5 – 1 – 18 The Power of Just Showing Up (4 minutes)

Father Ben Hawley once said to me, “you engineers all are so Type A.” Father Wayne Dziekan once said to me, “where do you get the energy and time to do all these things?”

My mother once said to me, “you need to chill out.”

Generally, I prize action. I’m very into verifiable improvements, public accomplishments, and third-party validation. I generally think of my self-definition in terms of “to do” rather than “to be.”

It’s less about where I am than where I’m headed, less about who I am than what I do, and less about any appreciation of the moment than a constant task of optimization and improvement.

But that’s not Saint Peter. “Lord, it is good that we are here.”

The thought popped into my head yesterday morning while sitting in the pew after the Eucharist at my first daily mass at Mary of the Assumption in Saginaw.

The experience was not altogether underwhelming, but the feelings that made it memorable were not exceptionally religious. I mostly just felt uncomfortable, and very young. I’ve written before about how going to church alone is often a more spiritual experience for me because I feel more personally and intimately in the presence of Christ when I’m not distracted by people I know. That wasn’t this morning.

But thank God I had a different insight. Not one that tingled my skin, or gave me great excitement, or was even something I hadn’t known before. “Lord, it is good that we are here.”

Peter’s reaction to the Transfiguration pushed itself squarely into the center of my thoughts. I couldn’t help feeling that it was inappropriate, his great revelation of awe and joy contrasting with my, well, slight boredom to be most honest.

But I began to think about the things that would happen to me if I continued to go to daily mass.

[I realize here that it may sound like I’m verging into the “to do” emphasis but I promise this is about being and experiencing.]

What if I were to expose myself to the Mass, expose myself to the influence of Christ, this regularly? I think it’s clear that I do very little when I attend Mass, so surely the chief method of transformation within me must just be proximity and exposure.

I realized that no matter how mundane it feels, it is good for me to be there. By allowing that regular, good influence in my life (among many much more insistent and negative ones) the ship of my soul will be nudged every day ever so slightly closer to the path it’s supposed to be on.

I suppose the power of showing up seems obvious in the context of Mass as that is about as much as most people are used to doing. But I think it’s the most we can do.

When I provide music for a Mass, or minister in some other way, I reap enormous rewards. I feel extremely grateful for the opportunity, I feel that I’ve helped other people connect with God more closely (or at least brought them a little joy), I feel like I’ve been helping build the Kingdom. I’m nearly certain most people who are privileged enough to do ministry feel similarly.

But what makes me feel the closest to God is when I’m not obligated to pay attention to anything. If, rather than playing an instrumental after the distribution of communion, I can put my head in my hands and forget about the world, that is when I feel closest to God. The power of showing up. The power of being. The power of acknowledging you have nothing to offer, and therefore offering nothing.

I think these two aspects of experiencing the Mass touch on two sides I see to our faith.

There’s the Luke 17:10 side. “And when ye have done all that you were commanded, say to the Lord, ‘We are unworthy servants, we have done only as we were obliged to do.’” I guess I’d call that the servant reality. That we are created to serve and glorify God, that’s the side of my faith I feel engaged in while doing ministry. That’s the side that builds hospitals, funds relief efforts, visits prisoners.

And there’s the Hosea side. “Long have I waited for your coming home to me and living deeply our new life.” This longing, this love, this broad and merciful acceptance God has for our weakness and iniquity. That’s what I feel praying in a room full of hundreds of people but feeling like I’m as at home as I could possibly be. That portion of our faith is nearly invisible but is at the same time the most real.

Just show up. Just be loved. It is good that you are here.