Snack Mass

I've been to a lot of different kinds of Masses in my short life.  When I was a kid, being in a German-heritage town, there was from time to time a "polka" Mass.  For la fiesta de Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe, my best friend in elementary school dressed up like an Aztec and danced to drum beats and Indian war whoops just outside the narthex as a statue was processed into the little country church to begin the Mass. In college, as a missionary in Nicaragua, I somehow wound up at an outdoor charismatic Mass, where there was a liturgical "minister" tasked with ensuring the chickens casually wandering through the congregants, didn't make it up to the elevated stage serving as the sanctuary.  Then, in Honduras, there was the Neocatecheumenal Way Mass in for the Easter vigil where naked babies were fully immersed, full throated singing women danced around the altar and inch thick "unleavened" bread was placed into everyone's hands prior to being consecrated.

When I got a bit older, I found the beautiful Eastern Masses of Sts. James, John Chrysostom, Basil, and Maron, which one must NEVER call a Mass as well as the Anglican Usage of the Roman Mass.  Finally there was the Latin Mass, aka Traditional Latin Mass, aka Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite Mass, aka (my favorite) the Old Mass.

In my house, my children have been exposed to many of the varietals of the Sacrifice in use today, mostly from the latter list, but occasionally, due to the requirements of duty and obligation, from the former.  Naturally, this broad exposure has led to a blending of traditions in our own local rite.  This rite, though young, has many unifying elements that many Catholics of generations past and present would recognize.  Ad orientem worship, dignified vestments and an all-male clergy and corps are the mainstays.  The priest has often maintained the austerity of the patriarchs of ages past, but updating phrases like, "Wisdom, be attentive," and "the doors, the doors," with things like, "Lily, BE QUIET!" or "SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW!!!"

Alas, my a heresy, or at least a significant abuse, has crept in to our domestic liturgical school, the matter of the Eucharist.  Every decently catechized person knows that only true, wheat bread constitutes valid matter for the host, but my sons, having at first happily complied with this mandate, have now entered into an era of experimentation.  Restaurant style corn chips, bagels, tortillas were the beginning, but as one may surmise, that is a slippery slope.  I suspect that mini-rice cakes slathered in nutella, and fresh mozzarella cheese slices may have been illicitly used.  I fear the day when they stumble down the path of Luther and insist on bologna sandwiches, independently developing the false-doctrine of consubstantiation.

Granted, this never happens when under my own close scrutiny, it's all very by the book then...sort of.  But, like many liturgical abuses, this one seems most often to occur when they think no authority figure is looking, and also in close proximity to just-before-supper-time.

Today, I caught my oldest boy, sneaking out of the pantry, mouth full and jaw working to masticate pilfered goods.  "What art thou eating, good son?" saith I.  "A bagel, nobel father," quoth he.  "Dids't thou have leave to eat such morsel from thy mother, thou cur?"  "Nay, sire, but it was for the glory of the Most High, and his Holy Sacrifice that I dids't proffer this to mine brethren.  Our Snack Mass, it was't." And then he happily went his merry way, in green brocade and bishops mitre, to feed the starving masses.

I fear I may have to make an Inquisition into the matter.