Time to Say No? (Part II)

Having listed some of the more pressing reasons that I may be called to reject Catholicism, I'll begin to look at the reasons why I don't want to do that.

I.  All That Mumbo-Jumbo

Recently, I was talking to some friends who aren't Catholic about some of the issues I have with the church.  One of them said, "Well, the Catholics have all that mumbo-jumbo..."

And I confess, I bristled for a moment.  Some of that mumbo-jumbo is the very thing I love about the church.

My friend went on to talk about the connection between some aspects of Catholicism and the pagan religions that pre-existed Jesus.  After that, we slid rapidly over to saints, recognized and "deleted" ones, so I didn't have a chance to say ~

"Hang on.  That connection with pagan religions - and Judaism - is part of what I love about Catholicism."

After all, religion of some sort has been around forever.  It's not like the Christians came up with the idea of religion.  So why wouldn't we hang on to whatever traditions and rites we could?  I've heard people fuss about that before, as if it proves something bad, but it's always made perfect sense to me.

Being a martyr for Christianity was one thing - why would people have to give up a celebration around the winter solstice too?  In my mind, the carry-over reflects our connection with the collective unconscious, and I don't want to lose that.

The other thing that people often mean when they talk about the "mumbo-jumbo" of the Catholic Church is the saints - and I plan to keep them.  No, really, I do.

I'm not giving up St Christopher - I know, we don't count him anymore, but we really do.  Not giving up St. Therese - not St. Therese of Avila or St. Therese of  Lisieux either one.  Keeping St. Francis of Assisi.  St. Martin de Porres.  St. William.  St. Augustine.  The list goes on and on.

Ok, maybe they're kind of like imaginary heavenly friends... still.  How could I let go of a saint who in his wild youth says, "O Master, make me chaste - but not yet."  (St Augustine.)

Or St Therese of Lisieux, who created "the Little Way" - who first said, "We can do no great things, only small things with great love."  

St. Therese of Avila, who said,  "If this is the way You treat Your friends, no wonder You have so few!" and "From silly devotions and sour-faced saints, good Lord, deliver us!" 

Nope, not letting go of them...  

Other "mumbo-jumbo" - sometimes that used to mean the Latin mass, and that's already gone. I don't long for those good ole days, so I don't have to worry about that.

Or, "mumbo-jumbo" can mean the rites and rituals of Catholicism.  Once again, I'm fond of them.   That's not what bothers me.

I'll miss the mass.  It's part of me.

I remember when I was little, maybe 8 or 9, getting up real early in the morning in the summer, riding my bike to 5:00 mass.  Yes, 5:00 in the morning.  Even back then, not a lot of people picked that mass, but some did.  There was something magical about going alone in the quiet pre-dawn...

Those first mass memories were at the Newman Center in Lexington, at U of K.  I loved Father Moore and remember how exciting it was when Vatican II started.

Then we moved to Louisville, and found St. William, back when Ben O'Connor was there.  John and Vince Grenough were still priests, and sometimes we'd say the "Our Father" in sign language.  And the priest from Nigeria, omigosh, I can't remember his name - Emmanuel, maybe?  Drums were a new experience in church, and we used to sing "If I Had a Hammer..."  Kenny Wade was young and used to wear a peace sign round his neck.

Sigh...  

Those are memories to pull out and look at another day.

I get to keep the memories, I know that, but they will not have the same meaning.

Time to Say No?

At church today, Father Tony Gittins, from Chicago, was a guest homilist.  I thought I had heard the name before, and when I google it, I see that he's renowned for his teachings on discipleship and social justice.  Cool.

His homily is excellent, of course.  The reading today is about the man with two sons who he asks to go work in his vineyard.  One son says "no," but goes out and works anyway.  The other son says "yes," but doesn't go work.  Jesus asks, "Which son does his father's will?" 

Father Gittins preaches on it admirably, and actually in a way that might change my life.  But let me give this some context first.

I go to a Catholic church.  

