Saturday Mornings

I rarely attend vigil Masses, but recently I found myself at one. Besides it being dark outside and being surrounding by parishioners I’d never seen before, it all felt quite similar to Sunday morning service. But as I looked around, I saw the distinct markings of Saturday. 

The Paschal candle stood next to the baptismal font; there must have been a baptism today. A bridal bouquet was placed on the Mary altar; there must have been a wedding too. It felt like a normal day to me, but it was an important day for several other families.

I’ve learned to love churches on Saturdays. It seems to be when they are most active. Yes, more people show up on Sundays, but there is more movement on Saturdays, a hustle of community. A morning Mass, a group in a corner audibly praying the rosary, a line forming for confession, a family trying to wrangle members for a picture to mark the baby’s baptism, sacristans placing flowers for the afternoon’s wedding, the smell of coffee from a Bible study wafting in.

It’s busy, but quiet—sacred. A steady hum of peaceful activity. It’s what churches should be. Here is community. Here are sacraments. Here are people using this holy space in a regular, Saturday morning routine. Here are people using this holy space to mark important milestones in their lives. No one is obligated to be here, yet here we are. Here is where we want to be.