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.
No comments:
Post a Comment