Halfway through Lent, it occurs to me that I have only focused on the "altar side" of the railing. Yet the overwhelming majority of us Catholics are neither ordained nor consecrated. We are the laity, caught between life in the church and life in the world. Add to this eternal struggle that our strange crowd spans every human type and station in life, and the bizarre performances of our global family begin to make sense. As G.K. Chesterton wrote, "here comes everybody."
Trying to profile the one billion adherents of any religion is patently absurd. And yet we are a universal body, with unmistakable traits that cross every distinguishing mark. Not only are we always recognizable characters, but our roles have been played for well over two millennia.
The first mark is the fighting spirit that abounds in Catholicism. Clerics call this the "Church Militant," but I prefer the "Body Truculent," as our skirmishes with each other, or the wider world, are not necessarily the stuff of brilliant military strategy. Indeed, a look at our history reveals a proclivity for mobs and immediate action over even the smallest offences.
This is accompanied by the second mark, guilt. Our great souls and appetites make for some poor life choices, a pagan trait never fully wrung out of the Catholic faithful. The availability of confession somewhat compounds this problem - why be good when you can be absolved regularly instead? This traps many of us in our own perpetual Holy Week, with triumphs giving way to dark nights of the soul. Those who successfully break the cycle are probably saints.
There is a difference in type between Catholics masculine and feminine. Jesus clearly had an affection for His perfect mother as well as the many scandalized women He met. And of His disciples, Peter was made leader - the fisherman who lobbed off ears and ran like a coward.
Beyond these two poles however, there are still many characters to play - who do you want to be? At Christ's passion we have a suicidal betrayer, weeping women, corrupt religious and state officials, the best friend who took in God's mother, and two thieves also crucified - one spitting, the other begging. Then comes St. Paul's conversion and St. John's apocalyptic vision - not to mention all the players between the tortured Augustine and the convicted John Paul II.
The cast list has only grown with time, as the medium of Catholic culture becomes the message within art, drama, music, and film, as papist Marshall McLuhan foretold. The only real question left is who do we identify with the most - Falstaff? Galadriel? The Boondock Saints?
The last definitive mark on every Catholic is when we go to mass. For non-papists this might sound odd, but given the nature of sacred time and how ancients reckoned the calendar, a valid Sunday service can be held from 4 p.m. Saturday to well into the night on the Sabbath.
I belong to the Saturday night crowd and we're a rowdy lot. We're here so that Lent ends quicker and we can get back to our vices post haste. Of course, history is on our side, as all the important services - Christmas Eve, Holy Thursday, and Easter Vigil - are held the night before.
Sunday morning Catholics are good Christian folks, ready for full length services and the fellowship thereafter. It is almost certain these faithful will get to paradise before most of their brethren, if for no other reason than the rest of us will sleep past when the final trumpet sounds.
Last chance mass is I call Sunday night service. While many attend for legitimate reasons around work and family life, some of us are also there because we failed to plan ahead. Our consolation, and our only hope, is that scripture says, "the last shall be first."
Thus, the Catholic cast of characters is very much a mixed bag. But that truly begs the question, what was God thinking when He entrusted this motley crew with His ship of salvation?
