Encountering God on a dread-filled Christmas morning.
My best Christmas story happened about 13 years ago. It would have taken a miracle for me to go to Sunday Mass; There were simply better things to do than go to church on Sundays. But it was Christmas, and what kind of Catholic would I be if I did not go to Mass? My parents were visiting from the Philippines and my mom would not be happy if we did not go. My sister and her family were also visiting from Chicago, and it was going to be her baby’s first Christmas Mass. It was Christmas morning and I sulked for most of it, dreading having to see, God forbid, people, at church. I fussed over what I had to wear. I fussed over what my kids would wear. My husband and I double checked the Mass schedule and planned to be there at least several minutes before Mass started. We had to get seats early–there will be tons of people. I checked how I looked in the mirror too many times before leaving the house, and off we went to church.
We arrived at church about 10 minutes prior to the scheduled time, and we were shocked to see that the parking lot was completely empty. Did we miss Mass? I recall being somewhat surprised about feeling disappointed. After all, I have dreaded this for the past several hours; All that dread for…nothing. We checked the schedule again and sure enough, it said 12 o’clock. Well, maybe we were too early. It’s horrible how other people can be so late. We decided to enter the church anyway–my husband and I, our 2 kids, my parents, my sister, her husband and their 9 month old baby–all dressed so nicely for Christmas Mass. The church was empty. Or so we thought. A young priest came in and introduced himself: Fr. Gaines. He had dark brown hair and a bearded face and he looked at us with surprise. “Is there Mass, Father? ” my husband asked. “The schedule said it starts at 12 .”
“The Mass you were looking at was celebrated at 12 midnight last night. There was Mass at 10:30 AM this morning and you just missed it,” Fr. Gaines answered. We all groaned and he said, “You can probably still catch the Mass over at Pendleton.” We all looked at him stupidly. He could tell we were not driving 45 minutes to Pendleton for Mass. Our family stared at him for several awkward seconds, and he said, “Or I can read you the Gospel, then I can give a little homily?” We all nodded eagerly. Boy, was this a treat, especially for me. We get to have “church time”, and we had the whole church to ourselves! No other people. It was Christmas, indeed.
We sat on the first two pews and Father opened his Bible. He told my sister that she could breastfeed her baby if she needed to. My sister looked relieved, as her baby started being fussy, and thanked Father. We sat comfortably as this young, kind priest read the Word of God on this dreaded Christmas morning. I do not recall the Scripture he read, not a word. But I remember his soothing voice, the beautiful light that streamed in from outside, and I felt a softness that hurt my heart, and it hurt enough to squeeze out tears from my eyes. I looked over to my husband, and he had tears in his eyes too. Father gave a homily and I do not recall a word he said. But I could have stayed in that place forever. I felt safe, I felt loved, and it washed over me like a tidal wave.
I did not appreciate God in the Eucharist (communion bread turning into the blood, body, soul and divinity of Jesus) at that time, so I do not recall if we received it. My husband thinks we did, and this uncertainty about that detail does tell you where we were in our faith at that time.
I believe we started going to Sunday Mass regularly after that glorious day. Over time, the Mass opened up the Scriptures to us and led us to know, love and serve Christ. All because we made a mistake that the Lord used to bring our entire family to Him. I know Father Gaines had better things to do that day than to minister to a silly family who only went to Mass once a year. But we were precious to him, because He knew God loved us and brought us to him to be shepherded that day. I wish people can realize how taking time out of their busy day to attend to another person in need can drastically change a life. It is not the easiest thing to do. It is the most annoying thing to do. Oh, but the yield of that sacrifice. Oh, the bounty and generosity of the heart of God.
I write this a few hours before I go to Christmas Mass this year. I am so excited. I look forward to seeing people, even those I do not know or usually see–yes, those “Christmas Mass only” people–because I know they are precious to God, and they are now precious to me. Above all, I get to worship with my family and receive Jesus in Holy Communion, and now I better understand the immensity of this act of Love.
So, there’s my favorite Christmas story. I pray for Fr. Gaines as often as I can remember. Kindness always matters, and matters the most at a time when it hardest to give. I am grateful for this wonderful Christmas faux pas and what it did for my soul. God is good, God is great, and He has a sense of humor. Happy Birthday, my Lord and my Savior! Thank You for loving us.
Ina Malaya 