Color me incredibly disappointed.

INCREDIBLY disappointed.

Agitated might be a better word.  Suspicious, even.

Yet again, there was no real celebration / veneration of Divine Mercy this past weekend.  I specifically went to a parish that I thought stood the best chance of acknowledging this Feast, but I was again (third year in a row) discouraged by a complete lack of time dedicated to calling the faithful to take full advantage of this incredible once-a-year event.

The Feast of Divine Mercy occurs the Sunday after Easter.  Why is this such a special event?  Jesus promised that to those who venerate His Divine Mercy will be forgiven all of their sins and will be granted full remittance of the punishment due as a result of those sins.

That's a clean slate, folks.  Clean as in pristine... a baptismally clean soul that is gift wrapped and handed to you simply because Jesus loves you THAT MUCH and wants you as close as possible to Him.  

That is a MIND-BOGGLING GIFT.  Should you die after reception of the Eucharist (having completed veneration and prayers), you would go RIGHT TO HEAVEN.  No stopping in Purgatory, no fear of Hell... not even if you committed the worst, most heinous sins imaginable.  

And yet for three years now, three different parishes that I've attended have basically ignored this!  THREE!

Is this willful ignorance???  I mean, how in the world do you NOT discuss this with your parishioners???  How do you NOT admonish them to take full advantage of this feast???

Given the mess this world is in, wouldn't you want your people to take full advantage of armor such as this?

Ay.

Everyone was so focused on the canonizations.  I'm fully aware of how historic and cool it is to have such gems added to our Church Canon, but c'mon now.  If St. John Paul II were physically standing here in front of the Church, I guarantee you he'd be smacking us lovingly with a stick and reminding us of the feast day he, himself, approved.  

That was part of why they pushed to have his canonization coincide with Divine Mercy Sunday.  His canonization, though, no matter HOW MUCH everyone loves him, should not have overshadowed Divine Mercy.  I don't care if we were canonizing him and fifty billion others around the world.  No amount of canonizations and no amount of holiness on the part of humans (even humans like JPII) can possibly outshine the dignity, grace and blessings of DIVINE MERCY.

I'm seriously so upset over this.  So flippin' upset.

At the end of our Mass, Fr. John did mention it briefly in passing, but he said something along the lines of "For those of you with a Divine Mercy devotion, this is your Sunday.  I wish you a blessed feast."

My mouth actually dropped open.

The 2nd Sunday of Easter is not strictly for devotees.  It's for EVERYONE who wants to avail themselves of Christ's Mercy.  He doesn't restrict it to those of us who happen to like that particular chaplet or happen to have this image up in our homes.  It is for ALL SINNERS.  To wave it off as a small devotion is such a disservice to the meaning behind this feast.

Ugh.  

It's now Wednesday and I'm still incredibly bummed about this.  I can't imagine St. John Paul II being happy that a party for him and his buddy, Saint John the 23rd, completely overshadowed the most joyous feast that Christ, Himself, gifted to the world.  

I just... wow.  So sad about this.  Please tell me there are those of you out there who had Masses that highlighted this feast.

The outside of this church belies its spacious, breezy interior with golden sunlight streaming in from every window.  It feels like you are ambling under a gazebo during a relaxing summer afternoon.  I was surprised with how massive it felt, especially when you considered the size of the image of Mary that hung high and proud behind the tabernacle.

I grinned when I noted that the pews were very modest. There were no cushions, no padding on the kneelers.  Worship isn't about creature comforts... it's about praising God.

I captured this sacristan's head along with the tabernacle to give you an idea just how massive this piece of artwork actually is. This rendition of Our Lady of Guadalupe might be among my favorites.  She is simply beautiful, as she should be.  Above her are the words "Queen of Mexico and Empress of America."  At least I'm 99.9% sure of that, anyway.

I felt like this piece was woven or embroidered somehow.  It wasn't a painting... at least I don' think it was.  I just couldn't imagine the time it took to painstakingly stitch each glorious detail.  

Here is a full shot of the sanctuary.  Given the scope of the Virgin's tapestry, you can imagine how large the crucifix actually is.  

I didn't notice until after I'd taken the photo, but the detail of Christ's Face moved me.  I don't typically like the super gaunt versions of Our Lord looking anorexic (He was a carpenter - He would have been strong and broad from all His toil with wood), but I did not mind this one so much.  The artist did not shy away from the Blood that oozed from His wounds.  I appreciate that His shoulder wound and those on His knees were accounted for. So often they are forgotten.

St. Michael and a beautiful guardian angel flank both sides of the sanctuary.  St. Michael has the power of the Holy Spirit above him while the guardian angel protects her three native charges.  I really loved this latter stained glass image.  It was very peaceful and loving.

One of their beautiful circular stained glass windows, this one depicting the Holy Family.

Which one of you dares to disbelieve Our Lady's intervention now?!  :)

A fitting painting for above the confessional - Jesus saving St. Peter from his own lack of faith.

A couple of their stations.  I'm always appreciative when the Resurrection is included.  :)

I probably should've mentioned these last two points in my other blog entry, but here will do just fine.

Instead of having lay ministers, this parish utilizes the Brides of Christ to bring Communion to the people.  I'm not the biggest fan of women acting as Eucharistic Ministers, but if you're going to allow it, I can't imagine a better way.  

