Short Skirts at the Tabernacle

Last updated on: April 25, 2016 at 12:15 pm by Chase Padusniak

Short Skirts at the Tabernacle 2016-04-25T12:15:11-04:00 Chase Padusniak

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(A 1365 depiction of some women doing an Italian folk dance by Andrea Bonaiuti, located in the Church of Santa Maria Novella in Florence. Source: Wikimedia, Creative Commons License).

It was a few years ago, when I was just beginning to come to the Church. I’d go with my roommate to Sunday Mass, not really knowing exactly what I was doing, but familiar with the basics thanks to my years of Catholic schooling. Sitting, standing, kneeling, all of these came easily enough (though the new responses took time), but the finer points of discipline completely eluded me. At this point in my life during one Mass, I saw something amazing: my roommate just didn’t get up for Communion. He continued kneeling, let the others through, and mouthed prayers to himself. This boggled my mind. Back then, I was unfamiliar with the reverence due to the Eucharist, but after asking my roommate (or doing some research; I genuinely do not remember) I followed the practice too. In other words, I began doing what any faithful Catholic should. There would be no more Communion for me until I found my way to Confession (and that could be the subject of a whole other blog post!).

Why am I telling this story? Well, a fellow Patheos blogger and Facebook friend shared a picture yesterday (not approvingly, I imagine to critique its tone. If it is hard to read, my apologies. It is mostly advice on how to dress for Mass, in a somewhat angry tone). As you can see, it deals with the appropriate dress code at Mass. Like Communion in the hand, dressing for Mass is one of those issues that riles people up, elicits their discontents with our world and the disrespect we show God himself. There is so much anger and disgust over attire that one might think the Host itself was being stamped upon by giddy parishioners.

To be fair, I’ve been in such situations before, angry at others for their inability to show our Lord respect. While at the Vatican last summer I recall cringing when tourists would walk around St. Peter’s Basilica with their shoulders uncovered and the like (there are many, many signs and security guards devoted to preventing just this). I was incensed: how could these people come into among the most important churches in the world and gaze, eyes glazed over, at the beautiful art, snapping pictures left and right, shoulders uncovered and shorts abounding, as I tried to pray?

Truth be told, though, my anger was sinful; I was in no position to stop anyone, and, frankly, I was letting their disrespect harden my heart. I judged them in a way unacceptable to Christ, with so much anger that my own tranquility was disturbed. This sort of (often righteous) disaffection leads to letters like the one above; it comes from a valid place of devotion, a place of love for Christ, one whence we hope for God to receive His proper due.

And yet, in times of such dissatisfaction, I recall how my roommate showed me the way to a more authentic, Christ-centered life. He did not yell at me (he probably didn’t know I was unaware of Church teaching); no, what he did was act in such a way as to inspire me, not to judge me or otherwise question me. As a man of faith, my roommate showed me with the full force of his being how to show God due reverence, to rid myself of mortal sin before approaching the holy table.

Fittingly, I recently stumbled upon a Crux piece by a professor of mine from undergrad, Mathew Schmalz, touching upon the problem of Communion in the hand versus Communion on the tongue. Sitting in a new church, he also felt God’s rebuke to remove the beam from his own eye before grasping at the splinter in that of another:

I knelt to say my prayers and was immediately distracted by a man sitting in front of me who was talking…softly on his cellphone one minute, then whispering to a man next to him. This continued through the readings and up until the beginning of the Eucharistic prayer. I wasn’t just distracted, I was angry. This was most certainly not reverence — not as I understood it. Then, at the elevation of the Host, the man did something I had never seen at Mass before, and have never seen since. He quickly stood from his kneeling position and brought both hands to his lips. He then blew a kiss toward the altar, toward the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. I accepted Communion in the hand that day, as did the man sitting in front of me. I did hesitate, however. I hesitated, because I felt that I had sinned. I had judged someone I did not know. We humans sin with our hands, and we also sin in and through what comes out of our mouths. But most of all, we sin in our minds and hearts. I think that blowing kisses to the consecrated Host would be considered a violation of protocol in most places. But there, in that context, it struck me as not just an expression of reverence, but an act that conveyed rapturous joy and gratitude. It also had the rather salutary effect of moving me out of my own self-absorption.

Admittedly, blowing a kiss to the Host is strange (though the mystics have done stranger), but the point is not that gesture, but the softening it caused in the writer’s heart. I have experienced something similar at my own church, where one man removes his shoes during every liturgy (this is, though not widely practiced, actually quite the ancient thing to do, hence papal slippers). At first, I was terribly confused, even offended, but, with time, I’ve come to understand that such is actually a form of devotion itself. Granted, spaghetti straps and miniskirts are likely not signs of reverence in a liturgical context, but what matters is reserving judgment about others, demonstrating to them the manners in which we might glorify God.

As things stand, the Church has no universal dress code, at least not on the books. And even this rather traditional piece ends with a helpful reminder:

Do not sit in judgement of those who come to Mass not knowing the proper attire and etiquette (I speak here of the good-willed who are simply ignorant, not of public, persistent, unrepentant sinners who use the Mass for political purposes, who flaunt Divine Law intentionally, etc. Even with that latter group of people, we are to refrain from personal judgements and are to love them in Truth, even as we judge their actions and protect our Church).

Instruct those who are new to the Church gently and lovingly—and mostly by good example.

Never forget that living the life demanded of us by Christ is the surest way to heal hearts. Rebuke should always be gentle, never vicious. In our own self-righteousness, we often forget that God is glorious no matter what disrespect we human beings might show Him. A failure to kneel, an exposed shoulder, even the horrific state of my not understanding Church teaching, are problems to be approached with repentance and joy, not officiousness and condemnation. Let us, then, pray with St. Andrew of Crete:

How shall I begin to mourn the deeds of my wretched life? What can I offer as first fruits of repentance? In Your compassion, O Christ, forgive my sins.

Come, my wretched soul, and confess your sins in the flesh to the Creator of all. From this moment forsake your former foolishness and offer to God tears of repentance.

My transgressions rival those of first created Adam, and because of my sins I find myself naked of God and of His everlasting kingdom.

Alas, my wretched soul, why are you so like Eve…You see evil and are grievously wounded by it; you touch the tree and tasted heedlessly of its deceiving fruit.

Instead of the person Eve, I have within my inward being an “Eve” of passionate thoughts which though seemingly sweet never lose their bitter taste.

For failing to observe just one of Your commandments, O Saviour, Adam was justly exiled from Eden. What then shall I suffer for continually ignoring Your words of life?

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