22 days
Dang. Time does fly. I can't believe it's been 22 days since my last confession. Anyone Catholic out there? Anyone still go to confession? Good for you. Me, not so much. I was raised Catholic and still like to attend Mass now and then, but do not attend the Mother Church regularly. Confession scared the #$%@* out of me. Can I say that and still get to Heaven? I would have to do 1 Hail Mary for that word.
I remember having to go to confession on Friday or Saturday evenings. I can smell the musty church, hear the squeaky floor and feel the chill in the sanctuary. We would line up and slowly, slowly move toward the tiny room of mystery. Maybe I was 8 or 9..trying to drum up something good to tell the priest. We would inch forward until it was our family's turn to go and confess. Sometimes there were people who would take a long time in the confessional and we would whisper that they must have been really bad that week. They would walk out of the dark room with their hands folded and their heads down... one eye peaking up to find an empty place to kneel and say their penance. Next.. mom, dad, brother then me. The door opens. I kneel down. It smells like smoke, cheap perfume and incense. Kind of like a Bohemian bar without the fun and beer. The priest would open the little window and say a prayer and ask about my sins. 9 years old. I remember one time I think the priest fell asleep. My stories were not that interesting, I guess. I should have made up some good stuff, but I was too afraid of how many Rosaries I would have to pray. I remember it really didn't make me feel better either. I always was a little suspect of the amount of Hail Marys I was given for cussing. I also think the priests tried out different voices out of boredom. I always had a foreign priest..but never remember one at the actual Mass. Confessing is a good thing. Get things off your chest, someone to give you a non- biased opinion or a good scolding..say your prayers and you are free to go. It just made me want to do something rotten so I had something to talk about, next time.
I always loved Easter at the Catholic Church. Easter was a big deal in our home. Very religious and meaningful. The Easter bunny was only tiny part of the week's events. I couldn't really figure out where he fit in., but I enjoyed his gifts. I remember going to church about 50 times in the week before Easter Sunday. Ok,,maybe it was 4 or 5.. but it required a lot of outfits. Confession, Holy Thursday, Blessing of the baskets, Blessing of the animals, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and then Sunday service. I skipped Tuesday..did we go to church on Tuesday too? Maybe that was God's day off. No meat during lent. Fish Fry Friday's at every restaurant in South Milwaukee and beyond. Palm Sunday was the long Mass, I think. Church would usually end right at an hour (except for our church in California..where people would leave after communion to get to the restaurant to beat the church crowd). This day though, was the marathon. Gosh, I hope I am getting this right..but I believe that this is the day when you hear thee story. It always made me cry. Especially as a child. Such a sad and terrible thing to happen to this beautiful person. In my mind, Jesus was just born a few months ago and now is going through this? Several years ago, I was substituting as a sign language interpreter for Palm Sunday at a Catholic Church outside of Nashville. There was one deaf person there, who was really kind to me. I think I caught about 1/3 of what I needed to sign. So many names and places and begats. Ok..no begats but a whole lot of religious verbiage I just couldn't spell quick enough. I knew why the other interpreter called in sick that day.
After Easter service, we would go to my grandparents home for Easter brunch. We would have Polish sausage, Scotch eggs, ham, bread & sauerkraut. I think there was probably another vegetable in there somewhere, but I can not remember where. Maybe a fruit/jello salad too? We would have sweets from Greebies Bakery, fresh rolls and a butter lamb. My grandmother would mold a stick or two of butter into a lamb shape. For Jesus, I guess. I loved the butter lamb..but always felt a bit guilty when I had to use it for my bread. "Please pass the lamb"..and then have to shave off part of his savory leg. It was a meal of contradiction. Maybe I read into the meaning of the butter lamb, more than I should have. Maybe I should have not cried every time someone used the butter. I was kind of a sensitive kid.
When Walt and I were dating, I thought it would be nice for us to go to an Easter service at the Cathedral in downtown Nashville. The one day that I chose was the day the Bishop was in town. It was also the day when everyone who had been studying to become a new Catholic was there to receive the blessing of the Bishop. I think there were some children making their first communions as well. I think there were a few marriages that took place. And renewal of vows. And blessing of the animals. Needless to say, we were going on 3 hours and we were really hungry. Sweet Walt. I wanted to make a break for it. I lived in California..I knew how to do this. Walt looks a little like one of the apostles now and then, so it wasn't an easy escape. The Bishop kept giving us the eye..knowing we were ready to bolt. I had not been to confession in a long long time too and I think he knew it. Finally, we chose a door and left. Karma's been pretty good, but not stellar. Might have something to do with that Sunday.
One of the sweetest Easter's I experienced was at a The First Baptist Church in Austin, a few years back. It was packed with people and love and kindness. I remember the choir singing their way through the doors at the back of the sanctuary, filling the aisles with their voices and eventually landing on the risers close to the pulpit. If I had not experienced singing angels before, I did so on that day. There was an interpretive dance in the service too. I am the first person to make fun of interpretive dance. I admit my fault. But this was absolutely breath taking. Meaningful. Beautiful. The sermon by Pastor Roger Paynter, was filled with sadness, joy and glorious resurrection. I was moved. It had the seriousness of a Catholic Mass, but delivered in a way so real, that it still resonates with me when I think about it today. Renewal. Renewal.
This spring is so beautiful here in Texas. After a long drought , the rain has blessed us with wildflowers, green grass, flowing streams and a great sense of renewal. I hope you too are feeling the same.
