The Roman Missal

The Roman Missal had no peace. Dear friends, if ever you are a book, hope to be a photography book, or a poetry book, or a book full of philosophy apt to perplex and confuse, or a literature book easy to think of yet hard to read—anything in the world rather than a good inspirational Roman Missal with Latin translations and hymns, for that is indeed a sad thing to be. Many a time the poor Roman Missal wished it were a cook book, or a glossy pictorial magazine, or a comic book, or anything on earth rather than what it was. It never had any peace; it was picked up; its pages flipped and turned sometimes delicately, sometimes viciously; it was put down in bathrooms, kitchens, porches; it was read and quoted during all types of situations, peaceful and querulous; it was allowed to take catnaps while the evening news or some other entertainment or distraction allowed an unexpected sleep to arrive: it woke up when the eyes opened and remembered reading a passage; it waited to be consulted after showers, waited to be skimmed after coffee or juice or cereal, waited to be read during the weather and traffic forecasts; it was stuffed into their backpacks, briefcases, purses when they went to class or to the office, left about on counters, dropped behind desks, forgotten, neglected, dropped, torn, lost, dog-eared,—how graciously with great humility it suffered, until it realized, “How the human beings do need me. They need to learn so much.” And then it started thinking about human beings; how savage and violent the lives of the human beings are; how alien human beings often appear as they live each day, always rushing about, asking more and more questions but not waiting for or desiring any answers; always sleeping and waking, or trying to sleep and wake; always nibbling and sipping, and giggling and whining, and typing and walking, and saying this and that and the other, never reflecting for long either individually or together, or appearing as if they could be quiet, contemplative for a single hour or a single day. “Human beings are always making noise, louder and louder,” reflected the Roman Missal; “they are always texting and walking about, always rushing here and doing this and that, building this today and destroying that tomorrow, and revising and deconstructing for ever and for ever, and never are they quiet, contemplative. It is lucky that we are not all human beings, often expecting humility, charity, and love to flow from their neighbors first, often wondering when the world will be calm and patient enough to accept and understand hope. It is lucky that we are not all human beings, racing about, forgetting mercy and forgiveness, or each day would be so exasperating, so frustrating that there would be no inspiration, no reason open this Roman Missal's pages.”