Mass

I thought Mass started at noon; turned out it was 12:10, so I was pretty early. The parking lot was nearly full but the church wasn't; it was mainly old ladies, with a few young ladies in between. I felt like I was in a room full of Babcias.

I liked the homily; the priest talked about the meaning of the word sincerity, how it came from not putting wax into marble to cover up any imperfections, and that Lent is a time to just be who you are, flaws and all. Oh, and to repent. Which -- well, he wasn't selling it as you're all a bunch of lousy sinners. It felt more to me of a God loves you despite that big bag of shit you're dragging behind you. Oh and by the way, now's a good time to let that shit go.

So. When it was time to get a cross of ashes made from last year's burned up Palm Sunday palms mixed with oil and then blessed, there were three good-sized lines of parishioners, some men and younger women; a couple of kids. One little girl smiled at me. At communion there was only body, no blood. Not sure why, but whatevs. I took communion. I prayed, for my friend's mom, for Babcia, on the off chance that there is a Purgatory and she's stuck there. (And as a side story, at the lunch after Babcia's funeral, Little Brother announced he was going to start praying every day, saving them up until he dies, then once he gets to Heaven he'll sell them to people stuck in Purgatory for a profit.)

I prayed for guidance.

Then I went to the fancy hippy grocery store on the edge of the peoples' republic of Cambridge with a big black cross smack dab in the middle of my forehead. That was fun.