I’m not sure which is correct. Was I raised as a Catholic, or did I grow up Catholic? I chose to write about this topic because the idea came to me when I woke. Before I went to bed, I prayed and asked God to give me another idea for a blog, and here it is! Weird, I know.

So, as you can surmise, I believe in God, Jesus, Mary, and the gang of Saints. I pray. I have a picture of Jesus (the one with eyes that follow you ) and my little Mary statue in my office. I refer to them a lot. I have faith.

But this blog is not about having faith; it’s about my experience growing up in the Church. More specifically, St. Rocco’s Roman Catholic Church and its impact on me spiritually.

My grandmother on my father’s side told me that when she was young, the churches were specific to different immigrants. So, St. Rocco’s was an Italian church, St. John’s the Evangelist was an Irish church, and so on. Eventually, they opened their doors to everyone, regardless of ethnicity. But when the immigrants migrated here for work (coal mining), there needed to be a place where they felt safe in this strange new world, where they could speak and hear their native language, and the Church helped them feel a little less homesick.

As a kid, the Church meant a lot to our family. My parents and six kids took up almost the entire pew every Sunday. It didn’t matter the weather or what was happening; we went to Church. My brothers were altar boys, and my father was a lector who did the readings. My mother had the priests at our house for dinner, and they were included in many family functions.

During the mass, I didn’t always understand what I read in the missalette. And I felt so uncomfortable in that Church, feeling judged, waiting for the shoe to drop and get in trouble for something. Why did I feel like that? I could not be myself there. But like a good little girl, I sang the songs and memorized the mass prayers as most people did. I received the sacrament of Holy Communion, which I didn’t understand, I just thought I could finally eat whatever the adults were getting, and the dress was pretty. I went through the Confirmation “training,” where we memorized questions and answers in case the Bishop called upon us during the mass and got “Confirmed.” I got another middle name, Elizabeth, and I think it was about having the Holy Spirit in us.

I went to catechism (church classes) until eighth grade. I don’t remember what we learned there or reading from the Bible. Does anyone remember what we did or learned? I remember constantly feeling like I was an awful sinner who would burn in hell if I didn’t attend Church and catechism or wore a sleeveless sundress to mass on a hot summer day. (The priest scolded me for that and then talked about it in his sermon in front of the congregation! I never wore anything sleeveless again.) Isn’t it ironic that those claiming to teach not to judge are among the first to judge? And I know there are good priests out there; however, the priest at St. Rocco’s was not one of them.

Anyway, if you’ve already figured it out, I was a pew warmer but didn’t know why I was there. I prayed on my own, which brought me more peace than being in a church where I felt so bad about myself.  No one explained the mass to me or offered a story or two to help me, a child, understand it. I got that Jesus was born in a manager, Mary rode on a donkey to get to Bethlehem, Joseph was maybe the father, and Jesus died on the cross and was resurrected. Still, I’ve got to tell you, that was about the size of my understanding of the Catholic faith.

I’m not proud of that, but I was not totally to blame.

Was what I experienced much different from how the peasants of yesteryear got treated when those in power refused to offer them education and they couldn’t read? Ignorant people are easier to control.

And was organized religion developed to help people lead good lives or created to instill fear and insecurity for control? The only solution offered was to be faithful to the Church. Looking back on my life as a kid, I felt the Catholic Church was like that: listen to us, don’t ask questions, and we’ll teach you what we think you need to know. I remember wanting to raise my hand in the Church to ask a question a few times, but that was a no-no!

Now, look at the dwindling numbers of parishioners in Catholic churches and how many have closed their doors. I don’t think it’s all because of pervert priests. In my experience, the Church didn’t offer answers to prayers; it perpetuated a feeling of guilt and shame that kept people returning to find grace. But people are getting smarter and want a more secular, inclusive experience that offers help for real everyday issues people face. Religion needs to evolve, and I don’t know if it did (I haven’t been to a church in some time). I’m not advocating not attending mass or being a church member; just sharing my experiences. I would be a member of a church where I feel welcome, not just because they need money to keep the lights on.

As a teenager, my life was full of angst and pain. I was suffering. I needed help and couldn’t get it from my parents, so I went to my paternal grandmother, who told me to suck it up and stop letting it bother me. That was no help. The number one piece of advice I learned from my family was and still is to sweep everything wrong under the rug. If it’s hidden, you can’t see it or feel it. Get that broom out and sweep it!

So, I went to St. Rocco’s rectory (priest’s house) to talk to a priest. I mean, they were supposed to be ambassadors of God. God protects. God helps. Ergo, the priest would help me. WRONG!

