How cliche will it be if I tell you that I love my mom more than anyone in the world? Don't care. I do. She's given me everything, has made unbelievable sacrifices, and loves me even when I push her away. But why does any of this matter to this blog? Well, she's my mother so obviously she had something to do with my religious education.
She and my dad enrolled me in public schools from the start so I had only one hour of religious education a week during the school year. For a lot of parents, if they choose this route they spend a few hours each week at home with their children teaching them about their religion. My parents didn't do that, thank G-d. Instead, my mother spent a lot of time outside with me. She loves to garden, so we spent hours and hours during the spring, summer and fall, digging up the soil, occasionally cutting earth worms in half, accidentally of course, planting flowers, watching birds and butterflies, catching frogs and the like. I was one of those kids who asked why about everything. Why is the sky blue? Why are some clouds more fluffy than others? How are some flowers pink and some yellow? My mom's a smart lady but she's not a scientist. So when she ran out of answers, she'd simply say because G-d made it that way. When science couldn't take us any further, we found G-d. But she never implied to me that the way things work didn't matter because G-d created everything perfectly. Science and G-d always seemed to go hand-in-hand.
When we weren't outside, we would paint or draw at the dinning room table. Being able to illustrate the way I see the world has always been important to me. My mother read to me everyday, until I was old enough to start reading to her. When I wanted to know something, she taught me how to look it up in the encyclopedia. Inquiry was a big part of my childhood.
My mom never taught me about original sin, or many other of those big hallmarks of Christianity. In fact, for the longest time, I thought that original sin just meant having sex because "the Virgin Mary was without original sin." It makes sense, right? And she definitely never taught me that only Catholics go to heaven and that non-Catholics go to hell. She always taught me that being a good person and doing your best in life was all that mattered when it came to the afterlife.
I don't know how my mom sees herself religiously anymore. But I do know that she's not sorry she sent me to CCD and took me to church. She told me that it's important to have a framework, i.e. religious tradition, in which to teach your children about G-d. Even though she feels a lot of the same frustrations with the Church as I do, she's not sorry she made her children a part of it. And I'm not either. I'm glad she cared enough to do that for me. As a teenager and adult, I haven't wanted to be a part of the Church. But at least as a child I was a part of something. I had structure and some meaning in my little life. I belonged somewhere.
When I think about my friend's funeral in the eighth grade, I feel a huge appreciation to my parents for putting me somewhere. Some of the prayers and songs in the service were printed in the program guide for his funeral. But some of the service was just from the standard church service. The friend who I went with is not religious at all. She might have been baptized, but her religious association didn't go further than that. So we get to part of the service when the congregation says the "Our Father." We're all saying this prayer, and my friend leans over to me and asks, "How do you know this?" She was looking for the words in the program packet. I told her that it's the same prayer we said at my church. Then she looks over and sees her mom saying it. She asks her mom how she knows it and she replies "I went to Catholic school growing up." Her mom said it with such a "DUH" tone. Then my friend just sat back in her seat and looked quite confused. She obviously felt very left out. She'd only been to church a few times in her life but most of her friends were being confirmed that year. In that moment I was so glad that I belonged to something, even if I didn't quite know what that was. And for this I have my parents, my mother, to thank.
Someday, I'll have my own kids, and I want them to feel like they belong somewhere. I want them to belong somewhere. I just can't make them a part of an institution I don't believe in. I can't teach them ideas I don't believe, many of which I don't even agree with their basic premise. That's at least partly why I'm on this journey I'm on: I want something more meaningful for my kids. I don't want them to grow up to find out that they don't agree with and can't bear to be apart of the Church, or a church, or whatever. I want them to have a lasting tradition.
When I told my mom a long time ago that I thought I wanted to leave the Church, she didn't object. She asked me if I wanted to write a letter to the bishop. A letter like that would be officially leaving the church with no possibility of ever returning. I couldn't believe she suggested it, but I think she knows the pain I feel when I think about my name being on the Church's roster. As long my name is still on their list, it in someway gives my approval to their actions. I just don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt my grandpa or my brother or my niece. One day I'll have to actually deal with these things, but at least my mother understands.
