Spirituality

December 2, 2010

I don't know why that's the first thing that comes to mind, the first part of my life I want to tackle. Maybe it's the season, maybe something weighing on my mind.

I'm Catholic. Well sorta, I mean, I am Catholic, I went through RCIA and everything. Let me see if I can explain.

My religious upbringing was, well, scattered. My mom was raised Baptist (I think) and my dad was from a very strong German Lutheran family. They went to a Methodist college in rural Missouri. I was baptized something, not sure what, and don't remember going to church much at all as a child.

My brother and I went to a Lutheran summer camp for years as children, not because it was Lutheran but because it was one of the few sleep away camps that had programs for special needs children like my brother.

I remember candlelight services Christmas eve when I was a child, they were beautiful. We went to some church, lit candles and stood outside in a circle singing songs. Easter was about the Easter bunny and getting a pretty new dress. I don't remember church, though it was possible.

I do remember going to a Lutheran Church once, might have been Easter? It was interesting but once they started the communion part, my mom got upset and made us walk out.

As a pre-teen, my mom decided I needed to start going to church. Or more precisely Sunday School. So my dad would wake me up, make me get dressed, drop me off at Sunday school, and pick me up before Church. I remember this screaming fight with my mom on whether or not I was going to wear a mini skirt (my first) to Sunday School..> I was 12, the skirt barely was above my knees. (Umm my mom would roll over in her grave if she saw the length of the skirt my daughter wore to Catholic school) But I digress. I was confirmed Methodist sometime around then.

I spent a year at an Episcopal boarding school in 9^th grade – again not because it was Episcopalian but rather in spite of it.

Flash forward a few years, I was almost 18 living with a pseudo foster family in the deep deep south. They were Pentecostal…sorta. They were deeply religious…sorta. (there's that word again!) They belonged to this church lead by "Brother Ted". From what I understood, the church wasn't a part of any organization, wasn't sanctioned or overseen by any governing body.

Having never been around this type of church, it was so very odd. Services started at 9:00 a.m. Sunday and went to past 1:00 p.m. Then you had to be back at 5:00 and that service went into the late night. Wednesday night too! The services started out okay, about an hour or so of singing, but then it was hour after hour of this man SCREAMING at the top of his lungs into a microphone, fire, brimstone, everyone was going to Hell. Women would fall down, speaking in tongues they said, it was all quiet a circus.

That wasn't the problem.

The problem was the people.

The women would come and preach against anger, violence, of docility and love…and go home and beat their children black and blue.

The men of this church would talk about fidelity, family, God and country, and stop off at the bar on the way home, and then their girlfriends.

The pastor spoke about the need to give, you weren't a real Christian unless you tithed, gave more than you had, your children went without food so the money would go in the offering ….to buy Brother Ted a new house, pay for his brand new Cadillac.

The church preached about love, forgiveness, how everyone was a brother..as long as you weren't black, weren't Jewish, weren't anything other than one of them.

God forbid I said anything. Judge not lest you be judged. I couldn't question. You know, that's fine. That was their way. That was what they wanted, I guess.

But they judged me. These men, with women on the side, their own family beaten into submission, had the audacity to judge me. This young street kid who dared to wear jeans and wanted to go to college, who wasn't looking for a husband or wanting to settled down (my foster sister had her first child at 15) ..I was evil incarnate. Their goal was to force me to submit, make me see the error of my ways; make me into one of them. Mmmmmm Not. They lectured me, at least two full sermons (screaming for hours into a microphone) were directed right at me…wicked children become wicked women and are the entire reason for evil in this world, Satan and Eve musta been my best friends. (Oh and don't get me started on their stance on women in general!) They prayed for me, prayed over me, prayed behind my back. I was never quite sure if they were praying for my deliverance or for me to get hit by a car!

After awhile, I got wiser. My foster family realized they weren't going to change me. I made a deal. I understood that I was required to go to Church, but I wanted to go to a Church of my choosing, something closer to what I believed (or was comfortable embracing). They finally agreed. As long as I was in Church, attending however many services were required/expected. Hence my introduction to Catholicism. In and out sometimes in 45 minutes, once a week, you're done. Since I was not Catholic, attending Catholic Church meant I didn't get roped into any major commitments. Besides, I don't remember there being a Lutheran Church anywhere I think I didn't like the Episcopal one for some reason.

More importantly, Catholic was as far opposite as the Pentecostal church as I could get.

When I left my foster family, I can't say I went to church much after that. A few times, with friends or on the holidays I might but really not.

Flash ahead to my daughter. Tiff's biologicals were Catholic, sorta. She really hadn't been to church much until she went into foster care. Her foster mom before me was apparently a rather extreme Baptist or Penacolstal…Tiff wasn't allowed to watch the Lion King because (to the foster mom) the scene depicting the baby lion being held up and the other animals bowing was blasphemy because there was only one true God and kneeling to anything else was sacrilege. So she was happy to get away from that.

My best friend felt that Tiff should be exposed to religion and started taking her to church. Jeannine was Episcopalian then, now I think she's Atheist, but the closest church was Lutheran. I had Tiff baptized in that Church.

When we moved across country after Tiff was adopted, for a lot of complicated reasons Tiff was going into private school. As this was mostly pre websites, I had researched and found a private Lutheran School and enrolled Tiff. She stayed there two years.

After that, I wanted to find a new church for her. She was starting 6^th grade, an age when many churches really stop having good youth programs, except Catholics. I found a great church near our home with amazing people. This was our home for many years. Tiff even had a year of Catholic school. I went through the RCIA program, was confirmed and we made it to church most Sundays (course it helped that Church was a half block away.)

Then Tiff got older, I loved sleeping in, church became not so important.

I believe in God, I just don't know that I believe in religion. That said, I love the traditions and the rituals of Catholicism, they give me peace and structure far more than the chaos of other churches.

I did have Z baptized after he was born. But he's only been in church a few times other than that.

He's two now.

I want him raised in Church, I just haven't made it a priority. Yet. We've also moved, I need to find a new church. The parish we are in is a very very Asian area and the Church has over half their services in Vietnamese or Spanish. There are other chuches sorta nearby too. I need to start going each week and trying a service. Maybe we will be lucky and find a new home.

Charley thinks it too early. Z is not anywhere close to sitting quietly an hour. But if we don't start now, when will he learn?

But why do I feel the strong need for Z to be raised in Church when I don't feel the strong need to go if it's just me.

Maybe I just want to give him something that I was not given? Maybe I want him to have faith.