On the way home from Church on that first Sunday of Advent, 1970, I joined my parents’ grumbling chorus:
“Why does the Creed say, ‘We believe” instead of “I believe’? How do I know what the guy sitting behind me really believes? I want to speak for myself.” (That was Dad.)
“They’ve taken all the poetry out of the mass. It was a more elevated type of language before. This sounds like a third grade reader.” (That was Mom.)
“And now it just says plain ‘Church’ instead of ‘holy Church’ during the Offertory. Like the Church isn’t holy anymore?” (that was 11-year-old me chiming in, proud to be part one of the Grumbling Grownups.)
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