West at Easter

Behold! He is risen (at least in Catholicism)

Perhaps in the future, I will elaborate on my conversion story, how I went from a relatively politically disinterested Atheist to a Reactionary Orthodox Christian. I don’t really wish to get in depth on that topic at this juncture as I feel this part of the journey in my faith has not yet settled into a conclusive stage.

Instead, I wish to discuss in as short a piece as I can my experience yesterday, on which I attended a Catholic Easter Mass as a sojourner from across the schism. Unfortunately, due to current geographical constraints forced upon me by obligations that I won’t bore you with, I will be far too distant from the nearest Orthodox Church to travel there on the twelfth, when Orthodoxy celebrates the Resurrection, and so after praying to the Lord I decided that the next best option was to attend a Catholic Easter Mass on Sunday.

It was a small church, but since Easter is a time when fairweather Catholics feel guilty about being so worldly and corrupt, the attendees spilled into overfill. Luckily I was able to arrive a little early and secure a good seat in the pews. Adorning the wall were beautiful carvings of Christ and of course at the front was the tabernacle to which the attendees showed great reverence and I was more than happy to go down on one knee and make the sign of the cross.

Admittedly, I was hopeless when it came to knowing the hymns and there weren’t really enough hymn books to go around. What can I say? I tried my best. The reading was from Paul’s letter to Colossians and remembrance of baptismal rites.

There was also a prayer for Christians suffering prosecution and execution in far-flung lands, though no mention of the tightening noose right here in the West, Then again, such politics might have seemed out of place at a time when really all of our focus should be on the Lord.

I of course did not receive the communion, and a few other people in attendance also respectfully sat out the sacrament. All in all, the gathering was somewhat gray, a few Filipino and Indian church members, and encouragingly a smattering of young ones who seemed eager rather than driven by parental compulsion.

The priest himself was convincing and passionate in a reserved kind of way. The beauty of course was in the Tradition, the sense that we were part of something greater than ourselves, not just in the sense of being in prayerful company with God, but with centuries of people who had observed these same Traditions.

I’ll leave it at that, and simply say that I hope my Catholic Reactionary readers had a blessed Easter. The Westerns Church is in my prayers as always.


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