Home (parish) is where the heart is

I’ve heard three theories about where we should celebrate Sunday Mass. The first directs us to the church within the boundaries of the parish where we live. The second counsels us to go where we are nourished. The third says we can go to any Catholic church we like on Sundays, just so long as we actually go.

As a Torontonian, I roamed through the city, showing up at this parish and that. I had been active in Catholic circles my entire life, so there were churches all over the city where I found friends to pray beside. St. Patrick’s German was a good bet, as was Our Lady of Lourdes, as was the Newman Centre. I could have gone to my parents’ parish, of course, but the pastor’s habit of speeding through the Mass as if it were an unpleasant domestic chore filled me with rage.

Mindful of this, years ago I registered myself at one of my circuit of churches in case I was hit by a truck. There was no way I wanted to be buried by Fr. Land Speed Record. He said the funeral Mass for my friend of parish youth group days. Andrew died at age 39. His funeral took 38 minutes. I was so angry, I cried.

Confident that St. X, at any rate, would give me a decent send-off, I continued my merry round of going to St. A this week, when a friend was taking vows, and St. B the next week, when a friend was giving the homily. And sometimes I went to St. X itself.

To my great surprise, instead of getting hit by a truck, I got engaged to be married. I was glad I had had the foresight to get my name down on an actual register. Canon law says that Catholics over a certain age who have not taken vows of celibacy have the right to be married in their parish church. No expert, I thought that meant where our name was written down.  

“Better tell St. X right away,” said a friend to my news. “They gave us a really hard time about getting married there. And they gave friends of ours a really hard time, too. They won’t let you get married there unless you’re a parishioner.”

“But I am a parishioner,” I said. “I wrote my name down. I’ve been going there for years. I once gave a lecture to the RCIA class.”

“I’m telling you, they’re going to give you a hard time,” said my friend. “It’s a pretty church. They’re sick of people just wanting to get married in their pretty church. And they don’t care who you are. A friend of ours, his father wrote a parish history. The priest said, ‘So who are you?’  His family had gone to St. X for 40 years.”

So I did two things. I went to the parish office and volunteered to give more lectures. And then I called up the priest in charge of weddings and left a message on his answering machine.

In the fullness of time, the priest returned my call.

“So why aren’t you getting married in your own parish?” he asked at once.

Hardball, eh? But I was prepared.

“St. X is my own parish, Father,” I said sweetly. “I’m on the parish register.”

“Um, yes,” he said. “But it says that you live at….” And reading off my address, he hazarded a guess at my nearest intersection.

I was gobsmacked.

“You mean, my geographical parish?” I said. “Well, I guess that’s St. Y, but I haven’t been there in years. I’ve been around St. X for ages.”

He suggested that he had not noticed me at St. X, and I restrained myself from saying I hadn’t noticed him at St. X much before his relatively recent arrival. I explained that I went to Mass all over Toronto. At this he gave me a small lecture about “being active” and “local church,” but instead of pointing out that all Toronto is my local church, I dragged out the heavy artillery.

“And as for being active, I’m scheduled to give three lectures for St. X’s RCIA.”

“Oh,” he said.

Reader, I married there.

“Welcome,” said the clerical classmate to whom I recounted this tale. He snickered.

“Excuse me?”   

“Welcome,” said the young priest. “It’s what you’re supposed to say when a couple tell you they want to marry in your church. Marriage is supposed to be something we promote.”

Yes. Of course, some people do lust after churches as backdrops to their fantasy weddings. But as a matter of canon law, as long as there are no impediments, Catholics have the right to get married in church. We shouldn’t have to plot or scheme or roam from parish to parish to beg. Priests should not think of every argument at their disposal to keep Catholics — particularly faithful Catholics who go to Mass every Sunday — from marrying in their precious churches, which just so happen to be lay Catholics’ precious churches, too.