Of Performative Impiety and Nonperformative Piety

An examination of the way many of us judge people at Mass and how we might be VERY wrong. "Judge not, that you may not be judged..." Matthew 7:1

From Crisis

By Alexandria Chiasson McCormick

We know that we cannot judge the soul merely by exterior attributes; we know that it is wrong to make assumptions about a person’s interior disposition or depth of holiness based on casual clothing or external postures at Mass.

It's a common sight in the ordinary form of the Mass: throngs of people (all of them, actually, despite the fact that, statistically, only a small fraction of these people could have gone to Confession within recent memory) shuffle restlessly forward, thrusting their hands out to snatch God on their own terms. Most of them are dressed very casually, showing how little effort they think the Lord deserves on Sunday morning.

Then there is the equally casual one-handed way these communicants pop their Lord and God into their mouths, wiping their palms on their jeans afterward—can these people possibly believe that they are receiving the very body and blood, soul and divinity, of their Savior? Surely not.

The way they stand, so confidently, in front of the Eucharistic minister, reaching their hands out to help themselves at the table of the Lord, displays open arrogance. You can tell they consider themselves on a level with God Himself by the way they barely acknowledge His presence, save, perhaps, for a brief nod of the head, such as one directs toward a vague acquaintance one sees at the grocery store. Overall, the way in which the average communicant receives at a standard Novus Ordo Sunday Mass is far from edifying.

The above is a sort of reductio ad absurdum answer to a recently published article on individuality and piety. I do not actually think about any of these things when I am at Mass. First of all, I have my own concerns of which to be mindful—my own spiritual preparation, scraps of pre-Communion prayers I remember from a distant past when I was able to balance a prayer book instead of multiple children; on a less spiritual level, merely attempting to corral toddlers on the way up to and back from the front of the church is really enough of a challenge to keep anyone adequately focused on their own business.

Secondly, and more significantly, the fact remains that as much as I may struggle with uncharitable thoughts toward others, it is patently obvious that I can’t actually know anything about the interior state of anyone else at Mass. Of course, it’s entirely possible that the man in jeans and a football jersey chose to dress that way because he is more invested in the game he is watching at a friend’s house afterward than he is in worshipping at Mass; but it’s also quite likely that he is simply a fellow who doesn’t think much about clothing and has never been instructed on how to dress for Mass.

The young, fit woman who doesn’t bother to genuflect may not care too much about the Real Presence—or she could have a running injury afflicting her knee, although you can’t see the brace under her skirt. These people are strangers, but they are also members of the Body of Christ, and what we owe them are our prayers and our charity—not a spiritual or psychological analysis.

Anyone who reads the first paragraph of this essay, without recognizing it as parody, would quite rightly be shocked by the idea that a person was entitled to sit in judgment of the Communion queue. While any of us might have occasional thoughts along some of these lines, we can rationally dismiss them, ask God to forgive us and help us grow in love of our neighbor, and strive to assume the best of others, as the virtue of charity demands of us.

We might be shocked, in passing, by a plunging neckline, or someone’s blundering into Mass at the halfway point, but deep down we know that these externals are shaky evidence on which to judge a person’s heart. We know that we cannot judge the soul merely by exterior attributes; we know that it is wrong to make assumptions about a person’s interior disposition or depth of holiness based on casual clothing or external postures at Mass.

And yet, somehow, when the tables are turned, it has become acceptable to point out the interior shortcomings of people who display any kind of outward trappings of piety or devotion. We can assume that women who veil think they are better than women who don’t; that people who kneel and receive Communion on the tongue do so not out of respect for the One whom they receive but, instead, in order to create a scene and call attention to their excessive holiness. People who wear suits and ties or dresses to Mass on Sundays other than Easter are surely just making a statement that they are better than those who attend in shorts. A longer hemline or a higher neckline, a habit of staying after Mass to make one’s thanksgiving, carrying a missal or prayerbook, special care in genuflecting or crossing oneself—the signs of spiritual pride are so subtle and varied!

Is it possible that a person who dresses modestly and reverently for Mass, who kneels and bows and observes the outward forms of piety, might be a whited sepulcher? Assuredly. These outward devotions are certainly not a guarantor of holiness. On the other hand, there is absolutely no reason to interpret these as signs of interior decay. Perhaps this is difficult for people who themselves struggle with feelings of spiritual pride; people who, in acknowledging their own shortcomings in this regard, tend to project them onto others who engage in outwardly observable devotions.

But this struggle to control others in order to calm one’s own anxieties is not a healthy response. We recognize this in other areas of life: an alcoholic does not find healing by micromanaging other people’s consumption of spirits. The answer to obsessive compulsive disorder is not to force others to wash their hands constantly for the comfort of the one suffering. Why do we continue to insist that everyone must conform to exactly the same spiritual practices in order to make others comfortable?

Unity and conformity do make many people more comfortable; and the Church does indeed regulate our comportment at Mass within certain bounds. At the same time, however, souls are individuals, and God’s relationship with each one of us is unique. If that is true, and if the Church, in her wisdom, can tolerate a degree of nonconformity among the laity at Mass, could we, perhaps, as well?