The Recovering Catholic

I am a Recovering Catholic.  I would love to claim to have come up with the moniker myself however; I’d be lying if I did.  A friend from Georgia calls herself that and I assumed the name as well. It amused me. She spent 12 years in Catholic Schools, I only was sentenced to serve 4.  Of course, before that, I went to my Catechism classes every Saturday morning where I completed all my required sacraments until adulthood, Baptism, First Holy Communion and Confirmation.  Those are the required sacraments for growing a Catholic.  After that they are mostly voluntary until Last Rites.  No one lives forever.

As a child, I really don’t remember going to church being much of a family affair.  My siblings and I dutifully went to church, most of the time, while my parents slept in on Sundays.  That didn’t make sense.  In the summer we never went since we spent the weekends on our boat.  That didn’t make sense.  We attended as a family only on Christmas and Easter.  That didn’t make sense.  I remember one time in Florida during Easter the priest decorated the altar with Lilies and Poinsettias so that all those who only attended on Christmas and Easter would feel at home.  I thought it was funny at the time but I was only 14.   Looking back I think it was highly inappropriate and sarcastic.  I am not above sarcasm and maybe this essay is sarcastic but I think if a priest wants you to feel welcome in his church sarcasm is not going to give you a warm fuzzy feeling. 

In High School, while wearing my perfectly plaid and pressed uniform all I really saw was a set of rules we were “supposed” to follow, not a holy faith.   We had, what appeared to be, a disengaged priest for a Principal who seemed more interested in his tennis game than his “flock”.   And, unless you were part of the “cool” crowd he didn’t know your name.   Most of the other clergy who taught there really didn’t seem to like kids at all.  I remember two members of the clergy who I can honestly say were there for us kids and enjoyed us. One was a priest who made being a priest actually seem cool.  The other was nun who was my English teacher. She had a warm heart everyone could see. She is now Principal of that same school and I couldn’t think of a more deserving woman.  She truly was dedicated to her students.   The rest I’m not so sure about.

My mother-in-law is a devout Catholic.  I remember her telling me that as a child of 7 or 8 she would go to church alone because it was the only place where she felt safe and accepted.  That’s certainly not my experience.  I never found anything comforting there it was just something I was told to do. To me the church felt restricting yet mysterious.  Our local church was built in the late 60’s and had that modern angular design typical of the times.  It had three shortened isles and the main one had a column at the beginning.  I didn’t even want to get married in it because I thought it was ugly and didn’t have a traditional center isle.

I remember the trip to Europe with my high school; after the first few days we began calling it the “ABC Tour”;  Another Bloody Church Tour.  We visited churches, cathedrals and cloisters in Switzerland, Italy and France and even heard the Easter Sunday blessing by Pope John Paul II from St. Peter’s Square in Vatican City.  Maybe they were hoping one of us would have an epiphany and hear the “Call” but I think most of us went on to some other profession. However, that Easter Sunday was quite memorable for the church service we attended.  It was a local church closest to our hotel in Rome.  It was one of the most beautiful churches I’d ever seen.  I remember wishing my corner church looked like that.  Everything was warm vanilla colored marble and decorated with gold ethereal paintings.  We didn’t understand a word the priest said because it was all in Italian but we knew when to do the sign of the cross and go to communion.  Plus the nuns were watching so we behaved appropriately. 

I joke and say that I am a Recovering Catholic. I am not really “recovering” from anything.  I didn’t have any horribly traumatic experience that drove me away.  I did get married in a Catholic Church and both my children were baptized in one as well.  But that’s where it stopped.  In 2000, I officially joined the Lutheran Church, which I called Catholic Lite. The Pastor was young and his sermons were always relevant.  A few years later at a different Lutheran church I soured on Lutheranism too. I was asked to fill a post on the Church Council.  Our task was to guide the church on its mission to build a new church building.  Our Pastor just kept saying, “I don’t see how we can do it, we’ll never get this done”.  I was shocked that our spiritual leader had so little faith.  Faith is belief in what we can’t see and trusting that a way would be provided.  He was leading them down his own path of faithless fearfulness.  He did eventually leave and they did get their church built but for me that was end of organized religion all together.  But that’s not to say I don’t believe in God and do not communicate with Him.  In my mind He is still a He and I communicate with him regularly.   There are many beliefs in other paths to God.  I actually like the Hindu premise that accepts all paths to God.  But I’m not a Hindu either and don’t really purport to be anything but a non-practicing Catholic girl from New Jersey. 

