Gratitude, Mass, and Happiness

Throughout my life, I’ve encountered many different kinds of people, each bringing their own set of strengths, challenges, and insights. There are those who, in their quiet dedication to responsibility, seem to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, never missing a beat in their work and obligations. I’ve met individuals who, with an effortless warmth, care more for the well-being of others than for their own, often to the point of self-neglect. There are others still, who are sensitive to the winds of their emotions, their thoughts constantly moving in waves of uncertainty. I’ve seen those who thrive in the world of social interactions, their energy flowing outward like a constant stream, and I’ve met those whose drive for power and self-preservation runs deep, shaping their every action with sharp precision.

As I reflect on these encounters, I realize how much the rhythm of gratitude, particularly through worship, speaks to each of these different personalities, offering peace in a world full of noise and demands.

For those who are conscientious, who carry the burden of responsibility with a stoic resolve, it’s easy to see how a life driven by the need to do things perfectly can lead to exhaustion and burnout. The constant striving for order can sometimes feel like a never-ending battle. And yet, when I think of the rhythm of Mass—the weekly commitment to pause and reflect—I realize how that very ritual serves as a grounding point. In the liturgical silence, there is an opportunity to lay down the weight of perfectionism at the feet of something higher, to simply be in the presence of God, free from the pressure of achievement. It is in that sacred moment of gratitude where the need to control and perfect can be replaced with a humble offering, a peace that doesn’t come from accomplishment but from surrender.

For those who are agreeable, whose hearts are so attuned to the needs of others that they often forget their own, the rhythm of worship offers a much-needed reminder. In the act of communal worship, I see how this regular practice allows for a deeper sense of belonging—not just to those around us, but to something transcendent. The Mass becomes a time to receive, to acknowledge that while giving to others is important, we too need the nourishment of gratitude and reflection. Through worship, these individuals can find a sense of balance—learning that to serve others effectively, they must first acknowledge their own worth and the goodness of God in their lives. In this sacred space, gratitude becomes not just a feeling but a commitment—a commitment to take care of the soul in order to serve others with a fuller heart.

Then there are those who, driven by the tides of emotion, find themselves caught in storms of anxiety or sorrow. For them, life often feels like an unpredictable sea. Yet, in the peaceful rhythm of Mass, they can find an anchor. The act of worship, with its deliberate pauses, prayers, and chants, becomes a sanctuary of stillness in the midst of turmoil. It’s in the act of gratitude, when the soul can give thanks for all that is good despite the chaotic winds of the world, that peace begins to settle in. Through worship, those with a more neurotic temperament can find a place to process, to reflect, and to surrender their anxieties to God. Gratitude becomes their refuge, a practice that invites them to step outside the emotional tides and trust in something greater than themselves.For the extraverted, who live in a world of constant interaction and social expectation, the act of worship offers a place to direct their energy inward. Mass becomes a space where their desire for external connection is met by a deeper, more intimate connection with the divine. The liturgical rhythm provides a structure in which their social energy can be channeled into something sacred. There is a moment of collective gratitude where the individual is not seeking approval or validation from others but is instead participating in the communal act of giving thanks. Here, the energy that typically flows outward is turned inward and upward, toward God. In this space, their need for external recognition is replaced by the peace of being known by God, loved for who they are, not for what they do.

And then, I think of those who have a more driven, perhaps self-serving nature—individuals whose ambitions are sharp and unyielding, whose pursuit of success or power is a constant force in their lives. For them, the rhythm of Mass offers an unexpected gift. The liturgy, with its focus on surrender, humility, and gratitude, is a direct challenge to their self-sufficiency. In the act of worship, there is an invitation to step away from the ego, to give thanks not for what they’ve achieved on their own, but for the grace that allows them to succeed in the first place. Gratitude in worship becomes an opportunity to acknowledge that life’s greatest gifts—love, strength, wisdom—are not self-made but given by God. It is in that act of recognizing God's provision that the drive for power can be tempered, leading to a more balanced life, one where success is no longer solely defined by personal achievement but by divine grace.

What strikes me most in all of these reflections is how the act of worship, particularly in the liturgical rhythm of Mass, ties these various personality types together. Each type, with its own strengths and vulnerabilities, can find peace in the commitment to gratitude. This regular act of thanksgiving, not just in thought but in action, reshapes the soul. It teaches us to focus on what is good, to acknowledge what is beyond ourselves, and to surrender to a rhythm that leads to deeper peace. For all of us—no matter our personality—it is in the worship of God, an act of gratitude, that we find a path to a healthier, more meaningful life. It is here that the noise of the world quiets, the soul rests, and the truth of divine love and grace give balance.