Allright, I'm incriminating myself. My focus, while on the communion line this morning, should not have been the beauty of seeing a little girl in a lovely, modest dress, holding her dad's hand as he carried the baby up the aisle. And the way her father walked, as if he were about to meet Almighty God Himself. I couldn't help but marvel at the sight. It inspired my own piety.
Perhaps I can switch the blame to our fellow parishoners whose behavior made this man stand out by his reverent demeanor. Or maybe that uncanny knack we underground Catholics (you know, the type who looked forward to the Motu Proprio, know a few Latin hymns, and actually bow during the Credo) have of finding one another. Seeing a truly reverent person is like drawing the icythus sign in the sand for the Early Christians under Roman Persecution. We wouldn't want the liberal organist or the DRE to find us together; they'd fear a conservative takeover, and our careers volunteering in the Church would be finished.
Like last fall, in the training class for DRE's, when I was foolish enough to express affection for the Baltimore Catechism. I wasn't thrown out of class, exactly, just asked NEVER to speak again. So much for 'dialogue' and 'sharing'. No, we Summorum Pontificum types must remain incognito until the Extraordinary Rite has worked it's transforming power over the average Catholic parish. It's been forty years in the desert, and now the tide is turning, so what's another, say ten years?
So, naturally, I didn't dare associate with this man until he approached me after Mass, and extended his hand saying, "are you Leticia, I'm Patrick Archbold, nice to finally meet you!"
I wasn't a bit surprised, in fact I suspected as much since Communion.