I was with a buddy on the way to Mass, and he was telling me that he was strongly thinking of switching parishes. There wasn't anything wrong; it's just that, with the kids grown, he never makes it there terribly often. It was pretty random that I was there myself, actually. I was in a jam, and that's where we decided to go. It was the sort of liturgy I hate. I could overlook contemporary music, if in fact we had not been explicitly instructed otherwise. In the grand scheme of liturgical abuse, though, it can be much, much, worse. I was also annoyed, because the music guy and his "band" were loud and talkative the entire time prior to Mass. The Blessed Sacrament is right over there; shut up. If a long-missed friend wants to whisper "hello," fine. But this is not common space. I didn't know what to think of the priest, either, because he was old. "Old," for the uninitiated into the Latin Rite of American Catholicism, means, "I wa