An amusing tale, repeated by Carl Sandburg in his comprehensive biography of Abraham Lincoln, places the future president at a party hosted by the family of Mary Todd, with whom he was romantically smitten. When Miss Todd asked Mr. Lincoln if he might want to dance with her, the awkward, gangling, country lawyer was elated, enthusiastically replying, “Yes, Ma’am! In the worst way!”
At the end of the reel, as they left the dance floor, Mary told him, with all honestly, “Mr Lincoln. You told me you wished to dance with me in the worst way and you certainly are a man of your word.”
How is it that this paradoxical idiom entered the English language? Why describe our efforts to attain a goal to which we aspire with great devotion as something we want to do “in the worst way”? Why not express our desire with an enthusiastic “in the best way”? We use the phrase, “in the worst way” to mean just the opposite: wanting something very much, a desperate, great, overwhelming desire. But why?
Sources say that this hyperbolic colloquialism found its way into the language during the mid-1800s.
Perhaps this phrase idiomatically perpetuates a sense of humility with self-deprecating politeness. Or maybe “in the worst way” is a reflection on our tainted, sin-pervaded human nature. Perhaps it is rooted to that unhappy period when the formerly Catholic notion of “Merry England” was forcibly and radically changed by law into a puritanical police state, ruled over by Oliver Cromwell and the Roundhead parliament?
In this era such delights as Christmas and Easter with their accompanying festive décor and special foods were despised, even outlawed. Transgressors were fined, jailed, whipped, or displayed for abuse in a pillory. All this took place where a rigid, puritanical Calvinism reigned supreme.
“In the worst way” is certainly of English origin. No Tuscan would ever make such a declaration. Nor would a Parisian. Honestly, I cannot think of any person in any Mediterranean culture making a statement that is so utterly unsanguine and topsy-turvy in meaning.
Reflecting on this idiom with a theological insight this Lent, surely no one would think of retranslating in this form the passionate longing expressed by Jesus to His apostles in St. Luke’s account of the Last Supper, “Greatly have I desired to eat this Passover with you!”
Some people, unhappily, find that the Mass, the continuation of that same Passover meal unfolding throughout time, is too often celebrated “in the worst way” in a real, not idiomatic description, as Mary Todd described Abe Lincoln’s dancing. Such people cite boring, repetitive prayers and gestures, listless altar servers, a hurried priest, fidgeting parishioners, or squalling infants as key ingredients to making their participation in Mass an obligatory trial, a penance, rather than a celebration of enthusiastic love.
With some embarrassment — and with greater shame — I admit to sometimes being one of these critics: one who wants the Mass always to be a technical marvel of liturgical precision performed by priests charged with perfervent holiness. This may be due to the fact that I produce, and sometimes write, direct and act in murder mystery parties performed in people’s homes, offices and on trains. I work hard to be sure that my clients are not disappointed by my putting on a bad show.
While at Mass I don’t want to be disappointed. I don’t want to be distracted by a glitch here or an omission there. My cross is to keep in mind that Jesus Christ is not a client to be impressed. An overemphasis of technique can make me forget that Jesus Himself celebrates with us, united with His Church as the sacrament of his Incarnation.
My hero, the great British writer G. K. Chesterton, once served up the paradox “Anything worth doing is worth doing badly” to many bewildered readers. He meant that if you attempt an endeavor, your technical skill — or lack thereof — should be no obstacle to getting it done right. Making mistakes is not a bad thing. Indeed, we learn by them: “practice makes perfect.”
One has no need for a professional landscaper to tell him how to putter about in his garden. An amateur play can be just as entertaining as a professional production (many times even more so). St. Peter, after all, did not have the benefit of a papal master of ceremonies to assist him in fine tuning his celebrations of the Eucharist sacrifice during his travels.
Looking beyond the occasional imprecision of the ministers in the sanctuary and the inattention of some members of the faithful assembled, we might just see Jesus offer Himself to the Father in His continuing redemptive sacrifice. If we can focus our eyes of faith on the fact that the Eucharistic celebration is a window to heaven, we might more readily see the countless angels surrounding our altars, praising and adoring the Lord of celestial bliss who voluntarily allows Himself to be called down from His throne to nurture us as our Bread of Life.
With this realization we might actually look forward to participating in the Sacrificial Banquet more joyfully and express our heart’s desire to be united to Jesus, our blessed Lord, even if we do it “in the worst way.”
Sean M. Wright, award-winning journalist and Emmy-nominated writer, is a Master Catechist for the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, who, “in the worst way,” writes about topics of Catholic interest. He welcomes comments sent him at [email protected].
