Amen

We probably won’t go to church this Easter. We don’t, actually, go to church all that often, but Easter is particularly problematic because it’s almost impossible to get a parking space or a seat, unless you arrive way ahead of time.

We will be going to church in about a month for Mallory’s first Communion. And we went last month for her first Confession. This is all a bit strange to me, because I’m not Catholic. For many years, in fact, I was somewhat anti-Catholic. I was raised in a church whose doctrine was “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, freedom,” so I suppose it’s not that surprising that I wouldn’t take to a denomination where everything is spelled out and there are highly codified rules and beliefs. My biggest beef, for a while, was that I – a baptized Christian – was not allowed to take Communion in the Catholic church. “It’s not right to exclude people like that!” I protested.

I enrolled in an RCIA class – for adults interested in converting to Catholicism – when Mallory was two or three, and when Chris and I started to discuss the possibility of sending her to Catholic school. In the class I realized that much of what I thought I knew about Catholicism was wrong. I learned that much of Catholic thought and tradition is quite beautiful. I concluded it was ridiculous for me to resent the Catholic church for its beliefs, even when I disagreed, because their beliefs were what, after all, made them the Catholic church to begin with. I decided, in the end, that although I was no longer anti-Catholic, I nevertheless didn’t want to become a Catholic. I understand where they’re coming from now, on most issues, but I still disagree with just enough of their teachings and stances on social issues that I cannot convert with a full and open heart. In a way, I now feel that joining the Church, feeling as I do about certain things, would be disrespectful, both to the Church and to my own self.

I've accepted the fact that my kids will grow up Catholic, and that, for now at least, they will be educated in a Catholic school. (There were lots of reasons for choosing their school, many of which have nothing to do with religion, but that’s another story for another time.) Sometimes it’s been strange – seeing Phoebe make the sign of the cross for the first time; helping Mallory write reports on saints and transubstantiation. Mallory has realized that if she has a question about Religion, she should ask Chris instead of me. She’s asked me why I don’t take Communion, why I don’t know the Mass responses. I tell her that I grew up in a different church and we did things a bit differently. I’ve always thought to myself that I don’t mind that she (and Phoebe) are Catholic, but I’m glad they know it’s not the only way to be.

Perhaps because of that, I’ve always had an attitude of…somewhat ironic detachment when we do go to Mass together. I’ve matured since the first time Chris and I went to Mass together, when I whispered, “It burns! It burns!” as the priest flicked us all with Holy Water (I was joking), but I’ve never allowed myself to totally relax into the experience either. I don’t make the sign of the cross. I haven’t learned the responses. I used to not kneel when others knelt; now I do, because I realized that if I don’t, I'll be in the way of the people behind me. I don’t go up during Communion to get a blessing from the priest in lieu of the wafer. I never remember to stop after “and deliver us from evil” when saying the Lord’s Prayer (because I learned that it concluded with, “For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever”).

Watching Mallory approach the priest for her first Confession, however, it struck me that maybe I’m doing her – and Phoebe, in a few years – a disservice. This is important to her; I could tell by the look on her face. This is not something that I should be taking lightly. Parents are often called upon to feign interest in or excitement about their children’s doings. We laugh at the stupid knock-knock jokes, we exclaim over the scribbled drawings, we clap at the antics in the pool or the playground. It’s becoming clear to me that my children’s religious beliefs, however, require a deeper response than that. It’s not that I’ve suddenly decided to convert, mind you. It’s just that…I’ve realized that by excluding myself from Catholicism, I’m not participating fully in an important part of my daughters’ lives (and, if the Catholic church is the only place we go to worship, I’m also not participating fully in my own relationship with God, which is also another story for another time).

I am not sure what to do about this, frankly. In fact I’ve been sitting for ten minutes trying to figure out how to end this paragraph. Hmm. Nope, nothing. Well, here’s something. Many years ago, when my older sister was herself on the verge of converting to Catholicism, she said: “I think God just wants us to do the best we can.” I completely agree with that. I think that I just don’t know exactly what my best is supposed to be.

So. Happy Easter!