Heaven Coming Down - The Tea Party
Happy Easter to everyone. I'm going to take the road less traveled and see where it takes me.
I was born and raised a Roman Catholic, an Italian Roman Catholic. I never doubted the concept of heaven and a higher power that put us hear on earth. I called that higher power God. Heaven was the place that my father called home. It was comforting to know that he hadn't really left, he just moved and as I have mentioned in other blogs, I believed he came back and allowed me to feel his presence at times also. I had the faith from within and I didn't need to have it shoved down my throat at a weekly ritual called the mass. Church with Mom was an enjoyable venture rather than a necessary chore. If Mom heard about a church that was holding a special mass - like a special guest speaker or music, we went there. I remember the guitar mass at St. Patrick Cathedral in Thunder Bay it was the best service I had ever attended and I don't even remember specifics, just the spiritual uplifting I felt.
One thing you have to know about my Mom was that she was notoriously late. She tried every memory trick going, but somehow she always forgot or lost track of time. Can't blame her, the woman had way too much on her plate to deal with! Regardless, it was this tardiness that ensured that we never had a set time or parish to go to for weekly mass. We would start off planning for Saturday night service, because no one wanted to get up early on Sunday morning and rush to get ready. Probably the though of getting 4 kids ready one more day during the week, prompted that mentality. Either way, if we missed Saturday evening and Sunday morning we would try for Sunday evening. Good thing there were a lot of options because somehow it always seemed that something would come up and we would miss all the services for another week. Maybe it was just the tardiness, but to me I felt that my mom paid less importance on the church as a building than a religious life. Spending time with unexpected company that dropped in was more important, even a really good Walt Disney special on TV sometimes took precedence. But, if we hadn't gone for awhile, we were expected to make sure to attend. Even if Mom didn't join us. Sometimes, despite all good intentions, we were just late again and Mom thought it was more respectable to have four children walk in late alone than the embarrassment she would have felt joining us. How late were we? Well, more than once we walked in as the congregation was walking up the aisle for communion! For anyone in the know of the Catholic Service, that is about 3/4 of the way through the service. In fact many people keep walking right after communion, right out the door and to their cars. Despite our lax attendance at the church on a weekly basis, our faith was very important to us as a family. We were expected to live a good Christian life - Mom's often repeated motto was "If you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything". Which is why some of the people who have crossed my path have not heard my true feelings about what I think of them.
Over the years, my faith has taken some hits, but my belief in the concepts have not. After my Mom and sisters were killed, my conviction to the notion of heaven and angels grew. I had to believe that they hadn't left me alone but had just gone on to another place to watch over me. They could still be with me - albeit in another form. My faith allowed me to accept my fate. But it also made me question the logic behind the church as an institution.
As that faith was cemented in my young mind, my trust and belief in the concept of the church was being razed. Sunday services with my grandparents took on a whole new meaning. Now my brother and were expected to get up at the crack of dawn on the coldest winter mornings to prepare and ensure we were not only not late for church but early enough so that no one else would take our seats. This was a whole new ritual to the Catholic experience that I had been unaware of. When my brother finally got the courage to ask why just once we couldn't sleep in and go to a later mass, the truth came out. That had to be at "that" mass because what would the congregation and priest say if they weren't there. Everyone looked for them to be in their customary pew, and if they weren't there, something was surely wrong. That would have the priest making an unexpected call to the house to make inquiries and the whole congregation would have their tongues wagging. To my grandmother, this was completely unacceptable. Social house calls from the priest were only permissible when everything was okay and there was no need for his presence. He came now and then to bless the house and drop off some holy water. Sometimes I would be hiding around the corner of the hall, wishing he would perform an exorcism to remove the evil I felt permeated the house when Mom left and others moved in.
I will never forget when the priest made the mistake of bringing up the topic of the tithe with my grandfather. As a member of the congregation, envelopes with the parishioners name on it was provided for the purpose of the weekly tithe. By nature of the title, the church expected 10% of the household earnings to be given to the church. And of course, the envelopes ensured that the church knew exactly who was giving and how much. The church would claim that they kept records so that at the end of the year they could issue tax receipts for charitable contributions, but that day the priest used the information to let my grandfather know that while he knew that his salary had gone up over the years, the amount of money in the "busta" (envelope in Italian) had remained unchanged. The priest suggested that my grandfather consider increasing his $5 contribution. The priest should have returned for a repeat blessing after all the expletives that spewed from my grandfathers mouth at the audacity he felt the priest displayed in even making such a request. At the time, my grandfather had surpassed the age of retirement in order to have an income to support my brother and I. I don't know the details of the financial health of the household but I do know that it was my grandfathers opinion that he gave his $5 every week for years and years without fail and had no intention of increasing it. On the other extreme, I once worked with a young married father who took his weekly tithe off the top of his pay cheque without fail, sometimes not leaving enough for groceries after the bills were paid. The church had such a hold on him that he would see his own family go hungry before he went against the demands of the church. Pity really.
Praying and spiritual fulfillment doesn't need to come from a building. Is it really praying when like obedient livestock you are told when to stand, sit, kneel, recite? You are told what to say and when to say it? In fact it has always struck me as ironic that when the priest tells people to pray, everyone lowers their head. I was a young teen when I thought to myself - if God is UP in heaven and the devil is below why do I look down to the devil to pray to God? With arms raised, and eyes looking above, I should be praying to God by looking up to him. Looking at someone when I speak to them is a sign of respect that I learned from my mother. Ironically, when a person feels bullied and belittled they do not have a courage to look into the eye of the person addressing them, they look at the floor. Think of the child who has just been chastised by his parents for a misdeed or how the Dufferin-Peel Catholic District School Board treats its employees. Eyes downcast as though not worthy. I have never understood that logic and I have heard all about reverence before.
It is said that the true Catholics place more religious importance on the Easter celebration than even Christmas because of the events in biblical history leading up to the celebration. But of course, consumerism has turned it into a feast of chocolate indulgence and bunnies hopping everywhere. But it is the time when even non-practicing Catholics find themselves squished into the pews of the church. Weddings, funerals, Christmas and Easter - the church parking lot is busier than the beer store before New Years Eve. Non-christians who balk at the mention of religion in the courthouses, schools and government offices would never object to the Easter (or Christmas) celebrations as long as they are ensured a day off to make a long weekend without work - or extra pay for working on that day. Ah the power of religion rears its ugly head again. What can I get out of it? they ask.
I too, have taken full advantage of the days off work to celebrate the coming of spring and the prospect of new life in the form of the blooming flowers and budding trees. But you won't find me sitting in the pews. Any praying I do, is done to my God and family alone. Not once a week on Sunday like I am told, but every day of my life when and where the notion strikes me. You can talk to any God that you want to or none at all. You can go to a building or get down on your knees at the side of your bed. You too are a child of God in my eyes and unless you hurt others by taking advantage you are welcome. But for the last time, get it right - it is Christmas and Easter celebrated by Christians all over the world. If you don't like it, you are free to protest by refusing the day off and the time and half extra pay for working on that day.
Until then...Happy Easter and may God bless you! Especially if you sneeze
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