Showing posts with label CCD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CCD. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Mary
In an earlier post, I explained how I came to be sure of G-d's existence, but I left out a few points. After my brother's military experience, the biggest factor comes from my aunt with whom I share a name. My aunt and our name are important here. You'll see why.
My Aunt Mary is living proof of G-d. (Now you know my first name, but I'll be keeping my last to myself, at least for now.) When she was two years old, she was diagnosed with Cystic fibrosis (CF for short). This was about fifty years ago so this diagnosis was basically a death sentence. Even today, doctors inform parents of kids with CF that their life expectancy is 30 years old. So the doctors told my grandparents that she would die in the next ten years. When she made it to 10, the doctors said she wouldn't make it out of her teens. When she did, they said she wouldn't ever get married or have kids. Not only did she get married, she's seen both of her children get married, and has already welcomed one grandchild into this world. As if this terrible disease wasn't enough, she also has diabetes. CF requires one specific diet and diabetes requires another. She also has an insulin pump. Between these two diseases, she is in the hospital a lot. There's more...
My freshman year of college, Aunt Mary was diagnosed with colon cancer. She underwent surgery the day before my twentieth birthday. A large part of her colon was removed and she had to get an ileoscopy bag. By the end of the summer, she had started chemo. When I saw her at Christmas, her hair was thinning and they had a bed set up for her downstairs so she didn't have to battle the stairs. The following spring, she had a second surgery to get rid of the ileoscopy bag and reconnect her colon. As of the writing of this post, she is in remission. She's not out of the woods yet, but she has survived thus far. And she's survived a hell of a lot. The statistics have this woman dead by now. She is alive by G-d's good grace. How can anyone who knows her history deny G-d's existence? Certainly, not I.
Besides acknowledging that her life is something miraculous, I am inspired by my aunt's own faith. When lots of bad things happen to people, they are quick to dismiss G-d, saying that if G-d existed then all those bad things wouldn't have happened. But for my aunt, all of these things she has battled against and happily so. Most people would understandably be disgusted by having to have an ileoscopy bag, but my aunt just said "Well if that's what I have to do to live, then I guess I have to do it." She prays to G-d and goes to church. She always brings her Bible with her into the hospital. She doesn't know why G-d's kept her alive, but she's glad He has. Even though our conceptions of G-d are different, it is still inspiring.
It is not uncommon to identify with the people with whom you share a name. I have known and experienced my aunt's story for my entire life. Of all my aunts and uncles, I was always most concerned with her and her life because I had her name. To some people, my name is just a generic Christian name. But my mother named me after her own mother and her sister. My mom considered some random baby-book names, but ultimately she chose a name with deeper meaning for her and a deeper meaning for me.
Other kids have always picked on me for my name - don't get me wrong, I know way worse things could have happened to me, but that doesn't mean getting teased didn't hurt. At my Christian preschool kids sang "Mary had a little lamb" at me all the time. There was also the rhyme "Mary, Mary Quite Contrary." When I was in CCD, everyone snickered any time the Virgin Mary was mentioned. That happened for all 8 years; no one ever matured. In high school I always got the totally respectful and not at all private question, "Mary, are you a virgin? Are you Virgin Mary?" At times in my life, I really hated getting teased and I resented the kids who did it. I wanted to change my name - I even went so far as to pick out a new one. I chose Sarah, but my parents wouldn't comply and call me by it. Eventually, I got over it, though, and became very proud of my name.
I wouldn't be who I am or where I am, if my name were anything else. I would never really change my name. I am quite honored to be named after my aunt who is a wonderful human being, is an inspiration, and is very proof of G-d's existence.