I continue to visit the churches and cathedrals in all the European cities we visit.  I love to visit them actually.  They are amazing feats of architecture, often house priceless works of art and usually have some interesting story to tell.  The quiet echoes of the devout move in a hush across the cold floors.  The gilt always seems to shine from within and the burning candles curling prayers towards God always bring a peaceful feeing.  I can’t help myself but to stick my fingers in the Holy Water and bless myself with the sign of the cross every time I enter a one.  It’s a vestige of my youth that brings a feeling of communion with a quiet space in my heart.  Maybe I’m really a recoverED non-practicing Catholic or maybe I'm really a heathen doomed to eternal damnation.  We’ll just have to wait and see. 

There Must Be Fireworks

Do they have the 4^th of July in Ireland? Yes right between the 3^rd and the 5^th.   I remember the first time I spent “The 4^th of July” in a foreign country.   I was 13 and we spent the first two weeks of July in Ireland.  It was the first time it occurred to me that  “The 4^th of July” was not the actual name of our Independence Day holiday.  In Ireland, and everywhere else, it’s just the date.  I have a very vivid memory of that day.  We were a large group in a small pub in the Maam Valley.  This was 1980 before Ireland had such a large tourist industry, so our Irish American clan was somewhat of a novelty.  Everyone wished us a happy holiday and there was even a round of God Bless America.  But there were no fireworks.  I felt like something was missing. 

I love how it’s just called “The 4^th of July” and everyone knows what you are talking about.  It’s usually a long weekend and the REAL kickoff of summer. All weekend we celebrate being American with all the kitch and casual lifestyle for which we are known.   I just paged through my social media page and saw all my friends’ photos of pool parties, face paintings and beach BBQ’s complete with sack races and fireworks.   There has to be fireworks.  I love it!  Pure Americana.  There is a certain beauty in the faces of the children in those pictures that captures the freedom that’s represented by our country. 

Our NJ town always had the traditional parade where we kids marched behind the VFW group with our ball teams and scout troops waving like A List celebrities. Back then I had no idea why those old men in faded uniforms were included.  It was The 4^th of July not Veterans or Memorial Day. The day always ended at the Little League field with some fireworks.  It wasn’t until I was a little older and understood that a fireworks display is a celebratory way to recall a victory in a war.  If it weren’t for those old men and their predecessors there would be no parade in the first place.

My Dad had a big boat when I was growing up.  He kept it on the Chesapeake.  In 1976 we anchored in Baltimore Harbor, across from Ft. McHenry, to watch the fireworks.  It was the Bi-centennial Year for America.  We’d been our own nation for 200 years.  In 1814 “The Star Spangled Banner” was written in that harbor while there were actual “bombs bursting in air”.  So the fireworks were fully significant.   I was 9 years old but I was acutely aware that if I can live to be 109 I will witness the “Tri-Centenial” when our country will turn 300.   We have 65 more years to go.

One of my favorite years was 1986; The 100^th Anniversary of the Statue of Liberty.  My father piloted our boat up the Hudson River for a vacation stopping at Kings Point Merchant Marine Academy, West Point Military Academy and culminated in anchoring in New York Harbor to watch the fireworks display celebrating Lady Liberty.  I tried to capture some great photos of the fireworks and The Lady with my camera and tripod.  They came out like they had been made with a Spirograph since the boat was constantly in gentle motion.

That weekend there were thousands of boats in the harbor.  The tides in NY Harbor rip quickly and you could tell which were the inexperienced boaters and sailors.  People would just pull up along side of any other boat and drop their anchors never giving a thought to the fact that when that tide shifts every boat around you will swing on their anchor lines.  My father and brother-in-law stayed up all night to make sure we weren’t part of any mess.  Around 5:00am I heard the big throaty engines roll to life.  There was a group of boats knotted together drifting right toward us.  We needed to move quickly.  We’d already seen the fireworks, so it was okay to leave now.

This year I again spent “The 4^th of July” in a foreign country.  However, this year we are part of an Embassy community so we still had “The 4^th of July”.  It was an official function at the Chief of Mission Residence.  The Star Spangled banner was sung mildly accented by Polish followed directly by the Polish National Anthem. There were hundreds of people.  It was a lovely evening of American food and International colleagues.  There were no sack races or face painting but there were some pretty good fireworks. My kids weren’t with us though and when my girls realized they didn’t get to see the fireworks they were disappointed.  My 15 year old was adamant about doing something special next year.  I guess she felt a little cheated, like something was missing.  There is no way around it, for an American, there is no 4^th of July if you don’t see some fireworks.

