My dad steals missalettes.
There, I said it. It's the deep, dark secret in my family. My father goes to that most holy of places, and leaves with a pilfered prayer book.
OK, maybe not always, but he has done it on occasion in the past. Maybe the distant past. At least once.
The issue: my dad likes to read along. He doesn't just want to hear the readings, he wants to read them as they're being read. And his pastor was not a fan of this practice (which of course was not just my dad's habit but that of many in the congregation -- so many that the lector would get to the end of the page and you'd hear from all around the rustling of the page turning). So for a time he banned missalettes.
And hence the pilfering.
Personally, I like to read along myself. Maybe you're the same? But stepping back, let's ask the question -- why do we bother proclaiming the readings at all? Why not just give everyone a couple minutes to read the first one, have the psalm and response, and then do the same with the second reading? At the risk of diluting the liturgy to the horror that is business-speak, what's the "value added" in having the readings read aloud?
Think on that. More tomorrow.
P.S. It's been brought to my attention that, contrary to my assertion, Ms. Garland would never open a show with Somewhere Over the Rainbow. That was in fact, always her closing number.
Miss Garland, about to reach out and shake me.
To the Garland estate, the Minnelli estate, Rufus Wainwright, the cast of Wicked and that guy from Glee who sang Defying Gravity a couple weeks ago, my most sincere apologies.
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