Going to Mass on holiday

There's something really great about going to Mass in a completely different church, especially when you're on holiday. We walked into the beautifully named 'Mater Amabilis' (loving mother, when we googled it) at 9 20 am on that particular Sunday morning in late July.

Two men (in their 50s or 60s, I'd say) welcomed us all and introduced the visiting priest who was covering for the parish priest, away on his holidays. They, together with a lady singer, accompanied the lovely and well-known hymns with their guitars and everyone joined in with gusto.

As we began 'Morning has broken', I felt really moved and uplifted to be a part of such a wonderful family of people, probably numbering over 200, none of whom we knew, but with whom we shared this great gift of faith.

The priest had a pronounced limp, was very bowed and elderly, (over 80, as he told us in his homily) and very funny. Before Mass began, he placed a glass of water on the altar and turned away to go to the sacristy, muttering some aside which I didn't catch. Everyone's laughter caused me to ask the lady next to me what he'd said, which turned out to be, "You think it's water; it's gin!"

The Mass was beautiful and amazing. Father spoke about the readings in such a real, honest and merciful way, that he throughly endeared himself to us. He was overwhelmed by there being so many young families present, many of whom would have been on holiday, like us, having sought out the nearest church. (Another aside was to the effect of his usual parish being in 'geriatrica', causing another laugh!)

At the end of the Mass, he forsook the usual prayers and came off the altar to speak to a family of mum, dad and three sons, late teens, I'd say. He addressed the parents and said, "You've got a HELL of a job on in these times of ...... (mentioning many of the current dificulties of our times)."

He then spoke to the young men directly and, amongst other things which I can't remember now (this having taken me so long to get round to finishing), said, "Just look around you and see this lot (casting his arm in the direction of us older folk). They've borne the heat and the toil of the day and they're still here, hanging on (or words to that effect). Learn from them."

It was so moving. I had tears in my eyes right through the last hymn. (And so did H!") At the cuppa afterwards, I told him off for making me cry! He talked about having been pensioned off and I said perhaps it was because of his limp to which he retorted that it was from rugby. I laughed and said, "Well, you've only got yourself to blame then, Father." And we both laughed.

H = husband