and watched this new Pope...to be called John Paul II give his first homily as leader of the Roman Catholic Church. As I watched, my father would remark about the Church, the papacy, his own conversion to marry my mother. I was so young, my only thoughts on the Catholic Church were these...Why did we have to go to 7:30 Mass instead of 10? That it was pretty cool that us Catholic kids in the Syracuse public school system got to get out of school two hours early and ride busses to Sacred Heart for CCD.
I remember, as a teenager, going to Toronto for a family vacation during the Pope's visit there in 1984. I remember the rejoicing in the church we attended that weekend. I still carried pretty much one thought about the church...that Mass was so darned early. The youth group I was involved in was more "fun" than spiritual, which I admit was what kept me going each Wednesday night.
When I was 19, a new mom with no husband, no marriage blessed in the eyes of God...the Deacon of our church-who I went to looking for the sacrament of baptism- told me that I had committed a sin worse than murder by bringing this innocent newborn into the world, then deigning to ask him to admit her into the Catholic Church. The parish priest overheard and, following the teachings of John Paul II (I believe) of a merciful God, chastised the deacon and set the date for my daughter's baptism. Soon after I left the Church for a decade. Not able to reconcile the hypocrisy of the situation...that somehow God would have smiled down on me if I had chosen to abort my child and then confess to it on Saturday.
The years went by with my Sunday mornings now free for sleep, but somehow I always found myself drawn to the television whenever news of the Pope was shown. I admired his strength, his dignity in the face of a decidedly undignified disease...his ability to reach out to youth. His refusal to sit on high above the common man and desire to be among them...touch hands bestowing blessings...cuddling babies.
When my daughter was ten, we placed her in a Catholic School. Mainly to get her away from a few girls who were "bad influences" on my easily led little girl. I found myself drawn into Church service for the first time in my life. Mass became something I looked forward to. Sharing Time, Talent and Treasure a joy, not so much a sacrifice. I felt I had come home and was able to put all those questions I had had aside for a little while.
Until the day our priest asked us to be judgmental. To vote against those not like us. Until the Catholic Church took up the realm of politics. That week, I left. Vowing to not go back until there was change. I stepped down from the parish council. Quit my commissions, and basically saw my daughter through her last few months of 8th grade. I never looked back...
...until this morning.
I sat on the couch with my son when he was 6 and a half...and I felt tears stream down my cheeks as I listened to chants of John Paul the Great and watched the people waving to their Pope as he was carried into the Basilica one last time. A piece of my childhood, a piece of who I am said goodbye.
As an American Catholic, I vow to work for change within the Faith. For us not to sit in judgment of our neighbor, but to pray for the mercy of God.
John Paul, you were a devoted servant. May you rest easy now.
:cry: