Spiritual Sojourn, part III: The Politics of the Church

And then I was birthed from the womb of academia and not allowed back in. They sent me forth into the world, and I ended up in a town called Westborough in Massachusetts. It was a pretty little New England town, lots of colonial architecture, pretty gardens, very upper middle class, and very politically conservative.

I was out on my own for the first time, financially independent, supporting myself. It was good, but also slightly intimidating, as I'm sure it is for everyone. I wanted to meet people, make connections, make friends. I turned once again to the best social club in the land, the church.

The nearest Catholic church was just down the street from me. I went one Sunday morning. It was about like you expect. I asked one of the stewards about the choir, and he told me when practice was. The following Wednesday evening I turned up, said hello, introduced myself, said I was new in town and looking for a parish, and might they allow me to join their choir?

I expected a warm welcome. I expected them to be delighted to have a new member. What I got was handed, almost without a word, a stack of sheet music. I took a seat next to an elderly woman who looked at me and said, "That's Doris's seat." Not even a "Hello, my name is." I got a reception colder than a headstone in the churchyard. I didn't go back.

After that I spent my weekends at Wally and Vi's house. They were my best friends, my family, and all the community I needed. And I found that after I no longer needed the church for community or a sense of belonging, I had no need for it at all, and I didn't miss it. I still went back to college to celebrate major holidays (espeically Easter) with Vi and Fr. L, and that filled my need for ritual and rhythm. I did miss the music, but not too much, as Vi and I spent loads of time singing together.

The backdrop to all this was the political side of the RC church.

I was raised in a very politically active household. My mom held several elected offices, and then worked as an independent political consultant and campaign manager for many years. I should add that mine was a very, very liberal household in a very, very conservative town. This did not win me many friends.

In particular we (my family) took serious exception to the church's stance on abortion, birth control, women's rights, and gay rights. I remember times as a child at Mass when the priest would go on about the evils of contraception during the homily (sermon) and mom would just get up and walk out. Just like that. Stand up and walk out during the homily. I was mortified to be so conspicuous (especially as we always sat near the front, and everybody knew who we were, mom being something of a local celebrity).

All my life I struggled with this. How could I be a member of an organization with whose principles I disagreed so strongly? I was often accused of being a "cafeterial catholic," someone who picks and choses what they want and what they don't want. It was a fair critique.

Because of my political views I was often taunted, mocked, teased, bullied, picked on, beat up, and harassed at school. I was called "baby killer" almost every day for 4 years in high school, despite the fact that I have never had an abortion. I was abused regularly by people who claimed, quite vocally, to be better Christians that me. ??? I don't think the hypocrisy of their statements ever registered with them.

So there I was, living in Westborough, Mass, trying to make friends and fit in at church. All the while this was happening the story was breaking about Cardinal Law of the Archdioces of Boston and how he moved dozens of paedophile priests around from parish to parish to protect the preists and sheltered them from the law, acting as an accessory to their perverted and heinous behavior. Since I was living so near Boston, this story was big news and everyone was up in arms about it. And then one morning I broke my toe.

I was getting ready for work, stubling around in the dark, and I stubbed my pinky toe on a kitchen chair. I knew it was broken. Fortunately it was my left foot and my car was an automatic, so I was able to scoot down the two flights of stairs from my flat and drive myself to the nearest hospital.

When I arrived at the hospital I hobbled in to the Emergency Room, which was (thankfully) empty. I addressed myself to the nurse at the reception desk and explained my injury. She began asking me all the relevant personal details about general health, meds I was on, etc. And then she got to the question of my religion.

This is standard practice in American hospitals, because just in case it all goes horribly wrong they want to know which chaplain to send to you and your family. She asked me this question, and at that moment the TV in the corner was blaring a news report about Cardinal Law. And I couldn't bring myself to say I was Catholic. I thought "I don't want to be associated with this organization, with these people. We have nothing in common. I want no part of this." And I told the nurse to mark down "none" under 'religion.' That was the day I left.