The Mass of Very Old Men...
...who have ket their faith.
I'm cribbing Brutally Honest's complete post because the prayer at the end is counter-cultural and inspiring in itself.
Beauty is something to pursue, something to behold, something giving a glimpse into the divine, whether it be the beauty of nature or the beauty of created things.Amen, Amen and Amen.
Why not take a minute to pursue, behold and glimpse into the divine by reading Elizabeth Scalia's latest at First Things. It's just beautiful:
Behind me comes the rhythmic rattle of a rosary against wood, and I know that into the pew has slipped a cheerful small man who rarely does more than smile and nod because he does not like to admit his hearing loss, which reveals itself in his booming responses to the Mass.There's much more and I thnk you'll enjoy it.
The early Mass of a Sunday in this parish is the Mass of the Very Old Men, and the church is full of former altar boys who have kept the faith throughout the aging; their whispered prayers have risen from foxholes and scaffolds; from assembly lines and car pits and miles and miles of commuter rails. Their sweetness of their devotion belies their depths. If you look closely, you can still glimpse in their weathered faces the bright light of interest that came with learning to cast the thurible, the gravity of responsibility born of murmuring Latin responses over altar cards.
If you go and read it and decide it's not what I've described it to be, we should talk about why that is.
Or maybe, you should talk to Him about it.
What I personally know is that as I age, I want to be one of these Very Old Men.
I really do.