At Peace?

Posted by Rachel Balducci in Family on Tuesday, September 09, 2008 9:35 AM

Last Sunday, I had a terribly strange, terribly unnerving experience during Mass. When it was time to offer peace to those around us, the gentleman in front of my family would not offer me peace.

To set the scene: Paul was with two of the boys in the back of the church, and our oldest son was serving the altar. That left me and our two other boys sitting together.

We attend the early Mass each week, and our family almost always sits in the third pew from the front row. The same people generally sit near us each week, and we know these people on a first-name basis. The gentleman in question, however, does not normally sit here. He and his wife are indeed “regulars” but normally sit further back. I have never spoken to them before.

When the deacon told us to offer one another the sign of peace, I kissed my boys, first the one to my left, then the one to my right. At that point, the gentleman had turned around; he looked at me. I offered my hand—and he leaned back, looking at me with no real emotion on his face while pulling his hand to his side. Then he turned to one of boys and offered him peace. I tried again, extending my hand, and again he pulled back. He then offered peace to my other son. Then he turned around.

I know it’s silly, but words really cannot express how utterly devastating his actions were to me. I realized in that moment how vulnerable we make ourselves in that simple act, how meaningful the sign of peace really is. To offer this peace, and be refused (twice) was so hurtful to me that tears started to stream down my face. I felt like a twit.

After communion, I scurried to the back of the church, still inexplicably undone by the actions. And yet, I did not have the heart (or the guts?) to approach the man. I didn’t tell Paul what happened until we were in the car on the way home—he wished he would have known before we left so he could talk to the man.

This Sunday, the gentleman and his wife were again towards the front of the church. But we sat further back. And as we exited the church after Mass, once again I didn’t have the heart (or the guts) to say anything.

What would you do? Or, perhaps more interestingly, what in the world do you think is going on? I had several theories: I am a writer for our diocesan newspaper. Perhaps he doesn’t like my style? Did my boys make too much noise? Did he think I sneezed and he worried about germs?

Extra credit for people who do not make fun of me for crying. I know it was silly, and yet, not silly at all.

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