My Aunt Mary is living proof of G-d. (Now you know my first name, but I'll be keeping my last to myself, at least for now.) When she was two years old, she was diagnosed with Cystic fibrosis (CF for short). This was about fifty years ago so this diagnosis was basically a death sentence. Even today, doctors inform parents of kids with CF that their life expectancy is 30 years old. So the doctors told my grandparents that she would die in the next ten years. When she made it to 10, the doctors said she wouldn't make it out of her teens. When she did, they said she wouldn't ever get married or have kids. Not only did she get married, she's seen both of her children get married, and has already welcomed one grandchild into this world. As if this terrible disease wasn't enough, she also has diabetes. CF requires one specific diet and diabetes requires another. She also has an insulin pump. Between these two diseases, she is in the hospital a lot. There's more...
My freshman year of college, Aunt Mary was diagnosed with colon cancer. She underwent surgery the day before my twentieth birthday. A large part of her colon was removed and she had to get an ileoscopy bag. By the end of the summer, she had started chemo. When I saw her at Christmas, her hair was thinning and they had a bed set up for her downstairs so she didn't have to battle the stairs. The following spring, she had a second surgery to get rid of the ileoscopy bag and reconnect her colon. As of the writing of this post, she is in remission. She's not out of the woods yet, but she has survived thus far. And she's survived a hell of a lot. The statistics have this woman dead by now. She is alive by G-d's good grace. How can anyone who knows her history deny G-d's existence? Certainly, not I.
Besides acknowledging that her life is something miraculous, I am inspired by my aunt's own faith. When lots of bad things happen to people, they are quick to dismiss G-d, saying that if G-d existed then all those bad things wouldn't have happened. But for my aunt, all of these things she has battled against and happily so. Most people would understandably be disgusted by having to have an ileoscopy bag, but my aunt just said "Well if that's what I have to do to live, then I guess I have to do it." She prays to G-d and goes to church. She always brings her Bible with her into the hospital. She doesn't know why G-d's kept her alive, but she's glad He has. Even though our conceptions of G-d are different, it is still inspiring.
It is not uncommon to identify with the people with whom you share a name. I have known and experienced my aunt's story for my entire life. Of all my aunts and uncles, I was always most concerned with her and her life because I had her name. To some people, my name is just a generic Christian name. But my mother named me after her own mother and her sister. My mom considered some random baby-book names, but ultimately she chose a name with deeper meaning for her and a deeper meaning for me.
Other kids have always picked on me for my name - don't get me wrong, I know way worse things could have happened to me, but that doesn't mean getting teased didn't hurt. At my Christian preschool kids sang "Mary had a little lamb" at me all the time. There was also the rhyme "Mary, Mary Quite Contrary." When I was in CCD, everyone snickered any time the Virgin Mary was mentioned. That happened for all 8 years; no one ever matured. In high school I always got the totally respectful and not at all private question, "Mary, are you a virgin? Are you Virgin Mary?" At times in my life, I really hated getting teased and I resented the kids who did it. I wanted to change my name - I even went so far as to pick out a new one. I chose Sarah, but my parents wouldn't comply and call me by it. Eventually, I got over it, though, and became very proud of my name.
I wouldn't be who I am or where I am, if my name were anything else. I would never really change my name. I am quite honored to be named after my aunt who is a wonderful human being, is an inspiration, and is very proof of G-d's existence.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Reconciliation & Rebellion
Reconciliation spurred my first real rebellion against church and religion. Rather than boredom, this was a theological issue. I have only received this sacrament 3 times in my life. Each time was with my CCD class. Reconciliation/confession starts in 4th grade and you're supposed to go on a regular basis (monthly - if not, yearly). I kept it to the minimum by going with my CCD classes once a year.
I was not (and am not) the only one who hated the idea of telling a priest yours sins and being given a punishment for it. Since I went in the CCD groups, all the other kids went to public schools too which meant most of their parents weren't observant enough to send them to parochial schools. We all thought confession was dumb. We would get in groups of our friends and talk about what exactly we were gonna tell the priest. We'd come up with three specific examples to tell him; usually fighting with parents, with siblings, and with friends were among the three. We'd get our 5 minutes with the priest, he'd tell us how to repent*, then we'd gossip with each other while we waited for everyone else to finish. It was quite a ridiculous process.
