Wrestling a Mantilla

G'day, friends. I thought I would blog as my husband watches the Psycho remake. Why would someone want to remake a classic? I just peaked over and saw the scene where the policeman is stabbed at the top of the stairs. They used the same camera angle as Hitchcock. Now, if you don't think you can improve upon it, just don't do it.

Now for my title. Chris and I visited our wonderful Benedictine Monastery this weekend - only about 45 minutes away. I love this place. As we drive onto the property I feel as if I'm entering a chapel. Seeing sheep graze and an occasional monk walking with his hood on and head low, praying the day's liturgical prayers with about 30 men chanting Gregorian... priceless. I love it and I thank God for it.

But now for the mantilla. Most women wear mantillas for Mass. It's said in Latin and a lot of the people who go there could be considered what I call Rad-Trad (radical traditionalists). Well, I'm not a rad-trad and don't want to be, so during the four years we've been going to the monastery I've never worn a mantilla.

Well, this time I decided I would. I decided that there's a humility before God involved in covering one's head that can only be a good thing. I decided that I could really use that and so I wore a mantilla to express that desire to God. Well, you know what? It felt pretty darn good. And while I sat there soaking in the chant, I thought about how some of my resistance was due to the gender-thing. Why do women have to wear a hat? But then I remembered that when I was young, men had to remove their hats when they entered church. That was when men wore hats every day. They were asked to go "hat in hand" to God.

It's sad. Men don't have a way to express their humility before God anymore. It's funny how it all turned around in my mind. I found myself feeling sorry for them and wishing they could wear prayer shawls or something to experience the same thing I did the day I wrestled a mantilla and the mantilla won.