Americans don't do naked very well

Europeans really have a very different attitude towards nakedness than Americans do.  I first noticed this at the gym. I’ve been a gym rat for many years and have never experienced the level of nakedness anywhere else than I have at the local gym I use here in Warsaw.  Most European women think nothing of carrying on a conversation with you whilst standing totally nude or just walking around the whole locker room totally nude.  You can tell us American girls right away.  We’re the ones trying to change our clothes after a shower while still covered by the towel.  Have you ever tried holding the towel up and putting your underwear on with out anyone catching a glimpse of your goods?  It’s not easy but we can do it and usually the injury from the inevitable fall is minimal.  European girls make their lives much simpler by just dropping the towel and dressing.  I have to admit I envy the absence of self-consciousness.  However, I’ve been treated to more than one of Babcia’s backsides in the air while she takes off her swimsuit.  I could see all the way up to her middle name, if you know what I mean.  Not something you really want an eye full of just before lunch.

What I’ve found really interesting though is the wearing of bras out in public.  I'll give you a couple of examples.  A friend and I were driving along side of a field on the outskirts of the city and there were about half a dozen older women working in the field wearing their shorts and only bras.   It was a funny seen and we had a good chuckle.  If only I’d had a camera ready.  Then, a few weeks ago, my family and I were playing tennis.  There was another family on the court next to us.  It was a Mom, Dad, and two boys about 11 & 13 maybe. It was hot.  Abnormally hot for early June in Warsaw, maybe 85 degrees.  So the Mom rolled up her shirt to expose her belly.  No big deal, right?  About 5 minutes later she just took her shirt right off and proceeded to play tennis with her family in her capri pants and bra.  They weren’t “tennis” people so they probably don’t know tennis etiquette usually calls for something a little different not to mention being in public normally does too.  And finally, a friend told me a story of walking along a bike path and two women coming towards her looked as though they were wearing bikini tops.  Once they got up close it was actually cross your heart stlye plain white bras.  I know bikini tops actually reveal much more than a bra but I still find it odd.  It is called UNDERwear.  Funny how in the U.S. someone could be sited for indecent exposure for wearing just her bra in public but she can walk around in a bikini top and daisy dukes and that’s okay…….hummm.  What’s wrong with that picture? 

Maybe we Americans are really the odd ducks.  Most American girls are willing to talk about anything and everything when we’re all together.  I am often shocked by the level of openness women share in conversation even upon a first meeting.   But see each other naked, The Horror, The Horror!   We were raised in the age of “Barbie” and Playboy bunnies so of course we have body image issues.  We all think we’re supposed to fit an image of perfection that continues to morph over time.  I think the damage to our collective psyche is the true horror.   I have a friend who is a personal trainer and, of course, very fit and beautiful to boot.  She writes a fitness blog and speaks openly about struggling with her own body image right along with the rest of us.  We shouldn’t treat ourselves so harshly but that’s easier said than done isn’t it?  

I’ve heard so many American women complain about their hips or thighs or that little bump on their bellies that showed up after having kids.  I go up and down in sizes at times and am always working to get to myself to that dream body I never seem to obtain.  That is a lot of pressure to carry around on a daily basis.  We are not Barbies.  We are women with real bodies and real curves.  There has been much debate over the years as to what Barbie would look like if she were actually human.  For the most part her proportions are unattainable at best, unhealthy at worst and she might be over 7 feet tall.  That is ideal?  And the amount of money spent on plastic surgery and anti aging skin treatments in the U.S. is another horror.  Ladies just take care of yourselves; mind, body and soul.   I think we need to quit trying to stop aging but age gracefully instead.  A woman who has taken good care of her health, her skin, and her heart is much more beautiful than the fat lipped frozen faces of the botox generation.  And yes we can tell you've had work done.

Maybe we could all just meet in the middle somewhere.  We American girls can thumb our noses at Barbie in appreciation of what our bodies can do.  We will promise to stop obsessing about being seen naked if the European ladies can promise to just stop going bottoms up before lunch.  We’ll just call it a draw on that whole bra thing.