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Fighting Demons At Church
I’m going to do what not enough Christians do (myself included). I’m going to talk about my own shortcomings – my own sins. I have lately recognized a huge imperfection in myself when I go to church. I feel like I judge everyone around me, and I know in my heart of hearts that I’m not supposed to do that. On the surface, I tell myself it’s because I’m more reverent than they are; so out of my deeper love of God than theirs I expect more from these people. But in reality, I’m just a judgmental jerk who falls incredibly short of Christ constantly. I have talked about this church issue I have in the past. I want to say it was in the episode I did on Being Quiet in Church, where I was basically lamenting about how people just won’t shut the fuck up in church prior to mass while people are trying to pray. On the one hand I know I’m right in that, there is a level of sanctity that is often missing in church nowadays, but if I’m to be honest with myself, it’s definitely more my issue than anyone else’s. Right?
Well, maybe not. You see I recently read Scott Hanh’s book The Lamb’s Supper, which is all about connecting the different parts of the mass with the Book of Revelation. And by the time you finish Hahn’s incredibly informative book, you come to realize just how much St. John’s Apocalyptic writing is really just a vivid description of the Catholic liturgy. The part that’s relevant here is when Hahn connects the revelation battle scenes with one’s internal conflicts while at mass in his chapter appropriately entitled Worship is Warfare. Let me read you this:
"What is our particular combat during Mass? Maybe it's warding off contempt for the worshiper whose perfume is too strong, or the man who sings the wrong lyrics off-key. Maybe it's holding back our judgment against the parishioner who's skipping out early. Maybe it's turning the other way when we begin to wonder how low that neckline really goes. Maybe it's fighting off smugness when we hear a homily riddled with grammatical errors. Maybe it's smiling, in an understanding way, at the mom with the screaming baby,
"Those are the tough battles. Maybe they're not as romantic as sabers clashing in a faraway desert, or marching through tear gas to fight injustice. But because they're so perfectly hidden, so interior, they require greater heroism. No one but God and His angels will notice that you didn't mentally critique Father's homily this week. No one but God and His angels will notice you withheld judgement against the family that was underdressed. So you don't get a medal; you win a battle instead" [1].
I can’t even begin to tell you just how much this passage hits home for me. So, yes, I’m a judgmental sinner at church, but it turns out, I’m not the only one fighting that battle. We are all fighting that battle (in one way or another). And what makes the battle particularly important, is that it’s hidden. It’s a fight that’s happening within us. To connect it back to the Book of Revelation, it’s like we’re Michael the archangel fighting the dragon. The sign of the cross is armor. The rosary our sword. The demon is trying to attack us from within – in our mind.
What does Jesus say – Repent! Repentance in its truest definitional sense means to change one’s mind – as in radically change it. In other words, we need to look at things completely differently – more internally, more Christ-like.
A couple of weeks ago I got to church a half hour early like I always do – I’m literally the first one there every week. A few minutes passed and the church was still quite empty and wouldn’t you know it, some woman plops herself down right behind me, and within about thirty seconds or so she starts coughing like a maniac – basically all over me (or at least that’s what it felt like). Am I the judgmental jerk when I say to myself – why the hell would you choose to sit down right behind me in an empty church, when you could have literally sat anywhere else? Like there’s at least seventy-five empty pews. And why on top of that do you have to be sick? I’m ashamed to admit that I considered getting up and moving. And keep in mind this is the spot I sit every single week. Pathetic. I mean, how would that look? I call myself a Christian and then I shun my fellow parishioner. If I did that, in such an open and blatant way, I would be the sick one. So no, I didn’t move – so I won that small little battle against the demons. But I was still in the middle of the war, so to speak. My body felt tense, and I couldn’t even think straight. I kept trying to get through the rosary I was praying. She kept coughing. So much so, that she even whispered a sorry. I acted like I didn’t hear her. (I lost that battle). But I kept fighting. Then right before mass begins, one of the readers reads a welcoming that calls on everyone to pray and sing along, and also to turn to those around you and give a little greeting. At which point I turned around to the woman and mustered the biggest Christian smile I could; For the past twenty minutes or so, I had silently and internally fought against this woman – well, not the woman really but the demon trying to get inside my head with fear and judgment. In the end I won the war when I smiled at her. I turned back around and let the tension drop from my shoulders as I looked up at the Jesus mural on the wall like “I know you can see what I’m doing, Lord. I’m fighting the good fight.”
Notes:
Scott Hahn, The Lamb's Supper: The Mass as Heaven on Earth (New York: Doubleday, 1999), 143-144.
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