The 6th Sorrowful Mystery - Ringtones During Mass…
Picture the scene: The church is entombed in holy silence after the Consecration. Heaven is holding its breath. Angels are teetering on the edge of the pews. Saints have called family members into the living room because “something important is about to happen.” The chalice gleams, the incense curls. All is solemn, awe-struck reverence.
And then…
🎵 “I’m a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie World…” 🎶
Congratulations, everyone. The Mass is now officially sponsored by Mattel and existential despair.
It’s not just any phone that has detonated this glitter grenade of sacrilege—it’s a weaponized Boomer smartphone, wielded by Marge, Patroness of Rummaging, who is now bulldozing through her purse like she’s searching for the Lost Ark. Out comes a Costco receipt from 2011, a petrified Tic Tac, three unidentifiable St. Anthony medals, half a rosary, and what’s left of her dignity. The phone―finally silenced—right in time for the priest, with magnificent irony, to proclaim:
“The Mystery of Faith.”
You want a mystery? Try figuring out why “Barbie Girl” is still a ringtone option, let alone the background soundtrack to transubstantiation.
Mystery, indeed. The deeper question: Why, in the Year of Our Lord 2025—when we can send people to space and make cars drive themselves—can we not leave our telephones in the “off” position for one measly hour? The answer: Boomers. And yes, I love my elders, especially when I’m not directly experiencing their greatest hits: Felt banners. Liturgical dance. The “On Eagles’ Wings” symphony... and now, the Fourth Sorrowful Mystery, “The Boomer Phone Ringtone During Mass.”
Honestly, nothing gives away your generational allegiances faster than a phone ringing “Sweet Caroline” at full volume in the middle of the consecration. It’s not a Mass anymore; it’s Catholic Wedding Reception Karaoke Hour. Bonus points if the phone call is answered: “Hello? Yes, I’m in church. What’s that? No, he hasn’t changed the bread into Jesus yet, but I’ll call you when he does.” Reverence, thy name is Marge.
But lest I be accused of “Boomerphobia,” let’s throw shade at the rest of the smartphone-worshipping masses. Millennials and Zoomers limp in five minutes late and instantly whip out their phones as if the Missal is now available exclusively on TikTok and FanDuel. The priest elevates the host, and Timmy’s busy updating his fantasy team, while Madison Snapchats a duckface selfie from the choir loft. Because that’s what Jesus was thinking of at the Last Supper: “Do this in memory of me—and make sure to tag Me.”
Let’s be clear: When your phone rings at Mass, it is no longer a personal device. It’s an IED. It’s a sacrilegious airhorn. It’s the sonic equivalent of flipping off the saints, slapping a cherub, and white-noising the Real Presence all in one. The stillness shattered, the mood slaughtered, the congregation reduced to shell-shocked veterans of the Liturgical Phone War, united by the eternal refrain, “Please, God, not again.”
We’ve come a long way, folks: from the Gloria in excelsis Deo to “Incoming call from Spam Risk.” When St. Paul said “pray without ceasing,” I doubt he meant “slide into God’s DMs between Candy Crush notifications.”
And don’t even get me started on the digital degenerates who treat the pew like a WeWork cubicle. No, you aren’t reading the Divine Office on your iPhone; you’re scrolling next week’s brunch menu, liking memes, and texting your boyfriend “Father’s homily is boringggg 😭” while parked three seats away. Newsflash: If you’re Instagramming your kneeler, you’ve missed the point.
But let’s not lose sight of the real tragedy here: This isn’t just the interruption of silence. This is the interruption of Christ. This is the sacrifice that defeated death, now upstaged by your “Despacito” ringtone.
Remember, dear parishioners: the Catholic Mass is not your book club, therapy session, or open mic night at Starbucks. You are at the foot of Calvary—yes, THAT Calvary, with the blood, the nails, and the salvation of humanity, not with a customizable notification tone.
You wouldn’t let your phone ring at a funeral (unless, of course, you’re actively auditioning for “Purgatory’s Got Talent”). You wouldn’t tap the screen through a Supreme Court hearing, or interrupt Hamilton to update your Fitbit. But the one unrepeatable, OTHERWORLDLY event that is the Holy Sacrifice? By all means, let’s bring in “Livin’ on a Prayer” for the Offertory.
For the confused, allow me to spell it out:
How to Use Your Phone at Mass: A Guide for the Spiritually Dense
Before Mass: Turn. It. OFF. “Vibrate” is for cowards. “Silent” is for amateurs. Off, like the Tomb on Good Friday.
During Mass: Leave the phone alone. If the devil tempts you, remember: “Could you not watch one hour with me?” (Matthew 26:40)—not “Could you not refresh Instagram for 60 seconds?”
After Mass: Examine your conscience. If you blasted “Uptown Funk” during the Agnus Dei, prepare five rosaries and 30 minutes in purgatory. Minimum.
The Catechism offers this wisdom: “The liturgy is the participation of the people of God in the work of God.” Not the background music to your niece’s FaceTime.
So, next Sunday, try the unthinkable: Turn your phone off. Let the silence speak. Let eternity press in. If someone nearby forgets, gently remind them: Our Lord didn’t die so “Barbie Girl” could become the Lamb of God remix.
Frankly, Jesus deserves better than your ringtone. So do we.
Signed,
ALL OF US