mass, the priest and layperson stand at the pinpoint of the most critical moment in history. It is no museum piece, no new rendition of some theatrical acting, no replaying of a hit song or famous melody. The Mass, not me, not you, is the center of the world.

The Mass is not a race. It’s a love dialog. Listen, and be slow to speak. Questions about the sacraments should be sent to sacraments101@columbuscatholic.org