Tag Archives: Catholicism

CONFIRMATION SLAP

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There was one day each year our Catholic parish could expect the Bishop to visit. Every year the children in the fourth grade, age 10 or so, made their Confirmation of Faith. We studied the tenets of our faith so we would understand more fully what it would mean to be confirmed. This was critical because  the one thing that sank in was the idea that we would not only promise to live our faith, fully and with integrity; we would pledge to be willing to die for our faith, as many of the Catholic saints had done over the centuries. In fact, we chose a name for ourselves of a saint who inspired us to live our faith as fully as they. I chose Bernadette, a young girl unable to be shaken from her spiritual experiences, despite opposition even from church leaders. She was open to the unexpected, unexplainable mysteries of her faith; courageous and persistent, resilient and humble. She could face down any opposition to live her faith experience.

We had learned through study and life experience that others opposed our beliefs, and especially, our assumed authority to represent Jesus Christ’s teaching . We saw our priests, and even ourselves, as part of the line of succession from Peter the Apostle. A lot of wrongdoing and audacity occurred in between Peter’s time and mine. We were taught to acknowledge errors, correct them and move on. A daily examination of conscience and frequent confession kept us on track.

As a very short child, I led the procession into church. The Bishop asked us a few questions ascertaining that we understood what we were about to promise. I was the first to be confirmed, kneeling at the altar rail, shaking like a leaf, praying for courage. The Bishop spoke the words reminding me that my faith required a willingness to die for Christ. I responded that I would. The Bishop then struck my cheek with a blow so hard those in the back pews could hear the slap, my head snapping to the side. The Bishop looked horrified. I could feel the sting of his hand. I was reminded alright! 

After the service ended, we processed from our pews to the rear of the church, the Bishop and altar servers before us. The Bishop waited for me at the door and joined my parents and family as we stood on the church steps. His handprint was still visible on my cheek. He humbly apologized to me and to my parents. Since I was the first child he had underestimated the strength of his blow, and was mortified. I had never expected to see a mortified bishop. It made my heart open to him as human being, no longer an authority figure. Those moments of my confirmation remain with me, 67 years later, as if they happened yesterday. Over the years I had need of the lessons learned that day.

I learned that faith is not a mind-game, nor a mere consideration. It is a calling to act with integrity, love and compassion. It requires the willingness to suffer for others; to learn them, see them, hear them even when I had to “suffer through” them. I suffered through those I did not like nor respect, as well as those I respected and loved. I learned that those in authority held no power over me unless I gave it to them. I could have withheld respect and forgiveness to a bishop who hit me so hard it hurt. I chose to forgive him and accept his unintended harm. However, I never shirk from showing those in authority the harm they do. It is probably one reason I became a lawyer. I experienced justice that day. Too many in our America do not. It is those we must be willing to die for. Our faith requires it.

I listened to two Catholics, Senator Bernie Moreno from my state of Ohio and Vice-President J.D. Vance defend and protect the President Trump’s unlawful war, threats of genocide, and destructive blasphemy the past few days. They were confirmed. Do they not recall their vow to defend and protect our faith and our church as they attack our Pope? Do they not understand integrity and morality? What did they promise as they affirmed their Catholicism when confirmed? I am not truly surprised because they also seem to have forgotten their vow to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States and Ohio, and the laws of both when they sworn into office as senators and then, Vance, as Vice-President. 

These are not men of conviction willing to suffer for their faith. They are not humble. They lack integrity. They lie. They attack when they should defend… not just the Pope but human beings in Gaza, Iran, Minneapolis, and every city and hamlet in America. They attack instead of defend our people of color, LGBQT and transgender citizens, our women and children, our elderly and disabled, our working poor, our refugees and immigrants. They would suppress votes of students, women, the working poor, the elderly and disabled and brazenly support the provisions in the SAVE act suppressing our votes. All the while they pretend to protect us and our vote. They stay silent while our military is used to perform war crimes, and while our country’s leaders threaten to annihilate others in violation of the Geneva Convention and human rights.

The attack on a Catholic Pope is just part of the plan to replace loving faith and care for others preached by Jesus Christ on his Sermon on the Mount with power and control over others fed by greed and arrogance. It was easy to abuse the weakest among us. Now, they openly abuse a powerful church leader preaching Jesus Christ’s teachings. Of course, Trump posted an AI construction of himself as Jesus Christ. Of course Vance and Moreno, and other republicans think it is meaningless, a joke.  The explanation is as great a lie. It has meaning. It is meant to promote abuse and control at the expense of others. These men were not slapped hard enough when they were confirmed as Catholics. They are not willing to suffer any political nor financial loss to help others. As a Catholic, I hold them accountable and ask them to recall their vows; to their church and to the American people.

