I didn’t observe Good Friday at my own parish this year. I had to attend a funeral, and another church was closer. I was a few minutes late, and the church was packed. People sat or stood by all the entrances. A hospitality minister brought a folding chair and settled me on the porch near the main door.
I wanted to explain that I’m usually early, and my tardiness wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t like the other latecomers. Then I realized I sounded just like the Pharisee in Luke 18:11, who thanked God that he was better than other worshipers. Now I felt the repentance proper to the day.
An old woman with a cane arrived, and I gave her my seat. The hospitality minister arrived with another chair, which I gave it to a mother with a wiggling toddler. Standing on the stone porch for two hours seemed an appropriate penance for my judgmental thoughts.
It was difficult at first to concentrate on the service. The crowd was quiet, and the church has a decent sound system. However, there were no service sheets left, and I couldn’t always visualize what the folks inside were up to. Street noises distracted me, as did the steady stream of later arrivals.
During the readings, I imagined myself in the crowds who came to see Jesus. The ones in the back, like me, would not have been able to hear or see everything. They had to pick up cues from those in front, just as I was doing. The people behind me followed my example. It reminded me of the way the Gospel spread over time and space: “Christ is risen. Pass it on.”
I thought about Jesus driving the moneychangers out of the temple. Non-Jews were restricted to the temple’s porch. However, the sounds of commerce made it hard for them to focus on prayer. Not exactly a warm welcome for potential converts. I wondered what noises we Christians make that might keep potential converts away.
I wasn’t the only person over 65 standing up, while some teens and youngsters had chairs. I asked God to forgive my youthful thoughtlessness as well as the times I’m still oblivious to the suffering around me. I reminded myself I was supposed to be offering up this discomfort, not grumbling about it.
I couldn’t hear the Prayers of the People clearly, so I substituted my own. I prayed for all the world’s outsiders. I noticed that the porch crowd was generally a little shabbier than the people in the pews. How welcome are the poor in our churches? How much practical help do we offer them?
Many around me spoke a different language to each other. What are we Catholics doing to accommodate those who don’t speak English easily? I also noted several worshipers in uniforms who came late and left early. Probably they only got an hour off, yet no evening service was scheduled for working people.
At my home parish, I think of my fellow worshipers by name, not race, ethnicity or economic status. Praying with these strangers, though, I was happily reminded that the Roman Catholic Church is the most diverse institution on the planet.
I’m also proud that my porch gang sang along with the hymns. We stood and even knelt at the appropriate times. No one seemed embarrassed by the passing cars. I hope we were a witness to the drivers and pedestrians.
I had a lot to think about when I finally headed home. I concluded it was not a penance but a privilege to pray this year from the porch.
Kathleen welcomes comments. Send them to Kathleen Choi, 1706 Waianuenue Ave., Hilo 96720, or email: kathchoi@hawaii.rr.com.
