The Catholic Church

The Catholic Church played a large part in my earlier years. Not that my family actually attended Mass because we didn’t but that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t in church. Let me explain. I am from the era when churches stayed open all day and all night. A pew was always available for those in need. A candle could be lit for a loved one at any time of the day or night. Times where so different back then. The church truly felt like a home. Your home. At least this is how I remember it. This was the way it was for me and the kids who lived on Notre Dame and Mt. Carmel in Cleveland. The church was Our Lady of Mt. Carmel. It was our church.
My parents where separated at that time in my life so my mom and two brothers and sister moved in with Grandma and Grandpa. Grandma and Grandpa just happen to live right next door to what we called the priest’s house (rectory). That was also an open door for us. The priest of Mt. Carmel took us under their wings. We spent many hours together walking up and down their driveway having our “serious talks” for this reason I have never been afraid of a priest. They cared about me and they acted as a Father should. It was easy to call them Father. They where someone we respected and loved. They understood us.
As I look back now I realize how much patience they had with us as we swung from their weeping willow trees. How a many watchful eye must of saw us playing in the church. What a sight we must have been. My sister, our friends who where sisters , also and my very best friend ,Theresa. We knew every Saturday there would be a wedding or two and that meant free candy for us. That was in the days when the guest threw candy covered almonds instead of rice. To this day I love almonds. How funny we must of looked to those who where not from the “neighborhood” as we crawled on our hands and knees in search of white and pink and green candy. To us girls the Blessed Mother was a young woman…like our moms to us. We knew she was special and that she loved children. I am sure she must have been nodding her head in Heaven as we “girls” would stare at her until one of us who whisper “ I saw her hand move” and then we would all run out of church screaming . How exciting. How special we where. If the priest saw us doing this they never said a word. I believe they wouldn’t of because they never discouraged us from feeling at home in God’s House. They taught us that Mary was our mother and she loved us.
How sad it is to me that so many of the neighborhood church will be closing next year. A part of my feels like I am losing my childhood. I was so blessed to be a part of the time when we had enough priest and the collection basket, spaghetti dinners, carnivals and yes, bingo supported our churches. I remember when parents encouraged their sons to grown up to be a priest and their daughters to be nuns. It was an honor . A privilege. Lost are those days.
My heart breaks when I think all of those beautiful churches being torn down or boarded up. To me there is nothing more beautiful than the inside of an old Catholic Church. The shinny dark pews, the high ceilings and stain glass windows. I can smell the incense now as I sit here. I know that Jesus still lives. That no building is big enough to hold him. His temple is in our hearts. We will find new homes to celebrate with our Catholic family . We will share and break bread. Our God is a God of renewal, ,of new beginnings. He will provide as He always has. He will not be torn down or boarded up. He will not abandon us. Not even death or a tomb could hold Him back from the love He has for us.
Church is where ever we are because we are the Church. God is where ever we are because God lives in us. I know how easy it is to complicate such simple truths. How grand we think it all has to be. As Catholics I believe we have been given a faith so rich in tradition and yes beauty. I know that it is this tradition that calls me back over and over as I wonder in search of a more “feeling” type of worship. I will attend a church that claps more, sings louder, A church without pews or statues. No standing and then sitting and kneeling. The feelings get moving. Surely God is in this place, He must be because I feel so excited, so moved. Yet it is not home for me. Home is in the quiet as I stare at the cross and remember that He died for me. It is in the music that I sing out of devotion and commitment not by feelings alone. It is in the smell of incense. It is in the pew that I kneel at humbly in front of my Savior. It is in the statues of those who dedicated their lives to God as an example of His love. Many people mock the Catholic Church and I at times did so myself. I am sorry for them and sorry for my mistake. The Catholic Church is a pillar built on the Gospels, the traditions and beliefs from the earliest disciples and Blessed by our Heavenly Father. It will survive and so will we.