LENT:

BORROWED MISSALETTES

The missalettes were missing—well, not all 500 of them, but that Sunday most of them were missing from the church benches of St. Monica's Parish.

Father Tom, who said the 8 and 9 AM Masses, said he didn’t notice anything different. He usually doesn’t. His nickname in the seminary was, “Sleep Walker.” Most Sundays he puts most of the people asleep. So to be honest, he didn’t even notice that the missalettes were missing at those two Masses.

But Monsignor Curry, he’s Monsignor Exact, he’s Monsignor Precise, he noticed it at the 11 AM Sunday Mass. He notices everything. “What happened to the missalettes?” He was sitting up there in the church sanctuary with his own personal missalette. He even has his name on it. Well, when the second reading moved from page 19 to 20, the familiar sound, “chuuumsshish”—the sound of 400 pages all turning at the same time was not to be heard. And when he was reading the gospel, everybody was looking at him. Nobody was following along with a booklet. They didn’t seem to have one. He got nervous. His sermon was shorter than usual that Sunday morning: 4 minutes and 13 seconds to be exact. Jim Grayson, one of the ushers and an accountant, always timed Monsignor’s homilies. The two of them would often joke about it after Mass. “A little bit long today, Monsignor. 5 minutes and 57 seconds.” And Monsignor Curry would always reply. “Nope! It was 5 minutes to the second. You know me. You know what I always say, `A five minute sermon: exactly five minutes every time and every time right to the point! That’s what people want. No fluff. Solid stuff. People want meat and potatoes. People want substance.’”

So after Mass, after saying “Have a nice day”, with a handshake and only half of a Sunday smile, Monsignor Curry headed back for the church benches. He asked Fred Wilson, the head usher, “Where are the missalettes?” Except for one or two scattered here and there around the church, they were all gone. The other 4 ushers were probably out in the parking lot by now. Fred answered, “I don’t know, Monsignor. I was surprised that nobody was using them either. I thought it was something new you guys just cooked up.”

Monsignor Terence Curry shook his head and grunted, “Uuuum”. Back in the rectory, he caught Father Tom and asked if he knew what happened to the missalettes. He said he didn’t even know they were missing. He caught Father Tim Tames who had the 5:00 PM Mass Saturday afternoon. He said they were there at the 5. The old people were using them. They always do. A lot of them can’t hear that well.”

“Who took the missalettes from the benches?”

Mystery! Well, Monsignor Curry started calling around the parish. On his fifth phone call, the mystery was solved. It was the visiting priest who had the 7:00 Sunday Morning Mass. Mrs. Grimes said, “He told us to take a missalette home. `Nobody would notice it. Steal one. It has great readings for Lent. Use it for prayer during the week. Catholics usually don’t carry Bibles around with them. A missalette is nice and light and easy to carry with you to work or wherever you pray: whether you pray on the bus or in the bathroom or wherever.’ 

The Monsignor jumped in, "He said, `bathroom,’"

"Yes, Monsignor, yes he said 'bathroom.’ He also said, `This year’s Sunday’s readings touch all the basic issues of life. Great Lenten reading.’”

Monsignor Curry was laughing when he put down the phone. He headed back to where Father Tames and Father Walker were. “Guys, you’re not going to believe this. Father Nelson is the culprit. He told everyone at the 7 o’clock Mass to steal a missalette. `Nobody would notice it.’ Surprise! Everyone took him at his word.”

Father Nelson was the visiting priest. He had a wedding of a niece the day before and stayed over at the rectory that Saturday night. He had volunteered to take a Mass the next day in case someone wanted a break. They gave him the 7:00 AM Mass and he was gone by 10:00 that Sunday morning. 

It was a busy parish. Sunday Masses were on the hour: 7:00, 8:00, 9:00, 10:00, and 11:00. There was also a Mass at 5:00 o’clock on Saturday evening. Being an exact man, the Monsignor liked easy to remember and exact times for Masses—on the hour. “Have them in and have them out, all in 45 minutes and they’ll love you for it. And if you don’t, they’ll be cursing you because the parking lot will be a disaster. So don’t preach too long. Keep your eye on the big clock in the back of the church. That’s why I put it there.”

Then the Monsignor added, “We’re going to have to call up the missalette company first thing tomorrow morning and order 500 more. Isn’t that funny? I never heard anything like this before in my forty-five years of being a priest.”