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PURE OF HEART

Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com St. Anne with her young daughter, Mary; The grandmother and mother of Jesus of Nazareth.

On  this Holy Day

no obligation takes part

in the love and respect I feel for you,

dearest Mary, Queen of Hearts.

No need for men to declare 

you are woman beyond compare.

Nor need to justify your place

with convoluted tales of grace.

You bore the heavy pregnancy gait

and the seemingly endless 9 months wait,

a grueling trek by foot and donkey

away from safety and into mystery.

You sheltered in the meanest space

and kept up with Joseph’s heartier pace

as women are so often wont to do

for men and children in need of you.

You entertained guests who came to view

the wonder of Light renewed by you.

When you likely most needed rest

you gave your all to all your guests.

And then you fled as Joseph’s dream

must have made you want to scream.

All to keep your loved ones safe and sound.

Your strength and love are so profound.

And still you give to all of us here now

your grace and love and keep your vow

made through Angel Gabriel in ages past;

a promise that to this day still lasts.

“Behold,I am the handmaiden of the Lord;

Let it be done to me according to your word.”

Such a pure heart needs no more explanation.

The Light always carried within you is our salvation.

A feast day for an Immaculate Conception

sounds like a useful mansplain deception.

I overlook my useless eye-rolling emotion

and give you, dear Mary, my full devotion.

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MY FIRST AND ONLY CONFESSION

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Confession is good for the soul.

I have been told.

My first confession

at the age of seven

Took Sister Mary Claude,

whose diligence I applaud,

months to abate my fear.

First in line, I strode near

the confessional where Fr. Torre

waited to hear blood and gore

from little ones whose blame-game

only recently became a cause of shame.

With whispering words I began to confess.

“Father, forgive me.”( I felt such stress.)

“This is my first confession.”

Father stopped me right there

as I sat on the edge of the chair.

He was behind the screen,

a solemn, still figure barely seen.

“Please speak up so I can hear.”

And, so I did, and started to enumerate

all my sins, expecting him to strongly berate.

His words caused me even greater fear,

“Louise, not so loud, or all will hear.”

No longer did I worry who heard what.

He knew me, when I had been taught,

confession is anonymous.

Now, I felt infamous.

How could I face him across my Mother’s table

when he came each week that he was able

to eat her suga and Italian food;

and feel like family, with buoyant mood.

My only sin that day

was what I confessed every single Saturday,

“I disobeyed my Mother 10 times a day,

every day, of every week, of every year.

I was a disobedient child who shed no tears.

And over these many years

I have never changed my insolent creed

My father told me as I stood at his knee,

“Every man puts his pants on one leg at a time.

No one is better than you; (I liked that line)

and you are no better than anyone else.”

Equality set my soul free, made my heart pulse.

Equality became the base of all courage.

Equality kept me from being discouraged.

As a woman in a man’s world and profession.

I learned to speak up and out loud in my first confession.

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DEMORALIZED

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Newscasters used to tell it like it is.

Now, they are opinionated forecasters.

They still tell us who.

They tell us who said why.

They no longer tell us 

what, when or how.

That would expose the lie.

No wonder we are demoralized

within both its meanings, 

no surprise.

First losses began long ago:

No more manners as a guide.

No more conscience to lower pride.

No respect for others.

No authority recognized.

Second losses are less discreet:

No longer safe in thoughts nor words.

No longer safe on our own streets.

No more hopeful for the best

when every known fact is put to the test.

No more law and order.

Due process now out the door.

Demoralized beyond repair?

The people rise, at last, at last?

Not in anger and outrage.

Peacefully assembling on marching feet.

Nuns, priests, ministers, imams and rabbis

offer a morality well-intentioned if incomplete.

But this is how our story goes.

We are not perfect, heaven knows.

Our moral code is soft and flexible.

Our democratic republic makes it workable.

It offers a way to respect ourselves and one another;

to recognize all as sister or brother.

Immorality is what we see, and vote for?

Approve of, and laugh about too obviously?

See where  we have led ourselves and our country,

fueled by wantoness and greed.

Demoralized we may be.

Still a people willing to fight to remain free.”

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“NOLITE TE BASTARDES CARBORUNDORUM.” – Handmaid’s Tale

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EXAMINATION OF CONSCIENCE

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How easily done depends

on the sinner and sin done that day.

No “ I lay me down to sleep”

before this Catholic child closed her eyes.

