America magazine has published a first-person account by religious educator Lisa Middendorf Woodall, describing how the guitar Masses of her childhood provided a spiritual touchstone for her life. In “Confessions of a Guitar-Mass Catholic” she writes:
I pondered and prayed over what I would do if I actually had a hammer, what the sounds of silence were and what it was that I could teach my parents. It would be many years before I no longer looked forward to going to Mass, because what I experienced each week in that old church was a solid sense of peace and wholeness.
She also describes some powerful memories of the old church of her childhood, which was later torn down after a new one was built. The older
church and the guitar Masses do not stand in tension with one another in her memory. They are both part of the one gift and enchantment; they are both claimed as her own:
I loved being in that old church. I loved its creakiness, its heaviness. I loved the vestiges of the personal histories that lived in there. The familiar family names glazed into the stained-glass windows, the sturdy spring clips on the backs of the pews that had held a thousand hats and purses, and the little frames that had at one time reserved certain pews for a certain few contributors.ย Mostly, I loved the memories of voices singing together, thoughtfully and joyfully, to the warm and inviting music of the guitar Masses, everyone holding hands and people actually smiling during Mass.
I didnโt simply feel as if I belonged to that church, I felt that the church belonged to me.
You can read the whole thing here.
I think her account speaks for an experience that is sadly drowned out by the contentious arguments of the so-called “liturgy wars.” Does her story resonate with your own experience? Why or why not?

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