Give me that ol’ time religion.

Whatever happened to those plain, simple Sunday Masses.

You remember — the ones with no singing. (Kind of like back-in-the-day when everyone sang the National Anthem at Fenway Park.) I remember when we said the Gloria and the Holy, Holy, Holy and the Lamb of God prayers. I’m dating myself.

I love listening to our Children’s Choir, and our Adult Choir and our Contemporary (Folk) Group sound as good and better than most ‘professional’ artists. But I’d like to be able attend one simple Mass without having to drag my butt out of be at 6 a.m. on a Sunday Morning to attend the 7 o’clock.

And remember when every Mass didn’t have some special ceremony. I’ve come to believe that they should rename the third-Sunday-of-the-month 11 o’clock Mass the Mass for the Anointing of the Perpetually Sick. I’ve seen the same lady go up to the altar for the past three years. She could have save us all some time and just flown to Fatima or Lourdes or Medjugorje. Call my cynical, but I suspect that, were the ceremony held after Mass, there would be far fewer participants.

And speaking of the Children’s Choir, why does the deacon have to have them up on the altar. Here they are, in their Sunday best — yes, some still do wear something more than a polo shirt and a pair of shorts — and the deacon has them sitting on the filthy altar floor. But then again, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to over-compensate for the fact that he did not possess the discipline to become a real priest. I could always take the subway into downtown Boston and go to the Arch Street Chapel, but I’d still have to get up early, as their prime-time Masses also have music. Plus, one takes one’s life into one’s hands venturing in to the cesspool that is the Downtown Crossing these days.

Originally published on 10 June 2012.

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