Liturgical Watchdogging

Or "Why can't we all just get along?"

Omis writes:  "

Speaking for myself, Karen, I'll agree that we can care for both the world and the Church (which I do, and dont' doubt you do too), and can you agree that I can care about the church and Christ in the Eucharist without feeling the need to participate in liturgical watchdogging?

My real answer is longer than I have time for right now, because it would involve many things and conclude with me cyber-yelling, "I've BEEN a protestant, I don't want to be a protestant again!"  Followed by, "You can go be a protestant, I have nowhere else to go!"

Here's me not writing that paragraph...  I grew up in a Methodist church in a very small town in Virginia.  Every four years we got a new minister.  That meant that every four years, we got a new set of rules.  The conservative ministers would tell us one thing, and then the liberal ministers would come tell us the complete opposite.  The liturgy would change as well.  We had a book, but you never know when the new minister was going to throw the book out and bring in a book he liked better.  And of course, the congregation would immediately divide itself into factions -- the ones who liked the old minister and were pouting versus the ones who liked the new minister and were gloating.

And God help us if there was ever a disagreement that was evenly divided.  The minister might rule in favor of his gang, but the other side would appeal to someone higher up who agreed with them.  Then he and the minister would get into a tug-of-war.  He might be the superior, but he was off somewhere and it's true what they say about possession. 

When I started dating my husband in 1974 and started to learn about the Catholic Church (which had only been whispered about in my house up about until then), I was thrilled to learn about the pope.  I thought, this church has got the right idea.  The buck stops somewhere, and the rules don't change every four years.

When I came back to Christianity after 15 years of self-imposed exile, I was still technically a Methodist, but I never would have considered going "back" to anything other than Catholicism.  Aside from my love of the ritual and the through-line and the fact that it all made much more sense, there was fact that I believed in transubstantiation from the second it was explained to me.  Later, when my sister and I discussed it, we were amazed to learn that we'd both had the same thought, which was "I knew there had to be something like this."  From that point on, there was no turning back.   In the long run, it doesn't matter how much corruption is uncovered.  I can't go anywhere.   In a sense, I'm a hostage.

When I was confirmed, twelve years ago, I was still in my deep liberal days.  My turnaround is a long and complicated story and I can't tell it now.  But the thing that turned me into what Omis probably thinks of is a liturgical Nazi is that living in Mahonyland came very close to destroying my faith. 

When the scandal broke, none of it was a surprise to me.  In fact, it's all in Dark Debts, which was out in paperback long before any of it hit the newspapers.  I'd heard it all from priests I'd interviewed and/or befriended in the course of writing the book.  It was much more widespread than I would have guessed, but other than that, I wasn't surprised.  What both surprised and nauseated me was the Church's reaction to it, and nowhere more than in my own diocese.  And it really hit me on a level that had nothing to do with intellect.  Out loud, I declared that I would get through it and I wasn't going to let the bad guys do any more damage, which would be the case if I grew bitter about the Church. But no matter how much I reasoned and declared, I got to the point that I could not make myself go to Mass.  It made me almost literally nauseated to have to sit there and listen to a guy in a robe.  It made me furious that I had no way of knowing who he was, or whether or not my children were safe around him, and that I could not count on the Church to protect my children, because the Church was too busy protecting the pedophiles.

I don't know what it was like in other places, but in my parish, we "pew sitters" were at each other's throats over the issue of whether or not we had to "obey and support our shepherds" no matter what.  I remember thinking, if the Church is going to cover up Evil, or tell me that Evil is not Evil, then that's an easy decision for me.  I don't remember a lot of details now, I just remember that I felt worse and worse and I could not make myself go to Mass for a long time.  Which made me feel horrible and guilty and that was the beginning of my four horrible years of desolation. 

