The Good-ish Catholic

I am supposed to be writing an essay on Gilead by Marilynne Robinson…or working on a thesis concerning the interpretation of literature…or completing a lab on the scientific process…or arguing that The Taming of the Shrew is not anti-feminist…but I am not…instead, my coffee and I detoured this morning. I read a New York Times Article by Jessica Bennett titled “Pamela Anderson Doesn’t Need Redemption, She’s Just Fine,”…and I had a rough day yesterday…and my period is fixing start…and it still isn’t summer…so here I am trying to decide what is appropriate to write about and how best to frame my thoughts as not to be weird or overshare. But I have to write it.

The weekend of November 5th, 2022, was the last weekend I participated fully in the sacraments of my church. Saturday was a beautiful outing with three of my children and my bestie, Sheila. We went downtown so Sheila and I could go to confession at the Cathedral (I never do confession with my parish priest), and then a swanky lunch at The Vault. Sunday was Mass which ended with a beautiful request from a friend to participate in their confirmation as the sponsor.

I do not want to give the impression that I am a great Catholic – I am not. In the past, I have participated for the wrong reasons and refused to participate for worse ones. I have used the church as a crutch, a sanctuary, and an excuse. I have expected everything from my faith, given little, and resented when that trade proved insufficient. And, I don’t know that I have it in me to be a great Catholic. But I am a Catholic. And I would like to be, at the very least, a good-ish one.

For a whole host of reasons that would take me too long to explain if you are not Catholic (and honestly, even if you are), my marriage is not blessed by the Church. For a long time, I argued justified to myself that this was a matter between God and me and moved on. That is, until participation in a sacrament like confirmation requires a signature which you cannot provide because the statement you are signing is not true. Maybe you could just ignore it, sign it anyway (because, after all, between me and God, right?), and just move on.

But, I am trying to be good-ish.

Being good-ish means I can question the questionable, I can blur the blur-able, I can choose the choosable. These things may not make me great, but they will keep me good-ish. I cannot, however, ignore the rules. Frankly, I don’t want to. Really, if that’s what I am going to do, then what’s the point of claiming my Catholic-ness? Because I think it’s cool? Because I need to belong somewhere? Because I am afraid of hell or some other judgment? No. Being Catholic is not, currently, very cool, I belong to lots of places, and my Catholic views on hell make it completely unscary, thus leaving me available to pursue my faith out of love instead of fear.

And when Father looks at you from across his desk with so much compassion and zero judgment after you have told him all of it (all of it), and he apologizes on behalf of the Church for not doing a better job of being there for me, and not following the rules itself so I could understand and follow the rules…well, it didn’t keep my heart from breaking when he said, “You shouldn’t be participating in the sacraments. You cannot receive absolution at confession or the Eucharist during the Mass. But we will get this worked out.” It helped, but it didn’t stop it.

The first Mass after was the hardest. There was a choice to make. I could go to a different parish where the priest doesn’t know me. The priest giving communion doesn’t interrogate each recipient; he just says, “The Body of Christ,” you say, “Amen,” and everyone moves on. I could attend my regular parish and, during communion, either stay in my seat or go up, arms crossed at my chest (the sign so that the priest knows you are not taking communion) and receive a blessing instead. I could stay home. I could decide none of this was worth it and stop being Catholic.

The last two are not an option. I am Catholic, and I love Mass. Besides, I can’t go to confession if I miss Mass, and I am trying to be good-ish. And, because I am trying to be good-ish, I cannot go to another parish because I know; my priest was not subtle. He gave me specific directions on how to proceed – do not stop attending Mass, do not take communion, we will get this worked out.

So, I go sit, or I go crossed. It is embarrassing either way. Yes, not receiving the Eucharist is worse, but I can keep that hurt private; the other, not so much.

But let’s be honest – the Church did not “do” this to me. I have made choices. And, if you have seen my children – all six of them – I would make them all over again. Wrong or right, every choice I have made (and Mike, too, for that matter) has come together to give our family six beautiful children that I cannot imagine life without.

I also cannot imagine my life without the Mass, without the Eucharist, without my Church. In a weird way, I am thankful for this challenge. Do not mistake me, I would not choose it, I do not want it. But it is mine and I own it. And in it, I have learned and am learning many things, the most important, so far, is my desire for my God for all the right reasons.

So, I go crossed. I walk in view of my family in Christ and I receive my blessing. I say Hail Marys until I can do it without shame. Sometimes it’s just long enough to get to the priest and back again. More often, now, it lasts much longer. It is for that grace I am grateful.