Part VII: Cats and Dogs: Sister Quiet vs Priest Quiet

 Part VII: Cats and Dogs: Sister Quiet vs Priest Quiet

The above photo of the chapel shows Bishop Cozzens celebrating Mass in the chapel while he was here a few weeks ago. The Sisters are in the front on both sides, while the altar boys have family sitting in the pews behind them. As a side note, which is strange, since we haven’t yet gotten into the meat of the article, there are not a whole lot of Catholics out here, so the few altar boys we do have are able to serve Mass for such dignitaries as this Bishop and Cardinal Burke (who is here this weekend, which is why this article is coming out later than normal, but that is for another story) without drawing straws or otherwise fighting about who gets to serve! These boys just think it’s normal to get a call, “Bishop/Cardinal SoAndSo will be here in the morning. Would you like to serve?”

The sound in the Chapel of the Immaculate Conception (I just found out it’s name!) is pretty amazing. At Epiphany, although I am not trying to put it down in any way, just stating reality, the sound was dead. The acoustic tiles on the ceiling, the carpet on the floor, and hundreds of people crammed together just absorbed the sound and made it very difficult to enjoy the fullness of the choir or even hear the priest at the ambo or the altar. 

Not so here. The noise, for better or worse, travels all around the inside of the building. When the Sisters chant ever so softly, the sound resonates as it should. The sound traveling and being amplified, and my part in this, is what this article is about.

You have all heard the expression Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus. Forget that when it comes to entering a chapel. A more apt description is: Men are dogs and women are cats. How so? If you have cats and dogs, try this at home. If you have a cat, cover your kitchen floor with sets of dominoes. Or plastic cups. Or Legos. Or whatever you have on hand. Then shake the box of treats. Watch what happens when the cat comes running. She will make it through the maze without missing a step, without knocking over a single item, without making a noise.

Now try the same thing with your dog. Go ahead. You can even remove half of the obstacles if you please. Shake the treats. He will come plowing full speed ahead, destroying everything in the way. If anything is left standing, it is only by sheer luck. Noise, commotion, destruction, and carnage seem to all be part of even the best dog’s nature.

It took me a couple of days to realize that “cats and dogs” is the difference between how the Sisters enter “quietly” into the chapel and how I do. Girl quiet is as different from guy quiet as girl clean is from guy clean!

The Sisters are ethereal creatures. Not so guys, even priests. Such angelic creatures make no bodily sounds unless they will it. If it weren’t for the soft swooshing of the coarse fabric of their habits and the squeak of their worn-out shoes on the floor, you wouldn’t even know that they had passed by and taken up their places in the pews.

I, on the other hand, am a guy. I was trying very hard to be quiet. But it was guy quiet. Lest you think that I am just using hyperbole, let me use an example to explain. You can determine for yourself if I am exaggerating or not in my story today.

The Sisters and I were in the chapel praying. They were, of course, all in an ecstatic spiritual state, and most were levitating at least a few inches off the floor (it’s hard to know how high they were, since their long habits cover even the empty space between their knees and their prie-dieux), so they were completely oblivious to what I am going to relate. [Another aside: the “torture devices” I described last week are actually alien technology anti-anti-gravitational devices, keeping the Sisters who were using them firmly planted on the floor. They are probably the ones who would be floating all the way up to the ceiling rafters like St. Joseph Cupertino if they were not held down by these contraptions.]

I, on the other hand, not nearly so prayerfully focused on God, heard the distinct crunching sound of a large van making its way through the gravel drive and parking lot. It no sooner stopped than the unmistakable CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH of running footsteps was heard, followed by a double WHAM WHAM as two bodies smashed into the church doors. “Ha! I got here first!” came the first boy’s shout. “No fair!” replied his brother, “you were sitting in the front seat!” The howling of the wind (it is always windy in Kansas) increased as the door opened and the boys tramped in and SLAMmed the door behind them. CLOMP, CLOMP, CLOMP echoed throughout the building as they raced to the Holy Water fonts.

“BE QUIET!” one shouted to the other in boy whisper, “THE SISTERS ARE PRAYING!” Then CLOMP, CLOMP, CLOMP back to the door where he got just one foot and his head out of the open door before yelling across the parking lot, “MOM! TELL THE GIRLS TO BE QUIET WHEN THEY COME IN; THE SISTERS ARE PRAYING!”

The wind yanked the door free from his grip and SMASHed against the outside wall of the building. As he was struggling against the WHOOSHing wind to get it quietly SLAMmed closed again, the girls almost silently tiptoed inside. CLOMP, CLOMP, CLOMP, the “quiet” brother followed them to his seat...

You get the picture. So did I. From that time on, I had to work on actually being quiet, not just boy quiet, entering the chapel. But once I started to concentrate on being as quiet as possible, a horrible realization hit me. I am a fidgeter. And fidgeting noise in a silent chapel is LOUD!

That’s where I’ll pick up next week

With prayers for your holiness,

Fr. Palka

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