The Importance of a Parish...

I thought I might develop my previous post about not having a parish. If anyone has read the title of this post and is expecting a lengthy treatise, then I am afraid you're going to be somewhat disappointed. I am too busy for treatises. But it is an interesting topic all the same, and what follows are a few thoughts, mostly autobiographical.

When we left our old parish, we were left with nowhere to go. By this time, I had already read about the Second Vatican Council and its New Mass, and had formed a lasting view of it. We moved to our current house when I was 16, and I went along to the local parish to see what it was like. The church was quite small and ugly, and so was the Liturgy there, but I went there purely to fulfill my Sunday obligation. My mother made no attempt whatsoever at coming along - she had already declined into a secular state. When I was 17, I started work part-time at a local supermarket, and had to work Sundays to keep my head above water. And so, I was constrained to go to the Sunday evening Mass instead. That was even worse than the morning Mass, with a full compliment of euphemistic monsters, girl Altar servers and even a folk choir. After a few months of that, I decided that I couldn't quite take anymore, and decided to stop going to Mass on Sunday indefinitely (at least until I found something more tolerable).

Before I started University, I began reading Mass of Ages, the quarterly magazine of The Latin Mass Society, and discovered in their Mass Supplement that there was a Missa Cantata every Monday at Corpus Christi church, Covent Garden. And so I decided to go and see for myself. I made no attempt at joining The Latin Mass Society, and still have no intention of doing so. I was blown away by the Mass there, and have been going there regularly since. Before then, the only Old Rite Masses I had attended were Low Masses (my first, in fact, was at the London Oratory on a Sunday in October of 2005), and it quite intoxicated me. The schola there chant the Mass very well. And so, still working Sundays, I treated Monday evenings as my Sunday.

But I still had no parish church. I would not return to my actual parish (I had nothing whatsoever in common with the parishioners there, not even my Faith), and I didn't know anyone at Corpus Christi - I simply went to Mass, and went home, that was it. I went to other odd Masses advertised in the Mass of Ages Supplement, but despite recognising people by face, I still didn't know anyone. In a certain sense, I had made myself an outlaw for Christ and His Mass (if that does not sound too grandiloquent). That is until the bane of my life came along (my current job), and I opted to stop working Sundays. And so, in November of last year, I went to my first Mass at Our Lady of the Rosary church, Blackfen.

I have discovered again the joy of having an actual parish church, with real families, real friends. What is even more poignant is that at the heart of the parish is the Traditional Latin Mass, which in a sense, has returned from exile. It is a wonderful feeling to know that I can now attend, and am privileged to now serve, an Old Rite Mass within walking distance of my house. I only hope that the Old Rite returns from the back of beyond to many, in fact, all parishes; instead of what I was used to for years - a Low Mass on the third Friday of such a month at 3:30pm in an obscure church in London, where you were advised to telephone before travelling. Fortunately, thanks to our most Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI, to whom be many years, this prospect seems the more likely as the days pass.