That afternoon the word was all around the diocese. “Almost 500 missalettes stolen!” The Monsignor, well, all three priests, called their friends, and then their friends called their friends. “Stories like this don’t make the diocesan paper,” one priest said. “All we ever get are pictures of the bishop and the bishop standing there giving people awards!”

The story could have made the local evening news, but it didn’t. However, that afternoon the word also got around the parish. Most people laughed. People envied those who were at the 7:00 o’clock Mass. Those who took a missalette were saying things like, “That’s a good one! And I thought I was the only one who stole one. I guess everybody picked their moment to sneak a missalette into their inner jacket pocket or into their pocketbook, hoping their neighbor wouldn’t see them. I suppose people were trying to figure out all through the Mass the best moment to make their move. Probably, by the time for the sign of peace, most people decided that the best moment for the steal would be when they got back from communion. That’s the time most people close their eyes for a few moments of quiet prayer.”

Now, if most people hadn’t stolen a missalette, and if the story hadn’t been so public, what happened next, probably wouldn’t have happened. People with the stolen property actually began to use what they stole. They began to use the missalettes for prayer that Lent. The story reinforced what Father Nelson had said. “The Lenten Readings this year are great readings for prayer.” Everybody loved his offhand comment, “For Lent this year instead of fasting or abstaining from chocolate chip cookies or chocolate layer cake, fast or abstain from too much talking or too much television. Every day take a 15 minute prayer break. Find a quiet place at work or at home. A lot of people tell me that they use the bathroom for prayer. `It’s the only place in our house where I can get any privacy.’ So read the missalette; pick out just one of the Lenten readings at a time; pray with it. Great stuff. Great Lenten reading.”

Father Nelson was right. As he said in his sermon, the Sunday readings for this Lent, Year A, were loaded with food for thought.

One person said that when she began to reflect on Jesus’ three big temptations in the desert, she saw that they were down deep temptations that she too had to face in her life: trying to live by bread alone without any word from God, looking for the quick magical fix instead of the struggle to work things out—especially when it came to communicating with her husband and her teenage kids, and the ever present temptation that we all have of forgetting God, and trying to go it alone as if we were God.

A few said that they could relate to Peter, James and John when they went up the mountain and experienced the transfiguration of Jesus. They had been on a great Lenten weekend retreat and they didn’t want to leave. The retreat house was in the mountains and they all experienced Jesus in a new way. Prayer seemed much more exciting than the daily grind of everyday life back in the valley.

A few teenager boys—each the youngest in their family—loved the story of God calling David, the youngest in his family, to be the one who would save the people.

Others found themselves wishing they were like “The Woman at The Well.” Surprise! While they were praying, they found out that what happened to her, happened to them in prayer. They met Jesus on the bus or during their coffee break or wherever they grabbed fifteen minutes for prayer.

Three groups, each with about six people, actually formed discussion prayer groups to look at the readings together. They all showed up at their meetings proudly displaying their stolen missalettes. They began their session with a prayer from the missalette. Then someone would do just one reading. They would discuss it. Then they would pray with it for a while—all in an hour. It was so rewarding that they planned on doing it every Lent. Someone even suggested trying it for next Advent as well. That was nixed. “Let’s see if we can do it for this Lent first and then see if the same energy and enthusiasm exists next Lent. Before we start talking Advent, let’s see if this is manageable. You all know the history of small groups in this parish.”

It was later found out that Father Nelson was the last person to hear the story. He was from out of state, so he didn’t know any of this for over a month. When he called his sister for Easter, she told him the whole story.

“Ooops,” he said. So he called up Monsignor Curry to apologize. “To be honest, Monsignor, I didn’t realize what I was saying that morning. I just threw in that thing about stealing a missalette to tell people to really listen to the Lenten readings. I didn’t think people would actually take a missalette. I’m really sorry! I’ll send you a check for what they cost.”

“Send me a check! Hey,” Monsignor Curry blurted back, “we made money on the deal!”

“What,” said Father Nelson back over the phone. “Made money? I don’t understand?”

“Yeah! Someone told me that you mentioned at the end of your homily, `By the way, if you feel guilty about stealing a missalette, throw an extra dollar in the collection this morning.’ Well, I had Jim Grayson of our financial committee check it out. He’s an accountant and a stickler for numbers. So he looked up what was the average income for the 10:00 o’clock collection for the past 5 years other than Christmas, Easter, July and August. Sure enough the Mass that you said that morning brought in $2756.16 over the average collection. Who said Catholics are no longer motivated by guilt?”

Silence. “Father Nelson are you still there?”

© Andy Costello, U.S. Catholic, March 1993