I always go to Midnight mass on Christmas. Since I was 10 years old, I have missed only once – due to the pandemic and the shuttering of churches. Until this year. I had every intention of going – I was dressed and ready and putting on my shoes to go, when I remembered the artic blast that hit me a few hours prior, when I opened the door to see my brother out; suddenly, I felt that same chill grip my body, and I could not shake it. Try as I might, I could not get warm. Disappointed, I realized it was too cold outside for me to leave the house; I would have to go to the morning mass, my one condolence that I would be able to surprise my brother when I sat down next to him.
I had wanted to do a mass offering for my parents on Christmas morning, but that’s no longer allowed at my parish, so I had a mass offering the third week of Advent – disappointing, because I wanted my brother to be at the mass offered for our parents, our first Christmas since Dad passed and our second without Mom; instead, I had to go it alone. I made an additional donation for the Christmas flowers, so my parents would be “remembered in the Christmas prayers”. Overall, the Christmas season had been a big disappointment on the spiritual front. And then…
Shortly after arriving at church on Christmas morning, one of the ushers approached and asked me if my brother and I would like to bring down the offering of the gifts for the Eucharist. Walking down the center aisle of our church, my brother holding the wine and I the bread… it was the Christmas Day mass offering I had wanted! And so much more…
In those few moments, as my brother and I solemnly walked to the alter bearing the bread and wine that would become the body and blood, I felt the spirit of my (acrimoniously divorced) parents looking over my brother and me, and in that moment the four of us were a loving family once again.
Delayed blessings are the best blessings…when you don’t get what you want, it’s because there is something better in store for you.
