I went to Mass this morning. It was in the downstairs chapel. Downstairs chapel never bothers me bc I like the secret, early-seekrit-Christians vibe of it plus Our Lady of Guadalupe is always in the "overflow" area of any sanctuary.
Between the homily & the Eucharist, a guy walked in. It is not an understatement to describe him as disheveled. A 7am weekday Mass is all-comers, not unlike a meeting of [Anything] Anonymous, or a tavern on Christmas, or actually any house of worship anywhere at any time, although in my experience, the truly downhearted avoid the lustrous. (To wit: my adoration of Easter vigil.)
Anyhow, since we were to the portion of liturgical rote response, my mind was of course free to wonder if he was a gunman. Well, no, because, in the first place, murderous anti-papist sentiment went out with the air-traffic controllers' union for sure, but what if? We must always be ready! Trust no one!
Then I thought abt how I don't know the names of any of the deceased, although in a multiple-choice question, I'm sure I would pick the right name for the shooter. It made me sad, how he is hogging everyone's mental space, and a little angry so that in the end I was glad to be at Mass. Better than yoga! No changing afterward! Just as much crying!
Had you seen this?
The part about how he sneaked over to see her dance with her girlfriends is too much. It made me happy to know they had been in the world, once.