Vacation time brings some fond memories

I recall as a youngster that my family always took a vacation.  It was at least a week away from home that we spent “on the road”.  These were times that generated great memories.  Dad would prepare the car for a few months (even if we only travelled a couple of hundred miles). 
Generally the car performed quite well so long as Dad didn’t do any of the maintenance himself.  Our trips usually were built around a camping theme (no doubt to control expenses).  I distinctly remember one year camping in Nova Scotia and Dad went down to the docks where the fishermen came in.  He bought three lobsters right from the fishermen.  Now this was a treat.  None of us had ever had lobster before since we certainly couldn’t afford it. 
Dad reminded us that we didn’t even need to think about ordering it in any restaurants to which he took us.  What a delight that meal was.  Mom wasn’t too thrilled about throwing the little beasts live into the boiling water (yes, that is how you cook them).
Other vacations were spent on farms in Canada.  Central Ontario was where my mother’s family originated.  We would spend the summer in my uncle’s cabin on a lake in the middle of nowhere – and I do mean nowhere! 
Mount Saint Patrick was the name of the town and if there were 50 people who lived there I do not know where they were hiding.  Our dog, Dutch, (who always went on vacation with us) would take off at sunrise and not return until sunset, generally after having rolled in some foul smelling material. 
We caught fish during the day and ate them for supper.  The cabins did not have electricity so we had to use oil lamps and cook on a wood stove.  Mom’s culinary skills were a bit challenged with the best of appliances.  Cooking on a wood fired stove did nothing to improve the meals.
One thing from which we never took a vacation, though, was our faith.  No matter where we went, we prayed over our meals and we never (and I do mean NEVER) missed Sunday Mass. 
In our house if you missed Mass you had better be on death’s doorstep.  If you weren’t, Dad would see to it that you were going to be.  While on vacation, it was no great sacrifice to get up on Sunday morning and go to praise our God.  It was particularly fitting while on a beautiful vacation to give Him thanks.  We sought out little churches wherever we went to allow us that special time. 
I particularly remember with fondness the church at Mount Saint Patrick.  It was a small church with a cemetery out back.  The church probably only sat 150 people or so.  It was the only church in town. 
Of course there was no air conditioning so when it was hot the doors and windows were opened.  Open doors were an open invitation to nature to share the celebration.  All the town animals (including Dutch) wandered in and out of the church as they saw fit. 
Every Sunday we attended Mass with all the local farmers, most of whom were relatives that we only got to see during the summer.  Afterward, we would usually snag an invitation to a meal at one of the farmhouses.  Now these ladies were a little more skilled with that wood burning stove than was my mother.  Biscuits, gravy, ham, potatoes, home made butter and preserves, pies – well you get the idea.  And always preceded by a blessing and a prayer of thanksgiving.
I guess my parents didn’t take a vacation from their faith because they didn’t see it as a burden but as something they enjoyed.  Certainly as a child I did not grasp that, but because of their insistence that I go, I understand it now. 
When my wife and I travel, we attend frequent Mass.  On one cruise a couple of years ago, a priest on the ship celebrated Mass for us every day.  It was a beautiful way to start each day of our vacation.  If it has not been a part of your summer tradition to continue to attend the church at which you worship, do you ever wonder why that is?  Is it because we continue to view our Sunday worship as an “obligation” and therefore somehow we can “justify” taking a break?
Summer vacations are a wonderful time to relax and enjoy.  Isn’t worship joy filled, too?  If it isn’t, do we ever ask ourselves why that is?  While some of us may blame the service, is that really honest?  I’d be more inclined to spend a little time with God and ask Him to give me the grace to develop a deeper and more intimate relationship with Him.  With that, I’m quite confident I won’t even begin to want to be absent from worship.  After all, why would I not want to spend time with my best friend?
God bless you, with love.