Also, the altar servers sat at opposites sides of the sanctuary facing one another (behind the altar but in front of the tabernacle).  I thought they were very much like the Seraphim who guarded the Ark of the Covenant.  It made me smile to think of them as such given their constant gaze upon the tabernacle.

Finally, a photo of me (graciously taken by my husband) with a frond of palm across from the church.  On the way back to the resort, I braided what turned out to be four long leaves into small crowns for my statues at home.  

All in all, a beautiful experience at a wonderful parish... even if I couldn't understand all the words being spoken, I could feel the love.  For me, that is enough.

The Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe, located in Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, was a beautiful slice of Heaven located a few miles from our resort.  It took only 15 minutes or so to arrive by taxi, and my husband was kind enough to accompany me into town so I wouldn't be travelling around in Mexico by myself.

That's right, folks.  My wonderful (and atheist) husband agreed to chaperone.  Having him with me, I felt confident and comfortable.  Thank God he's such a gem.  I know Mass was the last thing he wanted to do (especially on our last morning in Mexico), but he came.  God bless him, he came.

We arrived about 20 minutes before Mass which gave me ample time to snap a few photographs and pay attention to the pre-Mass cleaning and organization that happened in a flurry of volunteers.  

In the sanctuary, an adorable sister swept the marble floor.  She paid careful attention to the stairs and shooed away someone dropping palm strands unwittingly before the podium.

An older gentleman, his one arm bandaged tightly to his chest, was using his other arm to deftly maneuver a broom in and out of each pew, somehow navigating kneelers, feet and purses. The action must have been hard on his good arm and shoulder - even his lower back probably hurt from constantly stooping to get under the seats - but he did not seem to mind.  He offered himself as custodian of the Lord's House, and I marveled at his quiet dedication.

Then there were ladies in dressed in red.  Obviously part of a society of sorts (or maybe a hospitality committee), these women acted like an army of mother hens, hurriedly flitting back and forth through the entire church, ushering some folks to their seats, handing out copies of the readings, informing folks where they could go for palm, etc.  It was like they were everywhere at once, working together as a well-oiled machine in anticipation of the swell of Palm Sunday worshippers.

Then there was Father Patrick.  At least I'm about 99.9% sure it was Father Patrick.  This thoroughly Irish priest stood out from the procession both for his fair complexion and his height.  My husband chuckled with surprise and confusion at his presence.  He and our friends wondered why they'd need to import an Irish priest given the country is thoroughly Catholic.  

They failed to realize that tourists need Confession, too, and English is the best way to reach the majority of us.  At least that was my guess.  Not that it matters.  A priest is a priest regardless of his country of origin, and Lord knows I'm always grateful for them wherever they are.

I had briefly connected with Father Patrick before travelling down to Mexico.  My blogger-friend, Jacob Wall, kindly put us into contact when Jacob found out I was trying to plan for Mass while on vacation.  

***As a complete aside, I must take a moment to publicly thank Jacob for his incredible help.  Without his e-mails of reassurance and helpful pointers, I'm pretty sure I'd've stuck out like the sore thumb I am for more reasons than simply language.  His guidance was instrumental in making me feel at ease leaving the resort to cross through town to get to this parish.  I honestly cannot thank him enough for his willingness to patiently answer my questions.  THANK YOU, JACOB!!!  

Mass was exactly what I'd envisioned. There was a wonderful procession into the church led by Father Patrick in his alb and two young altar boys.  A lone guitarist strummed simple (but beautiful) melodies that engaged the whole congregation.  The readers were direct and humble, each being sure to pay respect to their God in the tabernacle with a genuflect or a reverent bow. Their attention to this often-forgotten reverence made my heart leap with joy.

One thing that surprised me, though, was the Gospel reading.  As many of you know, the Passion Narrative is re-enacted by the priest, lector, and congregation.  This re-enactment is a reminder to us that we, too, participated in the Crucifixion of Christ.  

I retract that statement for correction.  Instead, it should read "This re-enactment is a reminder to us that we, too, PARTICIPATE in the Crucifixion of Christ."  After all, we participate each and every time we sin.  Each sin is an echo of "Crucify Him!"  Heaven forgive us.

As this narrative was being read, I noticed that no one in the congregation was reading their portion.  Only I was (or it seemed that way to me).  I can't speak fluent Spanish, but I can fluidly read the words printed in front of me, so I read our portion aloud only to realize I was the only one reading aloud in addition to the second lector.  

I was confused.  I wasn't sure if it was a cultural thing to not take part in the spoken liturgy beyond prescribed responses, or if the majority of parishioners were unable to read.  I can't imagine it being the latter because it seemed like they were reading along, just not being vocal about it.  Regardless, I kept pace with the reading figuring if I was wrong, the folks around me would chalk it up to my own ignorance at custom.  At least I hoped they would.

The homily went well beyond my realm of understanding.  The only portion I was able to catch was when Father Patrick explained that Christ did not come as a mighty conqueror.  He came as a humble Man who died a terrible death on the Cross.  He was not what the people were expecting their champion to be.  Instead, He brought salvation in a way no one had foreseen. I'm very likely butchering even my weak paraphrasing of the snippet I think I understood, but it was enough of a reflection to keep me sustained through the rest of his homily.  Maybe that's all God thought I needed to think on... especially given how arrogant I tend to be sometimes.  

Christ didn't come as a warrior who violently clamped down on His enemies.  He came as a gentle victim, offering Himself as a beacon that would lead us home.

            Stay tuned for my next entry, dedicated to their artwork.