I know there are many people like me who hate the idea of priests acting as intermediaries between people and G-d. I have never kept this a secret from anyone, including my mother. After my final confession in 6th grade, she picked me up in front of the church and asked me how it went. I said it was fine. Then she asked me what I talked about with the priest. Instead of pleading the fifth and telling her that was between me and the priest, I told her "nothin' really." She said, "What do you mean? You're supposed to tell him your sins so you can be forgiven." Screw that. I told her, "If G-d is all knowing, then G-d knows what I did wrong, and He knows when I'm sorry. I don't need a priest to tell Him."
What could my mother** say? Her 12 year old had thought it out very thoroughly, and didn't need the sacraments of the Catholic Church.
*I think once the priest told me if I did an extra chore for my mother, like emptying the dishwasher, then I would be forgiven for fighting with her. How silly.
**My mom hasn't been to confession at least since this incident. I don't know what influence I had or when her last one really was. Is is my fault? Is there even blame to be placed? I can't really answer that right now.
I was not (and am not) the only one who hated the idea of telling a priest yours sins and being given a punishment for it. Since I went in the CCD groups, all the other kids went to public schools too which meant most of their parents weren't observant enough to send them to parochial schools. We all thought confession was dumb. We would get in groups of our friends and talk about what exactly we were gonna tell the priest. We'd come up with three specific examples to tell him; usually fighting with parents, with siblings, and with friends were among the three. We'd get our 5 minutes with the priest, he'd tell us how to repent*, then we'd gossip with each other while we waited for everyone else to finish. It was quite a ridiculous process.
I know there are many people like me who hate the idea of priests acting as intermediaries between people and G-d. I have never kept this a secret from anyone, including my mother. After my final confession in 6th grade, she picked me up in front of the church and asked me how it went. I said it was fine. Then she asked me what I talked about with the priest. Instead of pleading the fifth and telling her that was between me and the priest, I told her "nothin' really." She said, "What do you mean? You're supposed to tell him your sins so you can be forgiven." Screw that. I told her, "If G-d is all knowing, then G-d knows what I did wrong, and He knows when I'm sorry. I don't need a priest to tell Him."
What could my mother** say? Her 12 year old had thought it out very thoroughly, and didn't need the sacraments of the Catholic Church.
*I think once the priest told me if I did an extra chore for my mother, like emptying the dishwasher, then I would be forgiven for fighting with her. How silly.
**My mom hasn't been to confession at least since this incident. I don't know what influence I had or when her last one really was. Is is my fault? Is there even blame to be placed? I can't really answer that right now.
Questions, Doubts, and The Trinity
I'm not gonna beat around the bush here, people. No one told me Jesus was supposed to be G-d. Yeah, sure, the nuns and teachers said "Son of G-d." But "Son of G-d" and "G-d" are a hell of a lot different. One can easily be a metaphor. We're all supposedly G-d's children; I just thought that Jesus was the best behaved or something, a shining example of who we should strive to be.
It wasn't until the junior high years when I started catching on to this idea, and by that point it was probably too late. I had spent at least ten years thinking of G-d as G-d and of Jesus as a human being named Jesus. How was I supposed to reconcile the two? You better believe I asked questions about the trinity at CCD. I remember telling my eighth grade CCD teacher that if Jesus was supposed to be a piece of G-d on Earth, then after he died he should have just become one with G-d again, and his separate entity of Jesus should have ceased to exist (I think this was pretty impressive logic since not one adult helped me get there, although I of course no long believe it to be true).
This may come to a shock to readers of a non-Christian religion, but asking questions is not a good thing, especially in the Catholic Church. Some Catholic teachers might say they encourage their students to ask probing questions and think deeply about their faith, but that's not the standard practice. Probably 90% of the people who've left the Church as a result of childhood/teenage experiences will cite their frustration at not being allowed to ask questions. To the Church, questions=doubts. Maybe sometimes the questions do stem from doubt. But other times the questions may come from a genuine curiosity to understand just what the hell they're talkin' about. Either way, questions shouldn't be discouraged. But that certainly was my, and my best friend's, experience.
