Why Sunday matters #2

 

Last Sunday I reflected on how our experience of Mass might be enriched. Today I turn to a related question: what makes our Sunday celebration come alive?

From time to time it does us good, I think, to step outside our own parish and savour a different atmosphere or approach. Earlier today I attended Mass in my local “Mother Church”: the Cathedral of the Assumption in Carlow, a town of some 30,000 souls in the South East of Ireland. The Cathedral serves one of the town’s three parishes.

I was not disappointed.

A magnificent choir supported by a majestic organ lifted the roof. The celebration, just under an hour in length, was dignified, orderly, and welcoming. Marking Mother’s Day, the celebrant added some personal touches. He was robed in a pink‑coloured chasuble for Laetare Sunday (named after the Latin laetare, “rejoice,” which opened the ancient Introit on the Fourth Sunday of Lent).  Laetare Sunday marks the halfway point through Lent, and the colour rose or pink symbolises a gentle, subdued joy.

I was glad to see a number of families present – many, like the celebrant himself, of foreign origin. Yes, the pews in the upper quarter of the central aisle were empty, creating a curious vacant zone within about 35 metres of the sanctuary (perhaps an Irish quirk!). But the preaching was solid and accessible, and the responses from the congregation were audible, all of which enhanced the sense of participation.

What made the celebration feel alive? The manner of the presiding, the active participation of the people, and the accompaniment of organ and choir all played their part. Incense was used generously at key moments. The inclusion of printed hymns in the missalette was helpful, even if few seemed inclined to sing out – another Irish trait, perhaps. And the simple, meaningful gesture of the priest and deacon processing down the main aisle and greeting people at the door after Mass made a real difference. It is natural, personable, and connects minister and people.

Could anything have improved the experience further? Perhaps a brief meet‑and‑greet over a cup of tea in the parish centre, or a small welcome team at the door as people arrive would help. Yes, such things require time and volunteers, and these are not always easy to find. But the dividends of what I like to call “the Ministry of Tea” should not be underestimated, especially in a time when loneliness, disconnection, and social distance remain high.

All in all, the experience speaks of a Cathedral community – clergy and laity alike – that is alive, engaged, and attentive to the dignity of the liturgy. Carlow, take a bow.