Checked out but never left

Another life lesson from my parents lay in understanding the power of service. They were devoutly Catholic and raised us in that faith. More than being devout, though, they were devoted. They were at every function: fundraisers, community activities, and school events. My dad set up tables and worked Bingo night every week and helped cook pancake breakfasts. My mom baked for sales and coffee and rolls, wrapped gifts at Christmas and delivered them with meals to people who didn’t have the means.  They did all this service and brought back-up in the form of their nine children. We were at the church or school helping out and serving in some way on the regular.  Oh, and we also went to Mass on Sundays.  When I reflect on that, I think the religious institution, that just happened to be the Catholic Church, was the backdrop of acts of service and community where I thrived.  The sacraments, creeds, and faith were the stage craft and scene of the experience, but never it’s purpose.  I think that’s one reason I so enjoyed learning about world religions and systems of belief.  Any one of them could potentially be that background. I suppose that’s also part of the reason I no longer practice Catholicism.  At least as it pertains to the sacraments.  I am still driven by service and community. That was the foundation of my youth, and I understood it as being a Catholic.  Catholicism, for me, is like the Hotel California. I’ve checked out of the religion, but in terms of the experiences that formed my self-identity, I’ve never really left.

While the central environment of my childhood revolved around service and, I was also raised to be intellectually curious. Back then we learned about the sacraments in the second grade. It all started with baptism and this old idea that, unless you were baptized, you couldn’t enter into heaven. That did not sit right with me and I remember going home and asking my mom about all the people, and especially babies and children, who died either before they were baptized or weren’t Christian at all.  It made no sense to me that they would be left out.  She just said not to worry because god loved them and cared for them.  Hmm.  That would never do for me.  So, I made a deal with god.  If it was absolutely necessary that I become a nun, I would, so long as I didn’t have to go to heaven when I died. I wanted to stay with all the babies. Well, I never became a nun and I don’t believe in anything so concrete as heaven and hell, but for this seven year old, these seemingly rigid rules had to have some workaround. 

I always felt welcome to ask questions, even if the answers didn’t satisfy.  Around the third or fourth grade, I started questioning identity and gender roles.  Not that I had those sophisticated words or understanding.  It was just a feeling that the idea of being either male or female seemed limiting.  This came out in discussions about god and I asked one of my teachers if god was a man or a woman.  Rather than answering directly, she asked me to think about someone in my life that loved me no matter what.  Someone that I could tell anything to and who would be honest with me. Someone who was always there for me.  I named my closest sister at that time. She said, “Well there you go. Think of god as a sister.” In that moment, I understood that I didn’t have to be locked into one idea of gender. If god could be manifest in any form and we were in that image, then it really was fluid.  Again, these were not the words of my nine-year-old self.  In fact, I didn’t have these words until quite recently.  It was all just a vague understanding that I held on to throughout my life.

I find it both comical and deeply disturbing that Christians, and particularly Catholics have such a problem with transgender people. The greatest sacrament in the church, the Eucharist is based in a doctrine called transubstantiation. In other words, when the bread and wine are blessed and become the body and blood, it is the inward substance that is altered.  We take into ourselves a form that is one thing in appearance and something wholly different in its true inner essence. The bread does not turn into a finger and the wine does not suddenly taste like a sip of O negative. Even so the faithful accept in their heart of hearts that regardless of outward appearance, they are receiving something that is intrinsically apart from that physical form. Is that not similar in a very rudimentary way to a person whose outward appearance belies an inner reality? Maybe I am too simplistic. But maybe the Eucharist should be celebrated as a lesson in loving and appreciating people for who they are and not who we decide they must be.

Back to growing up Catholic. My experience was also affected by where I grew up.  It’s a rural state, although I lived in one of the cities.  Most of the parishes had one priest and some of the very small communities shared a priest who would travel 50 to 100 miles to say masses in those towns. Our church and school had a priest and we would occasionally have visiting seminarians or the bishop would visit. For the most part, though, the church relied heavily on the parishioners to take an active role. Including readers, ministers of communion, and sacristans.  There were nuns as well who taught the alter boys what they had to do.  Yes. Just altar boys. This probably sounds familiar to a lot of people, but there was one very unique role that my mom took on after one of the nuns retired.  The priest said mass every morning, Saturday night, and twice on Sunday. But he took Saturday mornings off, so it fell to my mom to lead the Eucharistic service.  It wasn’t a mass, because the body and blood were already consecrated and waiting in the tabernacle.  My mom was adamant that we understood that she was not a priest and this was not a mass.  Even so, there she was on the alter leading the prayers, reading the gospel, retrieving, preparing and offering communion.  My dad assisted as the acolyte, (alter boy). Remembering her in that capacity means more to me than just about any doctrine or sacrament.  Regardless of the rules or societal expectations, no one is either too important or insignificant to be of service.  Looking back, I don’t think I was ever particularly religious or even faithful.  As a child, being Catholic meant being of service to those around me.  The Catholic may not have stuck but the service has and for that I am thankful.