I can't think of a specific example from my own life to illustrate just how discouraged questions are in the Church, but I have a great story about my best friend. Let's call this friend Suzy. Suzy had the same general experience I had with the Catholic Church: went to public school so she did weekly CCD classes & went to church with her mom & sister on Sundays. Suzy didn't/doesn't understand the trinity either. So during her eighth grade year (the one leading up to confirmation) she keeps asking questions about it. The teacher tries to brush her off or explains in a rushed and annoyed manner. Suzy just says flat out, "How is this possible? I don't get it!" After a while she started to get sent to the priest to discourage these questions. Someone might try to interject here and say, "Oh! No, they just sent her to an 'expert' so she could get better answers." To whoever is thinking that, you're wrong. The priest did try to discourage her from asking questions and from "interrupting" class. He asked Suzy, "Don't you want to marry a Catholic?" [because the only way she could is if she is a confirmed Catholic] Suzy replied, "I don't know." An honest answer. Then the priest asked, "Well, don't you want to get married in the Church?" The priest thought he had her on the ropes, that she would give in, say yes, and stop asking questions. Wrong. Suzy said, "No, because I want to get married outside." Then the priest gave up.
In my opinion, the fierce discouragement of questions probably drives many young people, who would otherwise be faithful Catholics, away from the Church. For me, it is just one on a long list of reasons.
It wasn't until the junior high years when I started catching on to this idea, and by that point it was probably too late. I had spent at least ten years thinking of G-d as G-d and of Jesus as a human being named Jesus. How was I supposed to reconcile the two? You better believe I asked questions about the trinity at CCD. I remember telling my eighth grade CCD teacher that if Jesus was supposed to be a piece of G-d on Earth, then after he died he should have just become one with G-d again, and his separate entity of Jesus should have ceased to exist (I think this was pretty impressive logic since not one adult helped me get there, although I of course no long believe it to be true).
This may come to a shock to readers of a non-Christian religion, but asking questions is not a good thing, especially in the Catholic Church. Some Catholic teachers might say they encourage their students to ask probing questions and think deeply about their faith, but that's not the standard practice. Probably 90% of the people who've left the Church as a result of childhood/teenage experiences will cite their frustration at not being allowed to ask questions. To the Church, questions=doubts. Maybe sometimes the questions do stem from doubt. But other times the questions may come from a genuine curiosity to understand just what the hell they're talkin' about. Either way, questions shouldn't be discouraged. But that certainly was my, and my best friend's, experience.
I can't think of a specific example from my own life to illustrate just how discouraged questions are in the Church, but I have a great story about my best friend. Let's call this friend Suzy. Suzy had the same general experience I had with the Catholic Church: went to public school so she did weekly CCD classes & went to church with her mom & sister on Sundays. Suzy didn't/doesn't understand the trinity either. So during her eighth grade year (the one leading up to confirmation) she keeps asking questions about it. The teacher tries to brush her off or explains in a rushed and annoyed manner. Suzy just says flat out, "How is this possible? I don't get it!" After a while she started to get sent to the priest to discourage these questions. Someone might try to interject here and say, "Oh! No, they just sent her to an 'expert' so she could get better answers." To whoever is thinking that, you're wrong. The priest did try to discourage her from asking questions and from "interrupting" class. He asked Suzy, "Don't you want to marry a Catholic?" [because the only way she could is if she is a confirmed Catholic] Suzy replied, "I don't know." An honest answer. Then the priest asked, "Well, don't you want to get married in the Church?" The priest thought he had her on the ropes, that she would give in, say yes, and stop asking questions. Wrong. Suzy said, "No, because I want to get married outside." Then the priest gave up.
In my opinion, the fierce discouragement of questions probably drives many young people, who would otherwise be faithful Catholics, away from the Church. For me, it is just one on a long list of reasons.
