An Unexpected Blessing within an Expected One(s)

As you who read these pages know, I began to attend Mass more frequently after the chapter of a "regular job" closed, allowing me a freedom of schedule. As several servers came and went, at least one to become a seminarian, my nascent skills in that arena have been used more frequently as I share the role with a couple of others. Often I find myself the only server, and after a number of mistakes, I think I am becoming more efficient in carrying out this serious role and not losing a sense of reverence as I do so. Our current pastor has physical impairments that make turning the pages of the altar missal difficult, so I often remain kneeling behind the altar as he speaks the words of Transubstantiation to be close to the book at the critical times. On more than one occasion, as I considered the Moment of the Moment, when Christ Himself persists in Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity under the appearance of bread, I have found myself teary eyed back there. But it is hard for a mere human to sustain the enormity of the Event for more than a fraction of time itself. I am grateful for my moment of real faith even if I return to that vague one which characterizes my practice.

Today, something else was added. We have visiting priests because of the overall shortage, but also because of the need to spell our current Monsignor, who drives himself in a holy but wearing manner. They have all been, in the brief acquaintance I have made of them, sincere ministers of the Catholic faith. Rarely, there is someone who blows you out of religious complacency. And today, I met such a man, and served the Mass he celebrated feeling that I had observed in persona Christi in a way I rarely have.

I had been expecting our Monsignor, who was returning from another celebration of Mass for the benefit of some nuns in nearby Hollywood. I was sitting in a pew in the altar area, and I saw a tall, lean priest walking toward me, a strong, young man. He wore a large Cross, the type worn by Eastern Rite Catholics and he bore the skull cap of a bishop.




The idea that a bishop I had never seen before had been called to substitute was not congruent and so I did not want to assume what my eyes were telling me, that this indeed as some bishop here to celebrate the 12:10 Mass attended usually by no more than 20-40 people a day. He had a strong face and a pleasant humble manner. He was here in the U.S. from Peru for a two week period on some form of missionary work he did not specify. I stumbled over his name Kay something-hausen, which seemed German, not Peruvian. I did not wish him to be uncomfortable so I stopped prying. As it turns out his mother is Peruvian and  his father German.

He told us his English was not good. It was, to me, pristine, every word spoken with clarity and intent, whether it was his homily or the words of the Eucharistic Prayer. Every move on the altar spoke an understanding of the awe we should hold for God, the God who sent His Son to repair our broken race and its relationship with Him. There was none of the rushing through that I have seen since I was a child. I understood nearly for the first time the importance of every part of the Mass and the words we usually repeat without thought.

His life, this young (he is still in his forties) priest, and bishop, is nothing like that of us in the United States. I looked up his prelature. It is a place of hard work on the earth, in the earth.






      

And this day, he was in a little Church in West Hollywood, humbly celebrating the Mass that is the same always and everywhere.

There truly are no accidents with God, Our Father.

The Bishop and the sometime server, Catholics together no matter how far apart the lands of our birth! Thank you, Lord. And thanks for Most Reverend Kay Martin Schmalhassen Panizo.