Yes, I'm Catholic.  

I suppose.  

Staying Catholic is increasingly a struggle for me.  

I was raised Catholic, but not in the tradition of American Catholic grade schools, nuns with rulers, and families with 10 children.   My Mama's Catholicism was more Italian style and, at least in her world, the pope gave his opinion and people agreed - or didn't.  No hard feelings either way.

I remember her explaining to me that while it was important to listen to the Pope, he was only infallible when he spoke "ex cathedra." I remember her saying that a pope had only done that three times in the history of the church.  

I understood that if you didn't agree with him when he spoke ex cathedra, you couldn't call yourself Catholic.  But the rest of the time, you didn't necessarily have to agree.

As I write that now, in today's climate, I find myself wondering - was that really what she said?  And then I remember John Kennedy, our only Catholic president.  I remember how proud we were when someone asked him what he'd do if the pope tried to tell how to decide something based on religion.

I remember him saying that he would have to do what was right for the country, that we wouldn't "be ruled from Rome," which was a big fear at the time.  I remember feeling proud, and other Catholics did too.

I had this sense of being Catholic back then as something that I intrinsically was, in almost the same way that Jewish people are Jewish.  I suspect that was very Italian of me.

Ok, so fast forward a bunch of years, and a bunch of experiences.  I know now that being accepted by the Catholic church in America in our time is very conditional. And I guess that's ok.

So, I go to this Catholic Church that is pretty liberal.  We always have been.  We're a church I can love, with our inclusive language, ecumenical leanings, commitment to peace and the pursuit of social justice.  Sounds good, right?

Of course, some of our stuff is getting a little shaky these days.  New pope, new Archbishop, and we're working on keeping a low profile.  Inclusive language is not acceptable and let's not talk about women being called to serve as pries~~~ shhhh - don't say it.  Hush.

Yes, really.

But we've hung in there so far, and keep looking for ways to adapt and survive.  

I won't name the church, it doesn't really matter and I want to give them plausible deniability, cause by the time I finish writing this, they may need to not claim me.

So here we are, this little radical Christian Catholic Church, full of peace and love and inclusion.  This is what it looked like to me today:

We start off with the sign of the cross.  We used to say an inclusive version ~ "In the name of the Creator, the Redeemer, and the Holy Sanctifier."  There are other versions too that have been considered acceptable, but~~

~~ but it's inclusive, it doesn't make it clear that God's our Father, not our Mother.  Can't have that.

So now we don't say it.  We don't say anything.  We make the sign of the cross silently, and say what we want to say to ourselves.

How sad is that?

But we have permission to do that.  Thanks.

So we go on, and I notice again that it's been ages, really ages since we used one of my favorite songs before the readings.  Maybe a year.  Maybe more.  It's one I love, and we used to do it often, but it seems to be gone.  I wonder if it's on the not-acceptable-music list.

I let that go, and I'm fine til it's time for the gospel.  Then our esteemed visitor rises to read the Gospel, and I think ~

"He's a priest, so he's allowed to read the Gospel.  The other people we have, our local prophets and preachers, aren't allowed to do that, and they aren't allowed to preach.   They're allowed to stand there while a priest reads the gospel and does some little homily just to remind us all that he has the power and the authority.  Then they can expound on what he says.  But some priest can walk in off the street, and read the gospel himself."

And i feel a little sick.  

No offense to the visiting priest intended.  It's the message we send our lay people that bothers me.

So Father Gittins reads the story about the two sons and the conversation Jesus has about the discrepancy between their words and their behavior.  Father says that he read the non-inclusive language version on purpose because it's important that the story is about sons, not daughters.  He says he'll expound on that later, but I must have missed that part.

Anyhow, it doesn't really matter, because I'm taken with the rest of his homily.  Here's what sticks with me.  

The story is about integrity.  Doing what you say.  Actions that match your words.  And the importance of saying "yes" when you mean "yes," and "no," when you mean "no."  

