My First (and Last) Midnight Mass: No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service

This Christmas past I was invited by a friend to attend my first Christmas Midnight Mass. I'm not a Catholic and not a religious fellow but I was actually curious to see for myself just what kind of show these cats can put on.

The comments that follow are not meant as ant-Catholic or anti-religious. Many others in this world have debated the merits, pro and con, far better than I ever could. Think of this as you would a review of a theatre production albeit one in which all aspects of the evening's proceedings, including the audience, were critiqued and which was observed under the influence of large amounts Christmas cheer.

We arrived at the church that evening and were greeted, or so I thought, in the lobby by the priest and an entourage. "Nice touch," I thought. I was wrong. I was all smiles and the group was all smiles but no handshakes were proffered. We had, in fact, arrived late and stumbled in among the makings of the opening procession. So much for trying to observe without disturbing. My group hurried off to take their seats with me in tow to allow the ceremony to begin, disappointed at not having been offered the chance to throw out the ceremonial first pitch.

I think I had already pieced it together that the Catholic Church wasn't shy about putting on a show. It isn't only religious dogma that emanates from Rome and filters down to the small parishes. The Vatican must also have it's own theatre school. For a small fishing village this church was some swanky. Pity they had to spoil it all with stiff wooden benches. Stadium seating can't be far off.

So the architecture was something. It does grab one's attention. A bit morbid in places though, I have to say. A man pinned to a cross isn't exactly the most welcoming of things. Admittedly symbols are lost on me. And for a church that is so down on homosexuals it does look to have been designed and decorated by Liberace.

As the service was conducted in French (a challenge I relish) and Latin (didn't the Dodo speak Latin?) I did feel a little lost. For the first part of my life I was raised Presbyterian and it's hard not to know the general story of Christianity so I got the basic premise here. But I did feel a little like being at an art museum where everyone else in my group but me was wearing one of the self-guided tour headphones, all nodding knowingly. For a few days afterwards I was trying to remember where I had known this feeling before. The answer: any calculus class I'd ever been in. Not that I expected the church to provide it, but it would have been swell to have a play-by-play and colour analyst walking me through this.

So there were many things that I didn't understand. For instance, as the emcee introduced each act and filled the time in between with jokes, I couldn't help but notice a rather stern looking fellow flanking him. He must have been aware and approved of the man's presence because he carried on without skipping a beat. Perhaps it was an over-eager understudy?

As the service progressed I noted how physically demanding it is to be a Catholic. If you were to take a survey of leg strength of regular churchgoers I think you'd find that Catholics would beat Protestants hands down. It wouldn't be sporting to beat them with their hands up. Anyway, lots of up down, up down and hands flailing about. I figure it must have something to do with keeping everyone alert. Keep the blood flowing. Since I was an impartial observer I only stood for the tunes but even at that I was winded by the end. Luckily a handy footrest was provided. So this bunch is not entirely masochistic.

One criticism that has dogged the Catholic Church over the years is one involving money. Lots of money. I think these guys have paid for God's retirement and have shuttled him off to Florida just to take him out of the mix. The ultimate golden parachute. As far as I know, and I've spent years and years not researching this number, the Catholic Church is worth an estimated 800 bazillion dollars. The Pope has a flying car now. What an age we live in.

And how does a group, religious or otherwise, amass such a fortune? I don't know. All I know is that they didn't wait too long to shake down the crowd. Slick. I've never seen such a well-olied collection machine. The priest spoke a few words and a phalanx of cheap suited mafioso swarmed the crowded, knocking old ladies down, grabbing at their purses. Little children were hung from their ankles and shaken to free the last pennies from their pockets. Two of the brutes came for me. I threw a handful of change at them and ducked under a pew. The basket on the long stick was thrust into the space between again and again but I somehow by the grace of someone was not struck. Sensing easier booty elsewhere the pirates moved on. I emerged a few moments later to see the collectors proceeding up the aisle, led by a small woman carrying a big cross. Once at the front the money was piled high in front of the alter. The priest paused the service. The angry looking gentleman that flanked the priest helped him remove his costume. Crossing himself quickly he flung himself onto the pile, rolling about in it as a pig in slop. Shouts of "Hallelujah" filled the room. Moments later he sheepishly got to his feet, donned his robe and took his place behind the alter unaware of the ten dollar bill that was entangled in his hair.

On a positive note there was one portion of the service that I felt was very worthwhile. At one point the emcee asked everyone to join hands. I thought this was effective in breaking down barriers between each other. Of course the effect was mitigated in our group as we were surrounded by empty pews. Good thought though.

I had it on good authority that there would be several faux Catholics in attendance and my observations would bare that out. From the same source I know that the size of the congregation that night was more than average. At least I had an excuse for my spotty attendance record. I didn't pay much attention to the crowd as a whole during the show but instead only focused on a few particular people that caught my eye. It was only during the end that my attention was diverted from the doin's on the stage. I was a little surprised to see a number of people, women especially, putting on hats, mittens and coats getting ready to leave even before the priest had uttered the last amen. Apparently good manners were not on the evenings agenda.

Christmas has to rank high on the list of Catholic events. Easter is up there too. So for such an event, a birthday nonetheless, you could not have dug up any more somber music. What a bore. In the 1500's a rebellious German, John Lennon, nailed a note to that Pope's door that stated he, Lennon, was fatter than Jesus. His bandmate, Paul McCartney, in defense of Mr. Lennon's comments about the Church, offered this: "You should have gospel singing, that'll pull them in. You should be more lively, instead of singing hackneyed old hymns. Everyone's heard them and they're not getting off on them anymore." I agree. There is a gospel hall in my neighbourhood and judging from the music they send bouncing out the windows and doors every Sunday they seem like they are having quite the experience. And I'll be damned for eternity if it isn't catchy. It was actually the music or the promise of some good music that helped me overcome my initial reluctance to attending this mass. In the end I was disappointed. The hymns were as hackneyed as Mr. McCartney claimed.

I'll give these Catholics one thing. They weren't pushy. No Moonies or Scientology weirdness here. There was no pressure to sign up. No incentives other than a vague notion of eternal life.

In summary, I came away a little disappointed with the production as a whole. There were some bright spots in the proceedings. I thought the little meet and greet during was positive. The emcee was all smiles throughout. And they did get us in and out in just under an hour. Good message but they lost me in the presentation. Two stars of Bethlehem out of five.