Dear friend,
If you’re not Catholic, this reflection may be interesting to you from a cultural perspective.
I’ve thought about writing this for a long time, but I haven’t wanted a.) the inevitable backlash from righteous trolls, or b.) unsolicited medical advice.
This Sunday’s Gospel reading, however, had me reconsider.
If you read this reflection and you’re still bothered by my posture, feel free to be bothered. Just, please, read. My goal is not to make some sort of ideological stance; my goal is to build bridges. We judge each other and build dividing walls far too easily.
My Practical ‘Why’
My Catholic parish is newly established. We’re currently without a proper building, which means that we hold our larger Masses outdoors. Yes, we are reverent! Yes, we are beautiful! Our strongest quality, in my opinion, is that we love one another.
This is my commandment: love one another as I love you.
John 15:12
If you want to kneel during the second half of the Mass (the Liturgy of the Eucharist) — which is the norm for Roman Catholics, our church provides foam gardening pads which can support more comfortable kneeling as well as provide a bit of separation from the ants and spiders and caterpillars that naturally crawl around down there.
Generally speaking, for the last 14 years or so, I have not knelt during Mass, even at churches with traditional, ultra-cushioned kneelers. I used to kneel, because I believe that my God is truly and substantially present in the Holy Eucharist. How could I not fall to my knees in devoted worship? My whole being often seems to demand this outward expression of my interior faith.
After I developed fibromyalgia, however, kneeling during Mass became a dangerous choice.
To understand this, you have to understand that fibromyalgia is not like arthritis. Fibromyalgia is not like feeling sore. (I danced ballet, tap, and jazz style for eleven years, as well as a brief stint in gymnastics, so I am keenly aware of what soreness feels like.) A fibromyalgia flare is like the aftermath of running a marathon, without any of the endorphins; a deeper pain that penetrates your body while impeding your cognitive abilities. A proper fibromyalgia flare can be truly debilitating.
I used to kneel during Mass, until I realized that the reason I was feeling completely exhausted afterwards in a way that affected my ability to drive home safely or even be present to my family for the rest of the day, was because of the sit-stand-sit-stand-sit-stand-sit-stand-kneel-stand-kneel-walk-kneel-sit-stand activity typical of a Roman Catholic Mass participant.
When I first considered this possible cause, I rejected it. I thought, This is what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m doing it for God. Why would that hurt me? I also thought about all the elderly persons who reverently kneel during Mass despite their weakness, arthritis, etc. How could I ‘complain’ while they persevered?
Finally, however, the reason for my exhaustion became undeniable and unsustainable.
What could I do? I tried sitting instead of kneeling, but I couldn’t bear to sit while God became truly and substantially present before me. So, I tried sliding to the front edge of the pew and placing folded hands on the back of the pew in front of me. Still, I wasn’t satisfied. I even tried a variant of this posture, in which I sorta ‘fake-kneeled’ with one knee resting on the kneeler while I remained seated on the edge of the pew.
Besides my dissatisfaction with this inability of my body to incarnate my desire to worship, I didn’t want to scandalize anyone. What do I mean by that? The fact is, as Catholics, we worship together as One Body. Everything I do in worship should both lead my community to worship and serve as an extension of my community. My remaining seated during the Liturgy of the Eucharist did not (99.9% of the time) satisfactorily witness to my fellow believers that God is made present on the altar.
Being a Catholic nerd, I had retained the knowledge that if kneeling is not possible, the appropriate posture is to stand. So, I stood. However, with most people kneeling or sitting at the same eye-level, and myself often being the only person standing, I felt more like a distraction than anything else.
This frustrating worship-posture experiment continued, often distracting me from authentic worship.
My New ‘Why’
My problem changed one day, when my co-worker happened to share something he learned from a Maronite1 Catholic priest. Maronites stand during the Liturgy of the Eucharist because Jesus told his disciples:
I no longer call you slaves, because a slave does not know what his master is doing. I have called you friends, because I have told you everything I have heard from my Father.
John 15:15
In the Maronite-Lebanese cultural context, those who kneel are slaves. Thus, kneeling in the presence of Christ, who called his followers friends, would be improper. Instead, Maronite faithful stand as a sign of readiness, to welcome Christ’s coming.
After I had some private time to reflect on this, my mind connected it with my journey. I wept.
Beyond my struggle with physical pain, my ‘personal cross’ also includes a constant wrestling with scrupulous thought patterns. Thus, I long held a deep-seated belief that I could never be truly acceptable to God. No matter how many external devotions I practiced, or sacraments I received, or ministries I joined, or even virtues I mastered, this psychological and spiritual pain often overwhelmed and tormented me.
When the above-quoted verse of Scripture and its application in the Maronite liturgy entered my mind and heart, I tell you… It changed me! It was the fire of grace that began to burn away all the brambles and thorns that had kept me from fully allowing God to embrace me as I am.
It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name he may give you. This I command you: love one another.
John 15:16-17
With great prayer and practice ever since, I have been on a fast-track to interior healing. God has placed me in a small Church community where—for now—we worship among the rest of Creation, and during the Liturgy of the Eucharist, I stand along with others—pregnant mothers, wounded veterans, big brothers holding their infant sisters, and anyone else with an invisible reason—no longer worried about external judgement or scandal, happy to worship. Our more weary members and those with special needs, worship along with us seated. There’s even been times when an especially fragile member’s family has driven their car right up alongside our worship site, rolled down the windows, and Communion has been brought to them. No one is made to feel lesser. We’re all worshiping; sitting, kneeling, standing, altogether One.
The leaders of the Catholic Church here in the U.S. are currently striving to overcome a tragedy; that most Catholics here do not believe Christ is truly and substantially present in the Eucharist.2 This central tenant of our faith would, I believe, be more widely adopted if we not only talked about how to reverence Christ externally, but if we also allowed our churches to be places where those who are suffering and vulnerable can worship knowing that our God’s greatest commandment is that we love one another.
Peace be with you,
Angela
Maronite Catholicism is the practice of the Catholic faith among those of Lebanese descent. Maronites hold the same beliefs as Roman Catholics, but their expression of the faith is different due to the cultural context. For example, the Maronite liturgical language is Syriac, which is closely related to Aramaic.
Gray, Mark. “What Do American Catholics Really Know and Believe About the Eucharist?” Church Life Journal, 2023 Oct 17: https://churchlifejournal.nd.edu/articles/what-do-catholics-really-know-and-believe-about-the-eucharist
Thank you. This was so beautiful to read. I’ve struggled with wanting to kneel while receiving the Holy Eucharist (most of the congregation stands). This frees me to know that, either way, I am reverencing Our Lord. Thank you for sharing your story !
Thank you for a beautiful reflection! A reminder that we never know what others at Mass have lived through.