Women my age who grew up Catholic and went to Catholic schools were inundated with stories of The Calling.
The Calling, we were told, is how God summons young women to become nuns. For much of my adolescence, I was convinced that God was summoning me, but that I was pretending not to hear Him because I wanted to have sex first. Then I had sex, and felt unworthy of becoming a nun. Then I had sex again, and never thought of religious life again until now, when spending hours alone seems like a fine idea. I could even do some ministering to the poor, as long as I could have a glass of wine at night. Or two.
Nuns rock. Nuns are the glue of the church. Like women everywhere, they are the underappreciated foundation of their family units. There are different types of nuns, of course. There are the cloistered kind who wear habits on their heads and don’t talk. I could totally do that. But they pray all the time. I could not do that unless I could “pray” while exercising, reading, walking, cooking and listening to my iPod. Or unless I could do it with my eyes closed, while laying down. That I could do.
I am at a spiritual crossroads. I spent the first half of my life as a devout Catholic. Please keep in mind that you can be devout even though you are a sinner as long as you regularly go to confession. So I was a sinning Catholic who was adept at repenting, which is pretty much the definition of devout. I imagined that my soul was like a dry-erase board, and when the board became loaded with black sin marks, I’d go to confession, and the priest would be like an eraser wiping my soul clean.
I suppose this is the rationale of church officials who have spent decades protecting pedophiles. Whoops! Should have handled that differently! Sorry! Hail Mary! Glory Be! Our Father! All clean.
But let’s talk about sins. Doing five beer bongs and then making out with your roommate’s boyfriend is a sin. Telling your mom that of course Lisa’s parents would be supervising the party is a sin.
Averting your eyes while grown men stick their hands into the pants of children? That’s no sin. That’s a crime.
I don’t often go to church any more. But the basic tenets of Catholicism that helped shape me remain an indelible part of who I am. They have helped define me. It’s just too bad that they no longer define the church.
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Martha Nichols
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Comments
pretty deep this is...although in a post that made me grin!
You write so well...I look forward to more.
Thank you for the smile...