The story, he says, is about the importance of rethinking things so we are transformed to God's way of thinking.  

And I begin to ask myself - Can I call myself Catholic with any sense of integrity?

I run down the list of things that Catholics publicly proclaim these days - not just for Catholics, things that they - we? - try to force on everyone.

1.  Marriage is one man + one woman.  

We believe that so strongly that we're not willing to provide adoption services if we might have to place a child in desperate need of a home with a gay or lesbian couple.  In fact, we'd rather withdraw our funding and not participate at all.

But I have gay and lesbian friends who've adopted and I believe they're wonderful parents, and I believe they should be able to get married in all states.

2.  Getting divorced and remarrying is wrong. 

We Catholics believe this so strongly that in many churches you can't go to Communion if you're remarried, or serve on the parish council, or participate fully in the spiritual community. 

By those standards, I am already "beyond the pale."  Of course, I'm not remarried anymore, but I'm pretty sure that getting divorced a second time doesn't let me off the hook.

3.  Artificial contraception is wrong.

We Catholics believe this so strongly that we won't support any sex education that includes any kind of real birth control, not even condoms.  Not even in countries where young women are getting married and pregnant so young that they end up with fistulas.  Not even in countries where children are starving because there are too many mouths to feed.  Not even in countries where HIV is rampant.

Ludicrous, I think this stance is ludicrous.  And possibly evil.  

4.  Abortion is wrong under any circumstances.

We Catholics believe this so strongly that we excommunicated the mother of the nine year old in South America who was raped by her step-father and pregnant with twins, and we excommunicated the doctor who aborted them because she couldn't have carried them to term and survived.  

We are ok with some women and the occasional child dying, that's just the way it goes.

Since we don't believe in artificial contraception, our chances of dying in childbirth go up, but that's ok.  And it's ok if we get raped and get pregnant - unfortunate, maybe, but just the way it is. Because once we're born, women don't really matter.  So of course -

5.  Women can't be priests.

Never, never, never.  So much never that if we even say we think it's wrong, we're just-about-kind-of excommunicated.  So much never that even thinking some women are called to the priesthood is some kind of sin.

If you think I'm kidding - they're on the verge of excommunicating Father Roy Bourgeois.  Maybe they already have and I missed it.  As I recall, he preached the homily at a mass for some renegade group of folk who were ordaining a woman.  They don't want to kick him out - he's a priest, after all, and they didn't excommunicate any of the sexually predatory priests.  

But thinking that women should be priests is at least as bad as priests abusing children.

So let me say it publicly, proclaim it from the rafters - I think some women are called to be priests.  I think the Catholic Church is wrong not to recognize this and use the talent of these gifted and compassionate women.

AND - I escort at the abortion clinic, accompanying the patients and their companions down the gauntlet of pray-ers, preachers, and chasers, many of whom are Catholic.  I used to cringe a little when the Catholics marched down from the Cathedral once a month to fill the sidewalk across the street, certain that one day I'd look up and see someone I know.  But I no longer care.

There are lots of other places that I have issues with the Catholic church.  The ways we've treated our African-American brothers and sisters is one, but that's a more subtle discussion.  So is the "God is male" position I think they - we? - take.  

But the five things I've listed - Marriage, Divorce, Contraception, Abortion, and Priesthood - are substantive and crystal clear.  I do not believe what the Catholic church teaches.

How can I say I'm Catholic???

Why would I want to??

(to be continued)

The Universe Smiled on Me Today

After church today, which was miserable sweltering hot, I stopped by Highland Coffee on my way home, as I always do.  Said "hi" to an acquaintance I run into there sometimes.

I get to the counter, "Hi, how are you?"  "Good, how are you?" the smiling server and I exchange greetings ~ I order my usual ~  a large sugar-free vanilla chai latte with skim milk.  She smiles, writes it on a cup in coffee shop shorthand, and says, enthusiastically,

"I've got something for you."

"You do?"

"Yes.  Someone bought these flowers and said to pick someone to give them to."  And she picks up a bouquet of fresh cut flowers.  "Here."

I'm delighted.  I love flowers like this - bouquets, in plastic, that you get to take home and put in a vase.  And to be handed them like this - out of the blue - I'm just totally delighted.   And almost unbelieving.  I laugh,

"They said to just pick someone to give them to?  And you pick me?"

"Yes," she nods vigorously, and hands them to me.

"Thank you, omigosh, thank you.  That makes my day!"

And it did - it just made me feel like the universe was smiling on me.

Here they are:

I would have put them in the blue pitcher, the one that Jane gave me after my Mom died, but I had bought some flowers at the farmer's market myself yesterday.  Here they are:

And here's a close up:

So I have a plethora of flowers right now, and I love that.

After I got my bouquet of gift flowers home, I noticed the card, attached at the bottom of the stems.  It says:

So now I'm it.  I have to figure out what anonymous kindness I can do...  This should be fun.

Out to Sea

Tybee Island -

Traded a good internet connection for the ocean. 

Today, I walked on the beach twice, found a perfect conch shell, watched pelicans diving for their breakfast...

went to the pier and took my own picture with my cell phone

and it's not even noon yet.

I'll be back on Sunday...

Savanah III

It's already becoming a blur for me.  Beautiful squares:

Beautiful houses:

And then I reach a point of overload.  Yes, it's all beautiful, and I just can't do anymore.  No more pictures.  No more beautiful rooms with amazing furniture.  No more souvenir shops. 

I hit that point about 4:30 yesterday, and after that I was just driving Julia around, like Driving Miss Daisy.  I'd go straight, turn left, turn right, just following directions, til she'd say - there!  park!

And I would.  She'd jump out and disappear into another square, camera in hand. I'd close my eyes and snooze.  Waiting for the next directions - go straight...

But I've skipped to the end of the story, well, one of the ends, and there's still so much to tell.  Ok, backing up now.

There was Chris and the bus tour, and the 10,000 stories he told, and then the ghost tour that night, which he also led.  That was lots of fun.  He totally sold me on the idea that on a battlefield where 1100 men were killed in 55 minutes, there must be ghosts.  While I haven't been able to find conformation of his exact version of the story, which involved betrayal and great drama, it is apparently true that about that many men died in what is called "the bloodiest hour of the Revolutionary War."

Also interesting were the four prohibitions that Savannah started with:

-  No lawyers
-  No hard alcohol
-  No Catholics  and
-  No slavery

Eventually, of course, all of those prohibitions were lifted.  Slaves in Savannah, however, had a slightly different experience than elsewhere in the country.  I had read this somewhere before, but forgotten it. 

Slaves in Savannah were allowed to travel into town and work at a variety of trades, such as blacksmithing or weaving.  They were allowed to keep the wages they made from these endeavours.  If they purchased their freedom, they were treated pretty much like other citizens (with the exception of the vote, I think.)   So that created a somewhat different atmosphere in Savannah.

Having read "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" before I came to Savannah, I already knew that Savannah locals pride themselves on being a little eccentric, with Southern charm to spare.  For sure, that's true.

Tuesday night, we had dinner at The Pirate's House as part of the ghost tour.  It was fun to see the cellar where the underground tunnel was open for rum-runners coming in - and kidnapped men and boys being "shanghai-ed" to sea.  Of course, Chris gave us graphic details of the cruelty imposed on the kidnapped men - and the men who were injured and left behind to die.

We were encouraged to take pictures in the area, and assured of the likelihood of capturing some ghosts on film.  

Unfortunately, all my pictures look like this.  No, I can't see the ghosts either.  Julia, however, has some on her camera that are pretty impressive, and I'll post them when she sends them to me.

But it was even more fun to listen to our server, Elijah, rave about the ghost pictures he's captured on film.  He was passionate about it, and divided his time pretty evenly between providing impeccable service to our table for dinner and accompanying us to even better areas to catch glimpses of ghosts.

I did cringe a little when he referred to us as "young ladies," but he couldn't have known that we wouldn't have been delighted.  Well, and I wasn't thrilled when he called us "love," as if he were British - "Here you go, luv," as he set a plate down.  But those were minor negatives, and he was friendly and fun.

Here's a picture of the Pirate's House restaurant - that's Chris, our tour guide, back in the corner.  

Ok, so that kind of brings us up to date - well, not really, but it gets us through Tuesday night, pretty much, kind of, and that's something. 

Today, we move to Tybee Island.  It's supposed to go up to 60 degrees and the sun's shining - woohoo!  and I'm excited.  Julia's taken the car and gone to explore more of the city.  When she comes back, we'll go see the couple of more things I want to see, and head out.

Stay tuned...  tomorrow I'll tell you about the one rude person we met...  Oh - here's what I saw from my balcony today: 

Ok, unfortunately, you can't really tell what it is.  However - see the bridge off to the left - then look at the big thing that looks like another building in the background - that's actually a ship.  The little white piece with the red top sticking up?  Part of the ship. 

So my pictures may not be professional quality.  I actually forgot I had a real camera here and the iphone may be a little limited.... 

Savnannah - II

I'm already behind in my story - but that's ok, right?  I can always catch up when I get home.

That first night, after we got here, we headed out for dinner.  A windy, cold walk to the river - fortunately only a couple of blocks long.  The restaurant was warm, thank goodness.    We decided to have a drink to celebrate.

Yep, martinis.  Julia's is the one with the olives - our server, Will, stuffed them with blue cheese himself.  Mine has expresso and a little chocolate and a dash of carmel in it.  It was lovely.

I had to take this picture about 10 times - I kept accidentally doing a video instead.  Very annoying. 

Here's a not-very-good picture of Will, who took really good care of us:

As you can see, it was a dark, elegant restaurant.  He's doing a Ceasar salad tableside, always a treat.  That got us started reminiscing about Willie Bizzle Ceasar salads, which were the best in the world, and then about other restaurant people and places.

Back in our youth, we sampled some great restaurants.  The Brass Rail in Nashville, 1789 in DC, and some fancy restauant that neither of us can remember the name of in Chicago...  And we have great restaurant stories, but I won't go into that here.  Enough to say, we amused ourselves nicely, while feasting on -

Jumbo scallops with asparagus and goronzola cheese for an appetizer, followed, of course, by the Ceasar salads and then we split:

Shrimp Saute, with mushrooms and capellini pasta and a slightly spicy sauce.  Yum.


With, of course, a glass of white wine - Chardonnay for Julia, Pinot Grigio for me.  Lovely.

After which, we fought the wind all the way back to our room and slept soundly.

We started late yesterday - Tuesday - didn't get on our trolley bus tour til almost 11:00.  But our timing was good in one way - our first tour guide was Chris, who was knowledgable, which I'm sure all the guides are, but also funny. 

Chris started out with a story about the beautiful bridge to South Carolina we could see from the trolley.  Chris gave us all the facts and figures about it - and that it was named after a governor.  The extra tidbit (in his delightful southern drawl) was that the particular governor had only been in office a short time before he was found to have "sticky fingers."  He was removed from office shortly after that and - Chris shrugged - "we named a bridge after him."

Ninety minutes later, we had a good overview of Savannah's history, and a lot of great stories.  We got off the trolley ready for lunch.

This is where we ate:

It was very fun. 

But I've barely even started on yesterday yet, and in 3 minutes, I've got to wake Julia up so we can start Round II of Seeing Savannah. Yikes.

More to follow....

Savannah - I

You've probably already heard the story about my sister's birthday celebration, but I'll tell it again just in case you missed it.  It started with the book Annie Freeman's Traveling Funeral, which is a wonderful story about a woman (Annie Freeman) who dies.  She's cremated, and she'd left instructions for a group of women friends to take this journey to scatter her ashes.

In the book, she has the trip all set up, with planned adventures and encounters along the way, and then of course, there's always the unexpected.  If you've never read the book, I recommend it, it's very fun.

So Julia reads it, and thinks it's great, but - "why wait til I'm dead?  I wanna have the adventures while I'm still alive."  She turned 50 this year, and once you turn 50, you realize that you really can do anything you want to.  At least, that's my theory.

So that's what she does.  All year long, Julia goes on little trips with different people she loves.  Now, here we are, December, the birthday year's almost over, and our adventure is almost past due.

I wanted to go somewhere warm.  She's always wanted to go to Savannah.  I wanted to see the ocean - don't have to lay out in the sun, just need to see it, smell it, be near it.  She's always wanted to go to Savannah.  It was the perfect plan.

We knew it might not be real warm.  We knew it was a long drive.  When we heard it was supposed to snow the day we were leaving, we even knew it would be smart to leave the evening before we'd originally planned.

We didn't know that we'd pull into Savannah looking like this:

We left about 6:00 Sunday night, and driven through the snow, past Lexington, past Corbin (home of the original KFC, and close to where our grandmother had lived.)  It was snowy, and kind of slick, but we persevered.

We stop at the rest area on the Tennessee border.  Laugh at the sign that says, "Use caution, roads may be slick." 

"Well, no duh," we say.  "The roads are a little slick.  Ya don't have to tell us to use caution!  But it's only 58 miles to Knoxville - let's at least get that far." 

And we blithely head on.

5 miles, and 20 minutes later, Julia says, "Well, it's not so bad as long as there's a truck or something ahead of us.  Their lights give me some depth perception.  But without that, oh, geez, I can't see - well, I can't see much of anything." 

Fortunately, an SUV passes us - we follow him for another 8 or so miles.  Then he picks up some speed - "No!  Don't leave us!"  we say, half laughing, and watch his lights fade away far ahead of us. 

We creep on.

So when we see a billboard that says "Comfort Inn - Exit 141 - 5 miles" we don't even have to discuss it.  It's got our names all over it.

And it's a beautiful sight - as we finally slide onto the exit ramp, we can see it, sitting at the top of a little hill.  Lining the driveway up to it are rows of Christmas lights, arranged to lead us safely in. 

"Yes!" we breathe a sigh of relief.

The woman at the desk is warm and welcoming, even if she might think we're a little strange for being out in this.  The room is cozy and nice.  We're happy.

Julia examines the trip tic - yes, we still have a Triple A trip tic, she loves them.  "I think we want to avoid the mountains as much as we can."

"Ya think?" I say, then add, "Really - do we have a choice?."

"Look," and she holds out the map, pointing, "If we go this way, through Atlanta, see here - I think we avoid most of the real mountains, and it's only about half an hour longer."

I don't even have to put on my glasses, I trust her judgment on this completely.  But I put my glass on anyway, just so it looks like I'm a full partner in the decision making.  "Mmmhmmm," I say, and it does look like there's a lot less elevation, "Sounds good to me.  Let's do it."

Of course, there is some talk about leaving early, then we realize that's foolish.  "If we wait til after rush hour, the roads will be clearer, traffic won't be at a standstill, we won't have to deal with all those other drivers."

Sounds like a plan to me. 

So we start out the next morning, after a good night's sleep.  It's a little slow going at first, but no real problems the rest of the way. 

I stop and get the car washed right before we get to Savannah because the snow is finally all gone, and I don't want my car to be embarrassed in front of all the pretty, clean cars.  For some reason, the GPS on my iphone, which had been guiding us unecessarily, quits talking right when we need her.  I'm driving again, so I can't fix it without drifting off the road, but we manage to find the hotel anyhow.

And at last here we are!  Our hotel is right in the historic district, only about a block from the river.  The desk clerk is delightful, answers most of Julia's questions, and assures her that the concierge will be able to tell her much more in the morning.

At last, checked in, settled in, and freshened up a little, we're ready to head out for dinner...