Offering collection, it's not just for Catholics.

It’s Sunday and that means mass. This week I talked Sheila into going with me to the Duomo, otherwise known and Santa Maria dei Fiore. It was a 10:00 mass with another at 10:30 so we could be in and out in a jiffy. I like my God in small doses. We arrived at 10:00 to yet another parade outside the Duomo. The Italians love a parade. Inside we were treated to some Gregorian chanting, a recorded version piped in through speakers. That’s when I realized the entire 30 minutes would be chanting. Not great, but really I can take anything for 30 minutes. A priest entered at around 10:15 and asked us all to move closer. Sheila and I moved inside the fence to the inner sanctum. I find the fence to be a bizarre but totally appropriate architectural feature within the nave. It’s a physical representation of the hypocritical attitudes of almost all churches. Be kind to your neighbor, but make sure he is the right kind of neighbor first.

As we sat down, the priest, who reminded me of a mixture of Leslie Nielson and Dick Van Dyke, was chatting up the crowd. He was hunting for young people to collect the offering (carry the baskets and collect money from parishioners). He approach us and asked where we were from (Colorado and California), then he dropped the bomb. “Would you collect the offering today?” Yes. We didn’t tell him that we weren’t Catholic. I think he would have asked if it was important. However, this may have been another step in that slow spiral to hell. The church filled up with about 250 people, making me a little nervous about my pending duty. But more importantly, we now had to stay for the 10:30 mass, which meant 1 ½ hours of church. Sheila was not happy with me.

The rest of the service flew by and it was finally time for the offering. We were both dressed up, wearing heels that made a lot of noise on the marble floor, which is just so American. Italians don’t dress up for church. It’s a strictly jeans and sweatshirt affair, which is weird because they wouldn’t wear that anywhere else. We go to the back room for instructions with 4 other women, 3 Italians and 1 Brit. It turns out Father “Dick Van Dyke” can’t speak English. There was a lot of smiling and pointing.

I have not yet mentioned that they choose offering collectors based on age. It is supposed to be youthful innocents with their dewy faces and open hearts that collect the cold hard cash. I got roped into this by an inauspicious seat close to the priest and 25 year old Sheila. I am way too bitter to collect the cash. I’m of the age where I might take a euro because the church really owes me something after the last two years…

We collected. It was not pretty, but successful. We had to stop at the front of the church and curtsey to God. It was a little foreign to me, but at this point, I’m willing to try anything. Then, there was communion. In the program there was a note in English, French, and German that communion was for Catholics only (OK) free of grave sin (what?). I couldn’t help wondering if all those Catholics were really free of grave sin.