It all seemed like a usual Sunday morning, when Fr. X processed into church. He shook some hands, left and right, while the congregation sang “Zomaar Een Dak”. The whole atmosphere was lovely, just lovely. And did he notice a new family there? How wonderful! The woman looked a bit foreign and had a funny piece of black lace on her head. Since she was halfway down the pew Father decided to greet her after the Celebration. He hoped she wouldn’t mind.
Mass went great. Since the trainee pastoral worker had just covered this part of the gospel in her classes, Fr. X let her share the homily. The parishioners would love to hear the female perspective - after all, Jesus was a feminist!
There was a bit of confusion at communion, because the new family wasn’t used to this community’s traditions yet. Well, you can’t blame them, of course. Father made a mental note to kindly explain to the parents that you don’t have to kneel for communion anymore. After all, it’s about sharing. Rather impressive how she kneeled with a toddler clinging to her like that, though. For a moment he wondered how she raised her kids - they seemed so subdued, and they didn’t come up to the altar during the Offertory either. He hoped they’d gotten a good view from there. Maybe they were shy about holding hands with the other kids.
Fortunately his fears were put to rest when he saw them after Mass. The woman sat on the steps outside the church, surrounded by her children. The dad was unpacking sandwiches. The children were excited, laughing and talking, sometimes interrupting each other, and apparently agreeing a lot. “No, no,” said the woman, smiling, “There was another one, just after the Gospel. It’s a tough one, but Benedict, I’m sure you noticed it!” The eldest girl appeared to be taking notes. The eldest boy, who seemed about eight years old, looked thoughtful, until his face lit up. “He didn’t kiss it!”
“Very good! Mary, did you get that?” The eldest girl nodded, with a wide grin.
“You’ve all done well today, kids.” The children looked smug until they were distracted by the sandwiches, which were wolfed down in no time at all.
“Who won, honey?” the dad said, as he sat down next to his wife.
“Well, Benedict got a difficult one, but Matthew’s been doing really well overall. I think it’s a tie.”
“And the total count was?”
The woman let out a deep sigh. “Thirty-three.”
“Wow!” The man whistled. “Is that a record?”
“Unfortunately, no. And why are you smiling? This isn’t good news!”
“I know, dear, I know.”
As they fell silent, Fr. X decided this would probably be the least intrusive time, and walked up to them, hand extended. “Welcome, welcome! It’s so nice to see a new face!”
“Hello, Father,” the woman said, standing up. “Are you busy this afternoon?”
Taken aback, Fr. X answered, “No… I only have to do some shopping…”
“Oh, lovely!” the woman replied, heaving the toddler on her hip, and accepting her daughter’s notebook with her free hand. “Do you mind if we have some tea? I’m Mulier Paschalis, lay member of the Pontifical Council for the Liturgy. Don’t worry, I have a letter that explains it all… it’s somewhere in the diaper bag… I trust you read Latin? In any case, before we start, could you please take that green plastic binder off the altar?”
Fr. X just stared, jaw hanging.
“Ish the offeshtone foh the bloodlesh sacwifishe of Chwist,” the toddler explained.
For Puella, who will safe the (our) world someday, although probably not in this way.
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