I knocked on the back door, and the priest screamed at me (for real) that I should never come to the back door and that I had to use the front door. (I’m pretty sure he screamed other things, too, that were hurtful, but I blocked it out.) I had no idea about rectory door protocol! I was around 14 years old. It traumatized me, and I ran away crying. He could have said kindly, “Oh hello, why don’t you go to the front, and I’ll let you in,” or “I’m a little busy now; would you like to schedule an appointment to talk?”

Was God there?

It didn’t feel like it to me! The priest did NOT act in God’s image. He was mean, rude, and self-serving, and I believe the only reason he became a priest was to have an easy life and boss people around. As a kid seeing my mother go overboard with kindness toward him, having him eat at our house, giving him things, and meeting him after mass to applaud his sermon made me question how she could do those things because I couldn’t stand him.

When I was 16 or 17, I got a gold cross necklace for Christmas. I went into the sacristy (a room where the priest prepared for mass) like other people did to say hello to the priest after mass, and I asked him if he could bless my cross. The same priest screamed at me again! I couldn’t believe it! He said no, and that I was bothering him, he was busy and to make an appointment for that! Oh my God, it would’ve taken 15 seconds! I can’t imagine him in Heaven. I imagine the other angel took his soul, and I bet he was shocked! Me? I am a man of God! No, you were a lousy human and an even worse example of Christ’s teachings, so feed the fire of hell. Yeah, he hurt me that badly with his horrible attitude and mean words, and I’m dealing with that now, so I don’t feel bad writing that, but I hope one day to forgive him.  Priests are human beings first. Unfortunately, some either feel they are above that or have unaddressed mental health issues.

That confirmed my childhood suspicions that God was not there in St. Rocco’s, at least not being channeled through the priests. And I felt alone and began to detest going to mass.

So, when I was 18, feeling all adult, I switched to St. John’s Evangelist Church, the Irish Church. There was some finger-wagging with my parents and grandmother, for sure. I just realized writing this that I felt okay and empowered to switch churches, but I couldn’t do the same for what I did with my life. Wow! I liked going to St. John’s. It’s a beautiful church with gothic architecture, massive in stature. They had faux leather hardbound mass books. It felt more religious.

I remained a faithful mass-goer until I was in my late twenties. I was at a mass at St. John’s, and while the priest was reading the Gospel, a young altar boy passed out and hit the marble altar hard! It was shocking. My first instinct was to run to the boy, but I figured the priest was right in front of him, and he’ll do it. No, he did not. The priest did not interrupt the Gospel. He never looked back toward the poor boy who maybe cracked his head on the marble floor. He never stopped the mass! Maybe that was a thing that required priests to never stop a mass in progress; I don’t know.

The parents rushed to the altar, and the father scooped up his son and whisked him out of the Church. The mass continued without interruption, with no mention of what happened. I thought it was like what happened in my family. Ignore it and sweep it under the carpet. No one will notice.

I noticed and knew God was not there, so I left that Church. I popped around to other Catholic churches for a while but was not getting anything of value out of the masses. It felt like the priests were going through the motions and not living as vessels of Jesus’ message.

I took it upon myself to learn about Jesus and what I learned was that Jesus did not allow people to walk all over him as St. Rocco’s priest led me to believe with the “turn the other cheek and suck it up” crap. I believe Jesus forgave those who wronged him, kept boundaries, was a kind soul, saw the wrongs around him, and hoped his messages mattered enough to create change. I also believe he was focused and didn’t allow petty behavior to deter his mission. And we all know how that turned out. We are responsible for our actions and it’s up to us to take what he taught and be examples of it.

I understand His message now.

I see it this way: live with love and treat each person well. If they hurt you, forgive them, but don’t allow repeat offenders to zap you again. (I know how difficult it is to forgive.) Don’t harbor ill will; continue to live your life well, be yourself and do what makes you happy, and be a good person, but never act like a doormat or pushover. Assert your will, and those who are worthy will respect you. People may love or dislike you; sometimes, people will see you as a threat and fear you. Fear will make them mistreat you. That is on them, not you. Move on. There are plenty of people who will see your light and want to see you shine brighter. Don’t ever feel you need to please people to get love, attention, or respect. That is manipulation, and no one wins. Manipulators cross boundaries, ignore feelings and create hollow relationships. Love is respecting feelings. Treat people how you want to be treated – and teach people how you want to be treated.

Men created religion, but all humans can carry God* with them. Being present, paying attention to our words and actions, and showing love and respect to everything will ensure God is within us; it doesn’t matter if God was there in the Church.

Thank you for reading.

To a life where you feel the blessings of something bigger than yourself,

Francesca

*And by God, I mean any higher power, not necessarily from any religion.