A little over five years ago, I was working as a church organist and choir director at a rural Catholic church.
We had just been assigned a new pastor who had been born and raised in Poland. He did not come to the US until he was an adult.
I found the cultural differences to be confounding many times during my stay at that church.
One of Father's sermons, in particular, struck my mind this morning.
With passion he had asked our Sunday morning obligation bored parish, "Are you willing to die for what you believe in? Are you willing to die for Christ? Because someday that may happen."
WHOA!
That made a few eyelids snap awake.
DIE?!!
Are you serious?
I thought he was being a bit fanatical, but upon closer examination of this sermon throught the past few years... I can see where the passion came from.
Our pastor grew up in communist Poland.
Yeah... you might have to think about losing everything you cherish, including your life to stand up and be Catholic and follow Jesus in such a regime.
And that stuff still goes on in the world... even now:
BBC NEWS World Asia-Pacific China's Catholics: Far from Rome
China recently permitted a huge religious gathering of Buddhist monks (sans the Dalai Lama)... in an effort to show the world that they are more open minded than other nations think they are...
but, the reality is that if you are Catholic and living in China...
your priest has to talk about contraceptives and Mao Zedong (Tse tung) flourishing forever in Heaven.
um.... that doesn't exactly "fit" with the foundations of Catholicism.
But, that is the only way that Catholic communities can publicly celebrate their faith in China.
Here's the clincher...
people in China organized an underground Catholic community that has secret connections to the Vatican.
The Chinese government is not too fond of the Vatican... they speak out about politics... a definite NO-NO in China.
Now here's the confusion for me.
I do not attend Mass regularly... like maybe twice this past year.
I surrendered all of that during the most recent hypocrisy over the pedophilia debacle bursting open like a malignant cancer throughout the heirarchy of the Catholic Church.
What exactly am I willing to sacrifice for my faith?
Would I be willing to give up my liberties to defend my Mother Church?
No.
Although, I strongly support those people in this world who are willing to do that.
If you had asked me a few years ago... I would have been one of them, but no longer.
More importantly, would I sacrifice in the name of Jesus?
Yes.
I can no longer allow an organization to define my relationship with God, but I am willing to defend my belief in Jesus.
But, not to the point where I would trample on the liberties (TRANSLATION: free will) of others.
I can not reconcile with the "My way or the highway" mode of Christianity.
And Catholics are big time proponents of this mode of thinking.
I can not deny being Catholic, either... I have just decided that.
And that is WHY I have had a real problem with the Catholic Church.
My whole "issue" started when my first marriage dissolved into a divorce.
I "had to" get an annulment.
Why?
I mean... how can you erase a sacrament?
The marriage was consecrated... I was there I KNOW it was.
How can a priest just take some money, fulfill a pretense of "counseling" prior to this bizarre ritual, and then same... TADA!... your marriage was null and void?
Yeah... as if?
My first marriage WAS annulled. My first husband wanted this. I did not block this procedure, but I certainly declined to participate.
And that freaky little whatever we can call it... ritual?
That is when my faith in the Catholic Church took a huge bonk on the noggin.
The cover-up of criminal priests doesn't help one bit either.
But, how would I behave if tomorrow our government said "You can not gather in public to celebrate the Mass." ?
You know...
I would probably be the first one through the door and walking up to the altar for Communion.
So... I am confused.
My relationship with the Catholic Church is the longest relationship I have had with the exception of my family of origin... well, goodness, the Church was there from day one of my life.
Here I am 43 years old and I am starting to feel like a rebellious teenager in regards to the Catholic Church.
Good Grief.
And where is Jesus in all of this?
Lots of praying and thinking to do on all of this...
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Growing Up Catholic
NOTE: The story is true, the people are real, the names have been changed .
Growing up Catholic doesn't necessarily guarantee that you are learning about Jesus.
I can't recall Jesus being a topic of discussion in my formative years.
I remember learning the rules and catechism... although no one ever told me these lessons were called catechism.
Priests were an integral part of my family's spiritual life, but I never had close contact with the religious orders until I entered Catholc school.
The time was 1968 and I was five years old when I met my first grade teacher, Sister Mary Joseph.
I thought she was so old!
And she had a man's name!
Sister ran a tight ship.
I have no recollections of anyone causing one lick of trouble in her class. I know in hindsight that I was in a class of thirty really tough kids.
Our time was always occupied.
If my work was finished early, a plastic container was plunked down onto my desk.
MODELING CLAY!
My favorite.
I never looked into Sister's face. I saw mostly her belly region, black voluminous robes.
She floated.
Her hands were thick and firm... no wasted movement.
But, there was this good feeling always with her. I finished my work, she noticed and gave me a reward of clay time.
It felt so good to have an adult who cared about you so much that even in a sea of children, she knew your needs and attended to you.
Nothing ruffled her.
Fran Smolinski was terrified of thunder and lightening as we were to learn that spring.
