Vindauga

I almost forgot how to post

This is just a small glimpse at how some of my life is completely disorganized. I lost my laptop. Where did I find it? Under cushions of the couch, under piles of clean laundry. Daughter #1 found it. At least she didn't charge me this time. Last time she found my shoes and the remote it cost me 20 bucks.

So on Monday, I saw the Dala*i L*ama. It was incredible. The setting was beautiful. The program was on a beautiful small stage where colorful banners depicting children blew in the breeze. Behind it were sagebrush-covered hills framed with incredible blue sky. There was a children's choral group whose high voices carried out the open air. When His Holiness walked on stage the audience was silent and holding hands. He walked slowly around the stage smiling and bowing to the awe struck crowd. It took my breath away. I just stood there smiling and crying. When I finally noticed those around me, everyone else was doing the same thing. I was really impressed with what a mystical experience it was and how I felt blessed to just be in his presence.

He then blessed 18 children who had been involved in acts of compassion through community service. He gave a short speech urging the children in the audience to take responsibility in the world. He said he hoped in the 21st century problems would no longer be solved through bloodshed. He emphasized taking action, noting that prayer and meditation were not enough. His face was kind, open and welcoming. He smiled and offered encouragement and hope. Two of my daughters also came. Truly one of the amazing things to me was that all of the children in the audience were so quiet and respectful, like they were really listening to what was being said. I would love it if they really heard his message and were able to influence not only their generation, but also ours.

Seeds

Okay in mass this morning... yes, mass, we are going again, I figured a 29 month sabbatical was long enough... the homily was on how we are seeds for other people. The famous example he used was Rosa Parks. Ms. Parks influenced Martin Luther King, who in turn influenced Lech Walesa who then influenced Boris Yeltsin. So the civil rights movement begat solidarity that begat this dissolution of the USSR. So in essence a small black woman in the segregated south helped end communism.

The deacon then spoke about the people who had planted seeds in his life. The disabled neighbor who would sit on her front porch and urge the neighbor children to treat one another with respect and kindness, because they were all brothers and sisters.

I know there have been many seeds in my life. My parents first, my grandparents, aunts and uncles, but there have also been teachers, nuns, friend's parents and many, many friends. I think my friends are almost a bigger influence now than when I was a child. They lead by quiet example in parenting; they offer help before it's even asked for, they just spend their lives being good people. I want to be like them and sometimes base my decisions on what they would do or think. I want to be better for my kids and my friend show me how. Yes I am still susceptible to peer pressure. Lucky for me.

Who influences you?

Requiem

I must confess that I am teary today over the Pope's pending death. No one is more surprised than me. I am lapsed Catholic. I've spent the last several Christmas Eve's watching Midnight Mass from the Vatican and thinking, sometimes even saying "How is he still alive?" Thinking the church should find a younger person (okay that's wishful, person) or man to take his place. I remember the Pope of my youth. Vital, touring the world, forgiving his would-be assassin, railing against war and capital punishment, constantly working for social justice. I respect him even if I disagree vehemently on his stands on women and issues of sexuality. I have no hope the next Pope will be anymore progressive on these issues. I hope he is at least as progressive and inspirational on the other issues of social justice. Peace be with you John Paul.

Post Easter Ponderings

I read a great post yesterday. It’s beautifully written. In some ways Terrilynn and I are walking the same path. This Easter marked the second anniversary since I have been to mass.

However, I didn’t break up with Jesus. Jesus and I always had an understanding. He may be the son of God, he may not, and it made no difference to me. As far as I was concerned I could be following the path of a great social revolutionary, a man with vision, and that was enough. He didn’t have to be divine.

I didn’t even break up with John Paul. To me he is like a beloved uncle who I continually disagree with, and I wish would wake up. I attribute his shortcomings to a generation or a cultural gap. He has wonderful things to say on so many social issues, things with I agree with right down the line. Then we come to sex and gender and those gaps start looking like the Grand Canyon.

I also didn’t break up with my fellow Catholics, who sometimes embarrass or infuriate me with their lack of tolerance. I have lived with them for years. They too became like cranky relatives that I didn’t want to be associated with, but had no choice given our familial ties. The Catholics I am closest to, those with lives who I would like to emulate; they are tolerant, compassionate, and giving. They are the very definition of Christianity.

I come from an Irish Catholic, German Catholic family. Catholicism was my ethnicity. Save St. Patrick’s Day, I have no traditions from those countries, I have only the church. My relationship with the church has waxed and waned. There were periods of time that I intensely felt a connection. I wanted to stay in that church and be part of the change that will have to come about for women. I loved the rituals. I loved that I could go into any parish, in any part of the world, and the familiar format of mass would make me feel like I was home. It made me feel better to go to church even if I didn’t receive some great epiphany during mass. It was like wearing cotton or getting good grades or helping my kids with their homework. There was just something good in it. I was a good girl by my cultural standards and that made me feel good. It wasn’t about fitting in, it was about setting apart. I liked being part of this huge, ancient institution, but I saw my part as one of the many voices that would help it evolve.

Gradually I began to care less and less about the tradition. It became more and more complicated to attend mass. Small children aren’t the best companions for contemplation. My children’s school began to take the place of community that I previously felt in my parish. The people and issues that I disagreed with, but previously overlooked, started being an excuse to stay home. My heart was broken by troubles in my extended family, and I didn’t find comfort in quiet walls of my church. I had no reason to go anymore. Christmas came and none of us felt like being Christmas Catholics. Easter followed a similar suit. Gone are the Christmas and Easter pictures on the front porch, quickly snapped on our way to mass. Gone are reasons for new shoes and dresses and little white gloves.

So somehow I came to this label, lapsed Catholic. Without meaning to a missed mass here and there became an extended absence. It has been two years. So far I haven’t found a reason to go back. But tradition will pull me back; Daughter #3 wants to make her First Communion next year. So I am sure we will return. I just don’t know for how long. However, lapsed or not I will always be Catholic. Sometimes I just don't know why.