In my last post I said I would write about Pope Francis since he keeps coming up as of late - well, actually as of the last year and then some. Given his popularity, however, I think it will be alright to go without devoting a post about the Pontiff. Sorry to disappoint anyone chomping at the bit to read that. And while I doubt that any of my five readers were so eager, if you're that interested in Pope Francis, I highly recommend his Apostolic Exhortation: "The Joy of the Gospel: Evangelii Gaudium." Or just peruse the newspaper, a magazine stand, or most any Catholic parish narthex. Chances are, you'll find something about him there.
Moving on. I have been wanting to write about something that is at once beautiful and vomitous... No, not beautiful. It actually is just disgusting. Yet I find it thought-provoking, nonetheless.
As sacristan of a small chapel, I was sweeping the floor one Saturday. It always amazes me how much dirt and whatnot a chapel floor can accumulate. It's not like I'm cleaning a bathroom or vacuuming beneath couch cushions. One expects to find filth in such places, but alas, not even a chapel remains immaculate like our Blessed Mother. What struck me though as I was collecting the little pile of dirt into the dust pan was that it mostly consisted of dead skin and hair. Dead skin and hair! A salt-and-peppering of dandruffy flakes and little, twisty curls of head hair, arm hair, leg hair, and God-only-knows-where-else hair.
Oddly enough, my reaction was not an immediate gag-reflex. Undoubtedly, this is what anyone would find if they swept a well-used floor. As I pondered, I couldn't help thinking to myself, "Hmm, how appropriate that we really do become one body here in this chapel!" And that gleaming realization was followed by a flood of other considerations about Catholicism's nonchalance for hygiene that would test any germaphobe's faith... or at least their level of tolerance.
Let's begin with the holy water. I myself cringe as I reach to dip my finger into that cesspool of sanctity. I can remember as a child peering into the small fonts along the entrance wall of the nave and noticing a distinct cloud of some sort at the bottom of the bowl. That cloud, I'm sure, was not something spoken of in Ezekiel or Daniel, and I don't think I have to say what it actually was. The evening news, on the other hand, was not shy to point out that a certain percentage of fecal matter indeed ends up in holy water fonts... and apparently neither was I. A couple of things to remember though if this is too disturbing for you: 1.) if such crap (literally) is found in holy water, it's probably in a lot more places than you think anyway - like doorknobs. Wash you hands, and get some hand sanitizer (I'm currently loving Bath & Bodyworks' Fresh Sparkling Snow scented anti-bacterial gel, though I have no idea what fresh sparkling snow is supposed to smell like). 2.) There is no theological or liturgical purpose, as far as I know, for you to bless yourself with holy water when you are leaving the church. You just received Jesus in the Holy Eucharist! I think you're pretty blessed enough. So don't worry about that second dip on your way out.
The case with the holy water is just one example of how we share more of ourselves than we think at Mass. I mean there's hand-shaking, hand-holding (if your parish is into that), a priest up there at the altar praying the Eucharist Prayer between hacking up a lung and wiping his nose. Yeah, I've seen that more than once unfortunately. And let us not forget the most obvious of almost-too-close-for-comfort intimacies at Mass: communion. I once heard a story about a Protestant speaking to a Catholic about Catholic practices, saying something to the effect of, "I can appreciate your belief in the bread and wine becoming the actual body and blood of Jesus. But you all drink from the same cup, and that's nasty!"
He's got a point. I don't even like sharing my food at the dinner table, but I drink from a chalice that has been sipped from over and over again. And yeah, there's nothing hygienic about it, no matter how much I'd like to believe that it being the Blood of Christ washes away the germs - either that or it's alcohol content.
To wrap up this fleshy meditation, I think it's important to note that at Mass, where we are fed and nourished and strengthened to spiritually become one body in Christ with all our brothers and sisters, we actually do become one body in a very mystically physical way. We dip our hands in the same water. We embrace or shake hands. Our tongues might grace the finger of the priest or Eucharistic minister at communion (though I hope no one strives to do that because that's gross). And we drink from the same blessed cup!
Jesus, in his ministry, was not afraid to blur those boundaries of human contact either. He touched the infirmed. He put his fingers in their ears and mouths (I reiterate, that's gross). He even went as far as making mud out of his spittle and rubbing it in someone's eyes! And he sat down and ate with people. Now sharing a meal may seem pretty innocuous as it relates to this topic, but I've eaten family-style at a Mediterranean restaurant. Everyone's touching all the food, and reusing their spoons to get more hummus and tabouli, taking olive pits out of their mouths and then double dipping their pita bread in the tzatziki.* It's dangerously intimate, and I'd imagine that's kind of what it was like to eat a meal in Palestine at the time of Christ. Jesus and everyone else around him were sharing more than just food, I'm sure. So it really puts into perspective the shock it must have caused for him to eat with so-called "sinners!" In a culture with no dichotomy between body and soul, one can only presume the scandal of eating what was touched by moral outcasts of society.
Bottom line (if I haven't strayed too far from it): There is a nearly imperceptible, mystical, earthy, and very real exchange of bodiliness inherent in our worship, and it does not always merit our total revulsion. The Son of God came as a bodily person like the rest of us and interacted with other people as such, even to the extent of risking infection.
And at the end of the day our flesh all gets collected and co-mingles in a neat little pile - the dust to which we shall return, one body in Christ.
*Yeah, that meal gave me one of the worst cases of the runs in my life.
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