Sobbing hysterically as the lightening flashed before our wall of windows, Sister Mary Joseph kept us all calm like a captain sailing a ship across stormy seas and Fran's woe.
I remember how Sister kept calm and serene during prayers as one of our classmates, Timothy O'Connor, threw up.
And... of course, Fran had a sympathetic cookie toss immediately afterwards.
Sister smoothly managed to tend to both ill children, clean them up in our classroom bathroom, and move forward with the day while reassuring us all.
The only time that Sister gave me a startle was when she had moved my desk beside that big wall of windows. We were all soon to discover that I was a big-time daydreamer.
She kept repeatedly asking me to read a sight word to her from the Dick and Jane reader list. The words were on the chalkboard and my eyes were out the window flying like a birdy in the clear sky. I never once looked at the board.
The word was "play" and I kept saying "toy". Over and over and over.
We both were persistent. Finally I realized my mistake. Sister never scolded. She just looked perplexed. I liked that about her.
My desk was moved to the other side of the classroom. There was no reprimand, no yelling, no adult authority games.
Sister was firm, consistent, and attentive.
When I was frightened about getting onto the big bus at the end of the day, there was Sister Mary Joseph, standing by side and reassuring me that my big sister would be there for me soon.
And when Sis arrived, "See! There she is!"
******************************************
I ran into Sister Mary Joseph in the early 1990's at the retirement home for the sisters of her religious order.
I knew her in an instant.
I never realized before that she had sweet eyes.
She smiled at me as I told her that she had been my first grade teacher.
She rememberd me in an instant.
"Oh, you are the youngest of the six sisters! I remember you! So beautiful. How could I forget those eyes of yours?"
And I thanked her as chills ran up my spine.
How many... so many... children had she taught, yet she could remember me?
I felt loved.
I felt cherished.
**********************************
No we didn't talk a lot about Jesus while growing up Catholic, but once in awhile I had the honor to travel along with someone who knew Jesus quite well.
Growing up Catholic doesn't necessarily guarantee that you are learning about Jesus.
I can't recall Jesus being a topic of discussion in my formative years.
I remember learning the rules and catechism... although no one ever told me these lessons were called catechism.
Priests were an integral part of my family's spiritual life, but I never had close contact with the religious orders until I entered Catholc school.
The time was 1968 and I was five years old when I met my first grade teacher, Sister Mary Joseph.
I thought she was so old!
And she had a man's name!
Sister ran a tight ship.
I have no recollections of anyone causing one lick of trouble in her class. I know in hindsight that I was in a class of thirty really tough kids.
Our time was always occupied.
If my work was finished early, a plastic container was plunked down onto my desk.
MODELING CLAY!
My favorite.
I never looked into Sister's face. I saw mostly her belly region, black voluminous robes.
She floated.
Her hands were thick and firm... no wasted movement.
But, there was this good feeling always with her. I finished my work, she noticed and gave me a reward of clay time.
It felt so good to have an adult who cared about you so much that even in a sea of children, she knew your needs and attended to you.
Nothing ruffled her.
Fran Smolinski was terrified of thunder and lightening as we were to learn that spring.
Sobbing hysterically as the lightening flashed before our wall of windows, Sister Mary Joseph kept us all calm like a captain sailing a ship across stormy seas and Fran's woe.
I remember how Sister kept calm and serene during prayers as one of our classmates, Timothy O'Connor, threw up.
And... of course, Fran had a sympathetic cookie toss immediately afterwards.
Sister smoothly managed to tend to both ill children, clean them up in our classroom bathroom, and move forward with the day while reassuring us all.
The only time that Sister gave me a startle was when she had moved my desk beside that big wall of windows. We were all soon to discover that I was a big-time daydreamer.
She kept repeatedly asking me to read a sight word to her from the Dick and Jane reader list. The words were on the chalkboard and my eyes were out the window flying like a birdy in the clear sky. I never once looked at the board.
The word was "play" and I kept saying "toy". Over and over and over.
We both were persistent. Finally I realized my mistake. Sister never scolded. She just looked perplexed. I liked that about her.
My desk was moved to the other side of the classroom. There was no reprimand, no yelling, no adult authority games.
Sister was firm, consistent, and attentive.
When I was frightened about getting onto the big bus at the end of the day, there was Sister Mary Joseph, standing by side and reassuring me that my big sister would be there for me soon.
And when Sis arrived, "See! There she is!"
******************************************
I ran into Sister Mary Joseph in the early 1990's at the retirement home for the sisters of her religious order.
I knew her in an instant.
I never realized before that she had sweet eyes.
She smiled at me as I told her that she had been my first grade teacher.
She rememberd me in an instant.
"Oh, you are the youngest of the six sisters! I remember you! So beautiful. How could I forget those eyes of yours?"
And I thanked her as chills ran up my spine.
How many... so many... children had she taught, yet she could remember me?
I felt loved.
I felt cherished.
**********************************
No we didn't talk a lot about Jesus while growing up Catholic, but once in awhile I had the honor to travel along with someone who knew Jesus quite well.
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