Thursday, March 22 12:54 am
I remember having to go to confession on Friday or Saturday evenings. I can smell the musty church, hear the squeaky floor and feel the chill in the sanctuary. We would line up and slowly, slowly move toward the tiny room of mystery. Maybe I was 8 or 9..trying to drum up something good to tell the priest. We would inch forward until it was our family's turn to go and confess. Sometimes there were people who would take a long time in the confessional and we would whisper that they must have been really bad that week. They would walk out of the dark room with their hands folded and their heads down... one eye peaking up to find an empty place to kneel and say their penance. Next.. mom, dad, brother then me. The door opens. I kneel down. It smells like smoke, cheap perfume and incense. Kind of like a Bohemian bar without the fun and beer. The priest would open the little window and say a prayer and ask about my sins. 9 years old. I remember one time I think the priest fell asleep. My stories were not that interesting, I guess. I should have made up some good stuff, but I was too afraid of how many Rosaries I would have to pray. I remember it really didn't make me feel better either. I always was a little suspect of the amount of Hail Marys I was given for cussing. I also think the priests tried out different voices out of boredom. I always had a foreign priest..but never remember one at the actual Mass. Confessing is a good thing. Get things off your chest, someone to give you a non- biased opinion or a good scolding..say your prayers and you are free to go. It just made me want to do something rotten so I had something to talk about, next time.
I always loved Easter at the Catholic Church. Easter was a big deal in our home. Very religious and meaningful. The Easter bunny was only tiny part of the week's events. I couldn't really figure out where he fit in., but I enjoyed his gifts. I remember going to church about 50 times in the week before Easter Sunday. Ok,,maybe it was 4 or 5.. but it required a lot of outfits. Confession, Holy Thursday, Blessing of the baskets, Blessing of the animals, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and then Sunday service. I skipped Tuesday..did we go to church on Tuesday too? Maybe that was God's day off. No meat during lent. Fish Fry Friday's at every restaurant in South Milwaukee and beyond. Palm Sunday was the long Mass, I think. Church would usually end right at an hour (except for our church in California..where people would leave after communion to get to the restaurant to beat the church crowd). This day though, was the marathon. Gosh, I hope I am getting this right..but I believe that this is the day when you hear thee story. It always made me cry. Especially as a child. Such a sad and terrible thing to happen to this beautiful person. In my mind, Jesus was just born a few months ago and now is going through this? Several years ago, I was substituting as a sign language interpreter for Palm Sunday at a Catholic Church outside of Nashville. There was one deaf person there, who was really kind to me. I think I caught about 1/3 of what I needed to sign. So many names and places and begats. Ok..no begats but a whole lot of religious verbiage I just couldn't spell quick enough. I knew why the other interpreter called in sick that day.
After Easter service, we would go to my grandparents home for Easter brunch. We would have Polish sausage, Scotch eggs, ham, bread & sauerkraut. I think there was probably another vegetable in there somewhere, but I can not remember where. Maybe a fruit/jello salad too? We would have sweets from Greebies Bakery, fresh rolls and a butter lamb. My grandmother would mold a stick or two of butter into a lamb shape. For Jesus, I guess. I loved the butter lamb..but always felt a bit guilty when I had to use it for my bread. "Please pass the lamb"..and then have to shave off part of his savory leg. It was a meal of contradiction. Maybe I read into the meaning of the butter lamb, more than I should have. Maybe I should have not cried every time someone used the butter. I was kind of a sensitive kid.
When Walt and I were dating, I thought it would be nice for us to go to an Easter service at the Cathedral in downtown Nashville. The one day that I chose was the day the Bishop was in town. It was also the day when everyone who had been studying to become a new Catholic was there to receive the blessing of the Bishop. I think there were some children making their first communions as well. I think there were a few marriages that took place. And renewal of vows. And blessing of the animals. Needless to say, we were going on 3 hours and we were really hungry. Sweet Walt. I wanted to make a break for it. I lived in California..I knew how to do this. Walt looks a little like one of the apostles now and then, so it wasn't an easy escape. The Bishop kept giving us the eye..knowing we were ready to bolt. I had not been to confession in a long long time too and I think he knew it. Finally, we chose a door and left. Karma's been pretty good, but not stellar. Might have something to do with that Sunday.
One of the sweetest Easter's I experienced was at a The First Baptist Church in Austin, a few years back. It was packed with people and love and kindness. I remember the choir singing their way through the doors at the back of the sanctuary, filling the aisles with their voices and eventually landing on the risers close to the pulpit. If I had not experienced singing angels before, I did so on that day. There was an interpretive dance in the service too. I am the first person to make fun of interpretive dance. I admit my fault. But this was absolutely breath taking. Meaningful. Beautiful. The sermon by Pastor Roger Paynter, was filled with sadness, joy and glorious resurrection. I was moved. It had the seriousness of a Catholic Mass, but delivered in a way so real, that it still resonates with me when I think about it today. Renewal. Renewal.
This spring is so beautiful here in Texas. After a long drought , the rain has blessed us with wildflowers, green grass, flowing streams and a great sense of renewal. I hope you too are feeling the same.
Thursday, March 22 12:54 am
Loved this, Tina. I can relate...Ron was also raised Catholic and I was raised Methodist, but now we go to a Baptist church, which we love. Here's to renewal!
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