After I was finally able to go to Mass and look at a stranger in a robe and give him the benefit of the doubt, I kept thinking that I wanted to go and talk to a priest, to see if it would make me feel better about the ordeal and the last couple of years.  I had questions.  Exactly how guilty should I feel, all things considered?  How could I balance my belief that the truth is holy with my belief that I should support my shepherds?  What was I supposed to do with all this anger?  But I had lived and worked in a lot of different areas of L.A. and was pretty familiar with most of the parishes around me.  I had a good idea of what I would be told, depending on which way I pointed my car.  And to me, that was the blow that almost sunk me.  What was the point of any of this?  I could drive to the west side of L.A. and be told that everything was fine and God was incable of being angry, or I could drive to the San Gabriel Valley and be read the riot act. 

That was always true in L.A.  Whenever I had a question about some point of moral murkiness, I always knew that the answer would depend on which priest I asked.  And if I didn't like the answer, I could drive my car another twenty minutes and find an answer I liked better.

After my second Christmas of being gone from the Church again, I decided that I couldn't stand it.  Nothing could be worse than that.  I had to find some way back.  And the thought kept going through my mind, you have to trust someone.  But how?  Guilt and self-doubt come to me very easily, so I knew that if I trusted some priest I chose because I liked him, that was never going to work.

So, I realized, I was going to have to bite the bullet and trust Rome.  Even the things that still didn't make sense to me.  Even the things that sounded like they should have been thrown out centuries ago.  And wherever I didn't agree with the Church, I had to make the choice to believe that it was my problem, my lack of understanding, my lack of complexity... and the work to be done to solve the problem, that was mine too.

In short, I made that decision, I took off down that road, and it worked.  The way all the "right" decisions have worked in my life.  Things fell into place, things grew and bloomed and became clearer and the fog in my head began to clear up.

So what does that long story have to do with "liturgical watchdogging"?  I think the first thing that those of us (conservative Catholics v. modern Catholics, or whatever you want to call it) who are sniping at each need to understand is that my side of the fence does not see this side of the fence in such a small way.  Whenever I have this argument with someone, it strikes me that we will never get anywhere until the modern folk begin to understand how trivial this is not.  I am not some anal wacko on the third row making tally marks every time Father says "and" when he should have said "but."  I am someone who is offended by the sight of Jesus in a Kool-Aid pitcher.  (Of course "I'm offended" seems to work for every group on earth except for conservative Christians.)  I am not so much upset by liturgical dancers with pots of witches' brew as I am upset about the wholesale loss of reverence. 

And I am very upset about the bishops and priests who are blatantly ignoring the pope and the teachings of the Church and making up their own rules because, like I said, I've been a protestant and I don't want to be one again. 

My thoughts on this subject go on much longer than this, but I'll save the rest for another rant on another day.

Comments

[Phoenix]

Wonderful post. I'm not sure how to use trackbacks, but I've linked to this on my blog. Please re-visit this issue!

[joe]

K.,

You have HAVE.NO.IDEA (no, really, you don't) how much typing you saved me. The Jesuits made us do Academic Stuff instead of taking typing class, so it wouldn't have been pretty.

You may now get out of my mind, as I need the space to remember commercial jingles.

AMDG,

-J.

[Georgette]

"My thoughts on this subject go on much longer than this, but I'll save the rest for another rant on another day."

--Or for another book? Great post!

[Mr. Know it All]

Sorry, I guess I came in in the middle of the movie (IMO, the down side of the LILO nature of blogging) and I'm not sure which point is paramount here. Is it about accepting the dictates of Rome (which I thought we had been doing all along) or is it the Koolaid pitcher that troubles you?

[Catholic Mom]

This post strikes a chord with me because this past Lent seemed to revolve around surrendering my will to the will of God. Part of that was the humble submission to the authority of the Church. Because of this I have to care what Rome says about the celebration of the Liturgy and cannot take lightly the affront to reverent liturgical practices so prevalent in some area. At the same time, I have to approach the liturgy with the firm desire to meet Christ in the Eucharist and accept that in spite of the Kool-Aid pitchers, He is truly present-- Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity.