Thus, the joke around our house is, if it were a burglar at
the front door, she would invite them in and offer them the silver.
Despite this, however, my dog otherwise is a pretty smart
cookie. It didn’t take her long, for
example, to figure out that the jingle of scooped up car keys meant the
imminent solitude of her cage: abandonment.
And in the worst possible form for a dog from the pound. Having lived in a cage and been abandoned to
one, she never exactly has been what you would call an avid fan of crate
training. No matter how cozy we made her
little den, my dog never truly resigned herself to the fact that, as the
unfortunate possessor of a hamster-sized bladder, she must, for the sake of the
carpet, be relegated to her Cozy Canine
Cubby whenever she is left alone in the house.
(And no, the charming moniker did not fool her either.)
So, when my dog hears keys rattle, she knows we are about to
leave. Keys, therefore, mean
abandonment.
I was reminded of this last Sunday in church. My husband and I are the antithesis of most
Catholics; we make a bee-line for the
front row, right in front of the tabernacle.
I want to be front-and-center with the Lord, where He can keep an eye on
me and I can keep an eye on Him, with minimal distractions.
But last Sunday, this wasn’t to be.
We were running late (no surprise, with six small children
and my perpetual vice of tardiness), so we altered our path and entered the
church from the rear vestibule, joining other late-comers in surreptitiously
slinking into a rear pew, mumbling and fumbling through the last verse of the
opening hymn as everyone settled in.
Although it was disconcerting for me to be what felt like a
football field’s distance away from the Lord, all went well throughout the Mass
-- until we stood for the closing hymn.
As the cantor announced the number in the hymnal, I had to struggle to
hear her voice over a different sudden chorus of sound. A chorus of jingling.
Keys.
Now, I would like to think that I am smarter than my
dog. And so is God. So, it took only a moment to put two-and-two
together for what my dog already knew: people + keys = abandonment.
Not a good position to be in with the Almighty, eh? And He is a lot smarter than me and my dog.
Barring family crisis or extenuating circumstances, let’s
see whose company we keep when we decide to nip out early on the Lord as we
leave Mass:
1). Judas:
Hardly a model of good manners, Judas slipped out of the Last Supper before
dessert to go finalize plans to abandon the Lord. Should we collect 30 pieces of silver along
with the bulletin, too, then?
2). The
Apostles: The apostles all made hasty retreats into anonymity as the Lord was
dragged from Gethsemane. Blessedly for us, however, all but one later
suffered martyrdom for the Faith.
3). Peter: The
Rock of the Church himself abandoned the Lord, denying Him three times. Not exactly one of Peter’s more shining
moments.
4). Thomas: We
do not call someone a “doubting Thomas” for nothing, do we? Possibly an aspiring lawyer, Thomas demanded
cold hard evidence before he would believe that a Man, whom he personally had
seen perform numerous physical and spiritual miracles, had performed the
ultimate miracle Himself.
Abandoned. Every
single one of them abandoned the Lord.
Yet, all the way up to the Cross, the Lord never abandoned us.
So, why do we keep abandoning Him?
Thankfully, eleven of the twelve apostles were “scared
straight,” later spreading the Good News and, for some, even giving their lives
for Jesus and His Church.
With such sacrifice in mind, I mean, really, is it that
critical we get out of Mass a few minutes early? Do we all have a dying parent to whose death
bed we are rushing? Do we not have a
mere two more minutes to sing, praise, and give thanks to the God from Whom we
profess to believe all blessings flow?
Or do we have one eye on our hymnal and the other on Father to see if we
can beat him to the door. As my
grandmother used to say, “It’s not a race, you know!”
This is where our Protestant brothers and sisters
excel. They’re still enthusiastically
singing several hymns for hours, while we’re busy watching the clock and
leaving skid marks out of the church parking lot. Forget the Sign of Peace – turn on your
blinker and get out of my way, pal!
If we’re going to put an egg timer on Mass, then we’re there
for the wrong reason. Stop. Slow down.
Take a deep breath. Maybe even
stick around for a few minutes and enjoy the soothing silence once the church
is almost empty. Don’t just show up and
punch in and out. Be there. Be present.
Take time to be with the Lord. After all, He’s waiting there just for you.
That’s right – the Creator of the known Universe is waiting in the tabernacle
just for lil’ ole YOU! Isn’t that
grand!?
“Ugh!” I can hear you
say. Do I sound like your mother? Maybe.
Or a grouchy old harpie? Probably. But, I’ve got six young babies of my own, so
I’ve already had a ton of practice in reminding little people about the
importance of our Faith, which I also frequently do not fully appreciate nor
utilize.
So please, remember the wisdom of a small dog: keys mean abandonment. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all the
Lord.
He’s a pretty smart cookie, you know.