The Meeting

Even though I am what Barbara Pym would call a “holy fowl” and we have an Episcopal priest in the family, the prospect of a conference with a Catholic priest was almost as scary as being questioned by a homicide detective.  But at least he couldn’t put me in jail.

I’d hoped for a progressive young priest, maybe even one all the girls fell in love with, a Father Whatawaste.  But this guy was old enough to be Father Whatawaste’s father or maybe even his grandfather. He looked like Barry Fitzgerald, but without the twinkle in his eye.

“So young lady,” he said to Cilla, “why do you want to become a Catholic?”

Veronica must have prepped her, because she said, “To learn about God and Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mother.”

“Are you willing to work very hard and make sacrifices?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And what do you think your faith will help you become?”

Cilla looked puzzled.  He looked impatient.  “A mother? Or a nurse?  Or a nun, perhaps?”

“I’m not sure.  But maybe a movie star or a veterinarian or a priest.”  Father Barry looked surprised, but he recovered quickly and put on his stern face, which would have scared me when I was six.  At my age, it just made me clutch my purse.

“Women can’t be priests.  You’ll have to choose something else.” 

Not being Catholic, Cilla didn’t realize that you don’t disagree with a priest.  “But my Aunt Kate is a priest!”

Father Barryfitzgerald glared at me.  “Your sister, I suppose.”  (Obviously, as a male, Ed could not have such a thing as a sister who was a priest.)

“Oh, no,” Cilla clarified.  “She’s not really my aunt.  We just call her that.  She’s my grandma’s friend.”

His eyes narrowed.  “Does she live with her?”

“Oh, no; Aunt Kate has to live in the rectory.  That’s what we call the priest’s house.  And my grandma says that since she’s paying her own mortgage, she’s not going to live in that mausoleum.  I guess we call it a mausoleum, too.”

Father Barryfitzgerald didn’t miss a beat.  “Well, your Aunt Kate is going to Hell and she’ll take your grandmother with her.”

 Ed looked like he was ready to deck him and I wanted to walk out as quickly as possible, but Cilla was too fast for us.

“No she’s not!  You’re a very bad man.  I don’t want to be a priest and I don’t want your old First Communion!” She ran out of the office, with Ed and me trailing along.

“She’s right,” I called back.

I sat in the back seat with Cilla, expecting her to cry all the way home, but she was too busy listening to Ed rant about that SOB and that GD organization, mainly because he didn’t use the initials.

When we told Betsey and Josh what happened, they high-fived Cilla and wanted to call Father Barryfitzgerald and add their thoughts.

I sat them down and gave them a talk about disagreeing respectfully with others, even if they were wrong, but my heart wasn’t in it.

 

 

 

 

It's not wrong if you're Protestant.

I’ve always prided myself on the fact that “We’ll have to think about it” doesn’t mean “no”.  Sometimes, though, it is a stalling tactic when I’m hoping the kids will forget about whatever it is they’re asking for, when I know I’ll say yes.  I think it worked once.

But when I told Cilla that we would have to think about her joining the Catholic Church, I was really stalling to give myself time to get used to the idea.  If she really wanted to do it, I knew I’d have to let her.

We decided that she would attend the services (“Mass”, as she called it) and go to religious instruction classes on Wednesday nights.  Then, after a year, if she still wanted to, she could do First Communion.  I could tell that she wanted to ask about the party but was afraid that might make me change my mind.  “And we’ll have the party.  But the money presents will go in your college fund.”

Cilla squealed with joy and rushed off to call Veronica and her grandparents.

I confessed to Karen that I felt a little bit guilty “only thinking about the party and presents,” which I’m sure the children are warned about.  Was I not being respectful of the Catholic Church and not remembering that “It’s all one God?”

She said I was probably angry about the whole thing and had issues about Cilla, “the baby”, getting older and being so independent and that I shouldn’t be surprised if I got pregnant again.

“Good one,” I said.

Anyway, I called the church and Cilla, Ed, and I have appointment to talk to a priest.  Ed fussed that they would probably want a retainer fee on top of Cilla’s bringing an offering every week and something for the classes.

I said maybe we’d make it up with the presents.  “ Short term, maybe,” he said, “but probably not net.”

A Party, Presents, and a Veil!

Cilla and Veronica are all charged up about Veronica’s sister’s First Holy Communion.  She gets to wear a “beauty-full” white dress and a veil, they’ll have a party afterwards, and she’ll get presents!

