The Mass itself went well. I was given an exciting extra duty at the last minute, which was holding the missal for the P.P. while he blessed the Ashes. I fulfilled this mighty duty with my customary skill and élan.
Last week, I saw an advert on Instagram for the Ash Wednesday Mass at St. Mary-le-Bow church in Cheapside (in the City, just down the road from St. Paul's). St. Mary's is actually a Church of England (high) church, and a beautiful one at that:
The Mass began at 1:05pm. I arrived at 12:45. Guess what: there was hardly anyone there. Anglicans, it appears, are as good as Catholics as arriving at the last minute. By the time the service started, the church was not full but pretty well filled out.
The choir was comprised of four voices - two men, and two women - and were heavenly. The Mass setting was Lennox Berkeley's (1903-89) Missa Brevis. I hadn't heard of him before so this was my happy introduction to his work. At the end, the organist played Prelude in E minor by J. S. Bach (1685-1750), who I am sure everyone has heard of.
The Mass was similar to a Catholic Mass though not the same. Thus,
The response to The Lord be with you was And also with you, which, of course, is what we used to say.
At the Peace, we shook hands, which I have rarely seen done in a Catholic church since Covid.
The Gospel was not read from the pulpit but brought into the nave. I mentioned this to my father (who is an Anglican) today and he said that that is not unusual.
The recitation of the Our Father included the final two lines 'for thine is the kingdom...' as part of the whole prayer; in the Catholic Church, they are split from the main prayer by a short prayer of the priest's.
Being a Catholic, I did not go to communion. For a Catholic, the Eucharist is a sign of our being in full (spiritual) communion with one another. This is why we do not allow non-Catholics to receive it. The Church of England's rules are different. They do allow non-C of E-ers to receive it. Nevertheless I stayed in my seat as it would not make any sense for me to disregard the teaching of my own Church, even though nowadays - praise God - there is great friendship between the Catholic Church and Church of England.
After the Mass, I made my way to the bus stop to return home. I got one or two looks from people on account of the big black mark on my forehead. As I walked down Ludgate Hill, a young man said to me, "You've got a black mark on your head!" I told him I had just been to Ash Wednesday Mass. He had no idea what Ash Wednesday was. Now, it would be easy to laugh at the ignorance of the young, but in this day and age, to know anything about religion, you really have to make the effort to find out about it yourself. Secular society and culture won't tell you - why would it. I spoke to the man briefly but fear I garbled my response. It was a wake up call to me to be able to, as St. Peter (is it?) commands, give an account of the hope that I have. Maybe that is something I could work on in Lent.
When I got home, I washed the ashes off. That was hard! I don't know what Mary-le-Bow used but it really stuck. Even as I write now, one or two marks are still there.
All-in-all, though, I could not have asked for a more meaningful and beautiful start to this Lent. Now on my mind: the fact that in six or so weeks, I will also be celebrating my 30th year as a Catholic. I so wanted to go back to the church in Scotland where I was confirmed in the Faith and to walk the Camino again. Neither will be possible but I am glad to be where I am; here in London, writing this, helping my parents day-to-day as they get on in years, discovering Berkeley and listening to Bach.
deo gratias