An examination of conscience, 

a deep and complete review 

of my sins committed that day, as I prayed

in true contrition for my sins; and a promise

to make restitution to all I had harmed

in my self-centered, humanly-corrupted way.

Only then, could forgiveness be petitioned

and God swayed. Sister told me so in class.

Father told me so in the dark confessional.

I await an examination of conscience by all

who voted for MAGA  entranced and enthralled

by promises of heavenly and earthly reward

for allowing hate to invade and invoke

the souls of nation recently made awoke

by African-Americans and women who showed

they were equally great to any American.

Make America Great Again only meant

make America white again.

And my church paved the way.

Her misogyny always ready to deprive

women of any control over 

the length of their skirts,

the choice to love or escape 

abuse in any man’s embrace,

manage their reproductive health,

choose or excuse another’s hate.

Abortion became the rallying cry

to bring sinners off their knees and to the polls

to vote for the liars who played priests like fools.

There is no place for judgment or blame.

Sinners all, we play the same game.

There is a need for an examination of conscience,

for restitution to a nation’s sacred tenets defamed

by such reckless, sincere but sinful moves.

Now, priests and pastors see the error of their ways

as they accompany immigrants to hearings

to protect them from MAGA misrule?

The MAGA the churches helped elect

is not a surprise. And, it remains a sin to be

examined deeply, and completely reviewed.

I await the results of such a self-examination.

I await the restitution to be completed.

I await the apology for distorting Christian theology.

I await the chance to forgive, wholeheartedly.

I know my church is only human.

If only it could remember that truth.

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GOOD FRIDAY

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I do not kneel

at the foot of the cross.

I climb upon it and feel

the pain and loss.

Each of us carries deep within

our own crucifixion.

We pull our weight up the hill

to our own Golgotha and pray,

accepting the help, with humble will,

of those who come along our way.

Perhaps it is sacrilegious to believe

suffering is truly sin’s reprieve

when we have been taught

His death made us free.

The curtain of my mind was wrent

and any hate I felt was tossed

beyond the confines of Lent

which led me to this Holy Day of loss.

Yet, hope remains that on the third day

My soul shall rise along His side

and fear will finally be put away,

knowing nothing can destroy me now.

I will live to see Him rise on Easter Day.

Not even death can stop me now.

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BODHI’S FIRST COMMUNION

Memories of bridal veils and sharp edged crinolines

biting the legs, seated and held still in quiet pews,

hands tight on rosary beads, Grandma’s gifted pearls, twisted,

turning, clacking, in anxious prayer.

Feet planted on kneelers already down

to hold aloft tiny feet in lace-edged socks

in white leather shoes with silver buckles.

Seldom seen relatives from far and near appear

to grace the day so full of grace it overflows

until the urge to flee such attention lightens the air

and breath seems a solemn plea to rise and go.

As my memories do because there he sits,

solemn and silent, and ready as I am never,

with a strength and wisdom so rare

it settles the soul and stiffens the mind

reminding us of the moment soon to arrive

when Grace itself takes form in the Host,

a thought so alive we all rise to process up the aisle

all smiles of delight light us inside and out

as the Host melts on the tongue and our hearts shout

God is alive! As am I. As am I!

Unconditional love exists in this moment of bliss,

in communion with all others, our sisters and brothers

within a family, a church, a neighborhood block,

a city, a nation, an entire world

of people to love and bring inside hearts opened wide.

No human assessment of follies,

no judgement of errors done and undone,

no constant surveillance of sins yet assessed.

On this day

with this child

one only feels blessed.

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THE HOLY TRINITY

This Sunday the garden is my cathedral.

Where I can kneel un-masked

among hostas and ferns

and turn my gaze upon Creation,

Third person of the Trinity

Who sows the seeds of Christianity

Buried deep with the Second

in the fertile soil of the earth

prepared by the First,

Master Gardener of our souls.

I contemplate Second’s rising

as I ponder the resurrection

of every living thing that grows

after a long winter of cold and snow.

What prayers are these I offer

in the pantheon of gods of long ago?

The prayers of an immune-compromised 

Catholic unable to sit among 

un-masked rows of worshippers 

kneeling in too-few pews

listening to the Good News

spoken by priests within brick and mortar,

while I  kneel in the open-air garden.

My communion is deep if incomplete.

I sign the cross and sigh,

breathing in the energy of the Trinity,

which keeps my soul alive.

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The Pro-Choice Ethic of a Faithful Roman Catholic: A Reflection by Kate Mroz

The Pro-Choice Ethic of a Faithful Roman Catholic: A Reflection by Kate Mroz.

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