All the Unitarians have is a naming ceremony, which, of course, you don’t have to do (because whatever Supreme Being(s) there is (are) forbid that you’d have to do anything regarding religion, spirituality or whatever reason you are a Unitarian.)  My parents didn’t have me done because my father said it was “foolishness imitating foolishness.”

There have been seemingly endless “rehearsals.”  Veronica invited Cilla to go with her.

“Watch out you don’t get hit with a yardstick” Ed cautioned her.  “Nuns have been known to do that.”

“Oh, Daddy, not anymore.  Veronica’s mom told me.”

Nobody got hit with a yardstick or even yelled at.  Veronica’s mother introduced Cilla to the nun in charge, who had said, “Maybe next year, you can make your First Communion.”

“Oh, Mommy, can I?   Please, please, please!”

“We have to give it serious thought,” I said.  When I was ten years old, I had promised myself that I wouldn’t be one of those mothers who said “We’ll see.”  “This is a very big decision.  We’ll have to pray about it.”

“She just wants the presents,” Josh sneered.

“That’s not nice.”  I pounced on the teachable moment.  “Never criticize anyone’s religious ideas.  It’s all right to ask questions if you’re curious, but you have to be respectful.  And anyway, you just get money that your parents put in your college fund and things like Bibles and rosaries.”

Ed was passing by.  He shook his head.  “Charlie, you may be on the Altar Guild, but you are a still a recovering Unitarian.”  I was too worn out from dealing with Cilla to ask him what he meant.

You have to be in to be outted.

Dear Readers:  It just occurred to me that you might think I outted Kate and Janet in my last post.  Not to worry;   you have to be in to be outted.

Kate called to thank me for mentioning her in my blog.  “So far we’ve gotten two new couples at Epiphany.”  Then Janet got on and said she burst out laughing when she read it, because I had “nailed” Kate.  “She talks that way all the time. Once she told me to ‘be mindful’ of something.  I said, ‘Cut the Pastor talk’ and she said ‘I’m sorry; what I meant was ‘Keep your head out of your behind and pay attention’ in her Therapist voice.  And she wasn’t being sarcastic, either.  She doesn’t believe in sarcasm.”

 “She didn’t think I meant it in a nasty way, did she?”

“Bless her heart, she didn’t notice.  By the way, what does your dad think of all this?  Or haven’t you told him?”

“Cilla did.  He said something about chickens coming home to roost and now I knew how my mother felt.”

“Good old Jack.  Mr. Liberal unless it’s his family.”

“I told him she’s probably getting a good laugh up there.  He just shook his head.”

Janet and my father have been sparring ever since Ed and I got engaged.  They’re like Spencer Tracey and Katharine Hepburn in those old movies, except they won’t fall in love at the end.

I may be embarrassed about caring about what other people think, but I’m not going to be embarrassed about being embarrassed.

I can’t count how many times I’ve told the kids that we don’t run our lives according to what people think of us.  This works fine as long as you don’t think anyone might disapprove of you.  Now I’m worrying about what to tell people at church when they ask where Cilla is.

Karen says I should just tell them to bug off, though she didn’t say “bug.”  I said, “I can’t do that; I’m on the Altar Guild!”

Ed suggested I talk to our rector, Father Mike, but I was too embarrassed to tell him that I cared what people thought.

Nikki thinks we should have our own reality show and said, “Why don’t you talk to Kate?”

Kate is Rev. Katherine Parker, rector of Epiphany Episcopal Church (the church across town) and my mother-in-law’s significant other, and if anyone’s had experience dealing with disapproval, she has.  She laughed and said, “Nothing like the smells and bells, is there?”  (Her church is High.)  “But seriously, if someone asks where she is, say, ‘Oh, she’s around somewhere’, which isn’t a lie.”

Then she launched into Priest Mode.  “It’s wonderful that you’re letting her do this.  But I’m concerned about your being upset.  And I’m not sure whether I’m hearing that you don’t think you should let her or that you’re upset about what people think.”

“I’m upset that I care what people think.”

”You certainly seem to understand your feelings.  But you want to know what to do about them.  Does that sound right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, tell yourself there’s nothing wrong with feeling the way you do and mentally tell everyone to bug off.”

Kate didn’t say “bug” either.  I hugged her.  “I’m so glad you’re my . . . you’re Ed’s . . .  whatever.”

After I talked to Kate, I felt better  Nobody asked about Cilla, which was a relief, though I was surprised that nobody noticed that she was missing.