Delivered by Graham Yearley, June 30, 2013

This is a sad night, the final Printer’s Mass. But more than any sorrow, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for the gifts this midnight Mass has given me, and, I hope, many people: a community of faith and the gift of quiet.

I first heard about this Mass when I was downstairs at a twelve-step meeting. In my first months of sobriety, all I was looking for was a place to hang out and be safe at the hardest moment of the week to stay clean. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was as spiritually bankrupt as I was emotionally and physically empty. I had become what a monk once called a “church-going atheist.” I went to church because I liked singing church music; I went to church to see my friends at coffee hour; I went to church because it was a habit, perhaps the only good habit I had. I realized with difficulty that I hadn’t come to church to worship and connect with God in many years. I needed a Mass that stripped away everything non-essential, and the Printer’s Mass forced me to focus on what the church really offers: the presence of God in the bread and wine. But I also got some of the best preaching available in Baltimore and a community of people who loved this Mass as much I have.

I remember Francis, who was the major domo of this Mass, always asking newcomers to read and dress the altar. I remember Pat Kirwan ushering and Delores, his wife (who is here tonight), lectoring. Every week I see Laura and Jerry, our other Laura, and Bill who always prays for several minutes after the Mass is done, and, most especially, I see George with whom I have counted and deposited the offertory every week for twenty years. And every week I have had the privilege of spending time with Fr. Lawrence and listening to his preaching. No one comes to a midnight Mass regularly by accident; each of us has chosen it because the Printer’s Mass offered something no other Mass offered: the quiet at midnight in the heart of a noisy city, the quiet in which we can hear “the still, small voice of God”. I know the ending of this Mass is heartbreaking for a few of us. We want to clutch tightly to the past and never let it go. We want to stop and keep time from moving on. But faith teaches that the more we resist change, the faster what we clutch slips through our fingers. We need to look back wards with gratitude and forwards with confidence. Sometimes everything seems so transitory: This Mass ends, churches close, our friends fall away; it seems we lose everything we love. But one thing remains a constant; one thing lasts forever—the love of God. It is the certainty that breaks through our doubts; it is the ground we walk upon. It is what we were looking for and what we found at the Printer’s Mass. But it is everywhere when people come together and seek the still, small voice. God’s love is forever and thank God for that.

Spiritual Storytelling is the space where individual parishioners can share stories of their faith journey for the whole community to gain inspiration. If you have a story to tell, email a short description to parishoffice@stvchurch.org.