"Mass" Generalizations...

To what I’m sure must have been the utmost delight of my mother, I went to church on Good Friday. My friend Cheryl, who incidentally is moving to Canada soon, is a Pakistani Christian and invited me to mass (she even gave me hot-crossed buns)(…to eat). Christians are, of course, a minority in Pakistan, but in a city of 15 million, minorities can be fairly major… major-minors … or perhaps a major seventh. The Cathedral itself holds close to a thousand people, but they hold major services outside in the yard. So, I found myself on a hot and sultry Friday afternoon, under a huge tent with 3000 Pakistani Catholics. Not how I generally spend Friday afternoon, but it was really interesting. Like half a dozen seagulls floating in a sea of brown, I spotted a few other white faces, and I think we were all melting. But despite the heat, I had a fantastic experience.

Now, I’m not Catholic, but I was raised Anglican, which is more or less the non-union, Protestant equivalent. So I generally know what’s going on, a lot of the readings and prayers are basically the same, but there’s just a dash of wacky thrown into the mix. To continue in my unfair generalizations, I have usually found that Catholics love the gloom and doom. For that reason, Good Friday is the place to be if you’re a Catholic. The death of the savior, you really can’t get much gloomier. They started out by narrating the entire Passion of the Christ. This took quite some time. I felt required to tell Cheryl that in Canada, we read much faster in church. They also read all of the prayers for the people. This also took quite some time.

Cheryl is a choir director for one of the church choirs, but her group had vehemently refused to sing with the other two that day in some sort of large-scale choral coup, which I did not pry into. This did remind me that church is church wherever you are in the world, and no one can ever agree on the music. I have to say that from what I heard of the two choirs, I can see why Cheryl didn’t want to sing with them, but then, I have never heard her choir, so I shouldn’t comment. That would be base of me, and might influence the tenor of the discussion. Cheryl, however, did not refrain from comment, pointing out exactly who was singing badly and why.

The Bishop interrupted Cheryl’s diatribe to give the sermon. I have to admit that I didn’t get much from the sermon, I was too interested in the Bishop’s voice. To me, he sounded just like Bela Lugosi in top Count Dracula form. "Da Vood ov Da Cross!" he would proclaim (Catholics seem to love the wood of the cross I noticed), and all I could think of was Lugosi saying "Pull da strings…" After the Bishop spoke, the actual Wood of the Cross was brought out. About half a dozen mini-Jesus’s on mini crossses were held out in different places around the pavilion. 3000 people lined up to kiss Jesus’ feet. This took quite some time. I have always found the tradition kind of creepy, but it didn’t help that I watched one old man kiss Jesus right on the crotch. I mean, I don’t care where you’re from, that doesn’t seem right.

Soon thereafter came the Eucharist, where everything had been consecrated the day before (thanks be, since that tends to take quite some time). Still, giving 3000 people communion, even without the wine, takes quite some time. The service dissolved quite quickly, and I was kind of relieved because it gave me a chance to ring out my shirt.

In all, a fascinating experience. I felt good about making it to church on Easter, and I didn’t remember that sometimes churches get bombed over here until much afterward. I think the most interesting part was how everything was the same but different at the same time. It was great to feel that familiarity around me, and the sense of community that comes with a church. I was even asked to join the choir. I smiled politely and backed away slowly...