Monday, August 29, 2011
My Catholic Upbringing
I grew up in a semi-small town with a majority of Catholics, then Lutherans, then other Protestants, and a few Jews and Muslims. There are at least three Catholic Churches in the town, and there used to be a private school associated with each (now I think they've combined to one central school for lack of enrollment). My brother attended one of the parochial schools, but thankfully he got in trouble so much and it was so expensive that by the time I was to start school, my parents decided to switch to public schools. (You might be thinking I got screwed because private schools are better than public schools... not in the case of my town. The public school I ended up at is one of the best in the area. The Catholic Schools got easier and easier as the years went by.)
Anyways, I went to Church most Sundays with my mom and brother. I don't remember my dad ever going except for Christmas and Easter when I was very young. I used to get so mad and ask my mom why I had to go to church and he didn't. He would always say, I had to go all the time when I was young, now it's your turn. As if going to church was some sort of payment everyone had to make for a portion of their life. I often got in trouble for checking my mom's watch during church. I knew that mass lasted exactly one hour and that was about fifty minutes too long, in my opinion. I spent my time staring at the gorgeous - and I mean absolutely, stunningly gorgeous - stained glass windows and counting the number of lights in the ceiling. There were well over sixty lights in the main worship area. I usually would get up to go to the bathroom about ten minutes before communion started so I could have something else to do.
Starting in first grade and for the next eight years I had to go to CCD - religious ed. classes - once a week on Wednesday nights during the regular school year. Those sucked, too. I got sick a lot as a a kid, so if I got sick on a Wednesday that was a HUGE bonus. I got to miss school and CCD. I'm pretty sure I got in trouble for missing too much one year.
So the final year of eighth grade rolls around. The last year sounds great, right? Wrong. There were about 127 hoops to jump through before CCD was over. This year of confirmation had to be a special, so we had to do thirty hours of service in the community, the church, and our families; write a paper about our chosen confirmation name; do a big project depicting our relationship with G-d and the Church; go on a all day retreat to some shrine out in the boonies and probably many more things I've blocked from my memory ON TOP of still going to CCD classes (now on Sunday mornings) and going to church. What... a bummer. I totally tried to get out of being confirmed - more on that later - but I failed. In May 2005 I was officially confirmed as an adult in the Roman Catholic Church.
After that I slowly stopped going to church. My parents didn't make me anymore and I wasn't tryin' to wake up early on Sundays.
Anyways, I went to Church most Sundays with my mom and brother. I don't remember my dad ever going except for Christmas and Easter when I was very young. I used to get so mad and ask my mom why I had to go to church and he didn't. He would always say, I had to go all the time when I was young, now it's your turn. As if going to church was some sort of payment everyone had to make for a portion of their life. I often got in trouble for checking my mom's watch during church. I knew that mass lasted exactly one hour and that was about fifty minutes too long, in my opinion. I spent my time staring at the gorgeous - and I mean absolutely, stunningly gorgeous - stained glass windows and counting the number of lights in the ceiling. There were well over sixty lights in the main worship area. I usually would get up to go to the bathroom about ten minutes before communion started so I could have something else to do.
Starting in first grade and for the next eight years I had to go to CCD - religious ed. classes - once a week on Wednesday nights during the regular school year. Those sucked, too. I got sick a lot as a a kid, so if I got sick on a Wednesday that was a HUGE bonus. I got to miss school and CCD. I'm pretty sure I got in trouble for missing too much one year.
So the final year of eighth grade rolls around. The last year sounds great, right? Wrong. There were about 127 hoops to jump through before CCD was over. This year of confirmation had to be a special, so we had to do thirty hours of service in the community, the church, and our families; write a paper about our chosen confirmation name; do a big project depicting our relationship with G-d and the Church; go on a all day retreat to some shrine out in the boonies and probably many more things I've blocked from my memory ON TOP of still going to CCD classes (now on Sunday mornings) and going to church. What... a bummer. I totally tried to get out of being confirmed - more on that later - but I failed. In May 2005 I was officially confirmed as an adult in the Roman Catholic Church.
After that I slowly stopped going to church. My parents didn't make me anymore and I wasn't tryin' to wake up early on Sundays.
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