A Walker in the Suburbs

Last night’s Holy Thursday service brought back an old friend — incense. I grew up with the stuff, but it’s pretty scarce these days, at least in my church. Last night they pulled out all the stops, though, and by the end of the evening, incense was wafting all over the sanctuary. It matched the solemnity of the mass, the Pange Lingua, the stately procession at the end.

Some people coughed and sneezed when the incense came our way. It was too much for them. But I took deep breaths. The incense was more than just an odor, more than particles in the air. It reminded me of ritual and childhood piety. I didn’t mind it at all.

I’d thought about another post for today, but then my eyes fell on this headline:
“‘Bless me, Father’
Going to confession? There’s an app for that.”

Apparently there is an new iPhone application that allows for a customizable examination of conscience. Don’t remember your sins? Can’t recall the Third Commandment? No problem. Just whip out your cell phone and it will walk you through the process.

It works like this: You enter your name, age, sex, vocation and date of last confession (I imagine that one is key) and the program takes it from there. The program provides three versions of the Act of Contrition, the prayer you say after receiving the sacrament, including one in Latin. (Venn diagram assignment: Map iPhone users with those who say their prayers in Latin. Hmmm.)

The device also acts as a digital notebook where you can jot down sins as you remember them. Of course, privacy is guaranteed. “Once you go to confession, all that information is wiped out,” said one of the designers.

I think back to my first confession at age seven: my head swimming, clammy palms, the close smell of the confessional, the ominous sliding sound that meant the grate was open and my confession could begin, so nervous I could barely eke out the words, “Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

Perhaps I was born a few decades too soon.

Yesterday’s gospel was a story that always rankles me. Martha and Mary, sisters of Lazarus, are entertaining Jesus. Martha is running around playing hostess while Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, listening to him talk. When Martha complains to Jesus, he says, “Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken from her.”

Every time I hear this Bible passage I want to scream. This is because I identify with Martha, even though I’d rather be Mary. I love to sit and talk about ideas, but I can’t unless I know the homefront is secure. And the tension between these twin impulses makes me anxious.

So when I heard this familiar story yesterday I sat with my hands folded, waiting for illumination. “If I had to choose, I would side with Martha,” the priest said. “But good deeds are spoiled by bad attitudes.” Ahhh. Yes. That is true. It removes none of the injustice. My blood still boils. Someone has to cook the food, make the bed, sweep the floor. There will always be people who roll up their sleeves and others who wait for the sleeve-rollers. But attitude is important, and it’s good to be reminded of that from time to time — even from the pulpit.