Note: This was written after attending Mass, and a group discussion, last Sunday. Since then, I've had a thoughtful discussion with the group leader. I'm thankful for him reaching out and inviting me, despite the comments of several of the members.
The Small Group
The smell of pancakes wafted from the parish hall into the entry way of the church. Sitting with my dad just outside the doors to the worship area, we lamented that we wouldn’t be ordering a stack. It was the Knights of Columbus pancake breakfast, and we were abstaining.
That’s until we found out that the national “KofC” has recently given more money to political campaigns that support keeping same-sex marriage illegal than they are giving to food banks. So much for the “Golden Rule.”
Before going any further let me say: we are aware of the teachings of the Catholic Church when it comes to gay issues. But really, to spend more money crusading against gay marriage than helping people in need? Yeah, we’re not buying your pancakes. Or your Tootsie Rolls.
I got a little irked smelling those pancakes, but tried to focus. Like many Catholics, I keep coming, even though I disagree with the church’s stance on many things (homosexuality, women priests, and birth control, to name a few). Sometimes I walk out of church. Sometimes I don’t go back for months, start toying around with leaving for a more progressive church or none at all.
But I come back. I’d like to think that it’s more than it’s what I’m comfortable with, the memorized prayers and warm fuzzies during the “Peace Be With You Part.” More than the rituals that have been passed down to me, the circular beauty I see in the baptismal cloth that is later laid on the casket. It has to be more than the fact that it’s easy, because frankly, it isn’t easy to be Catholic.
***
My brother is gay. It’s not a big issue for my family. We don’t understand why it is for other people. But the fact the other people have issues rears itself. The news is filled with horrific stories of teenagers who have taken their lives because they are made to feel they having nothing to live for because they are gay.
The hate crimes, the suicides – they are extreme acts of violence – but they start somewhere. I believe it starts in what we teach our children at home, the small turns of phrases as we describe people, and as we judge them. It starts with the power of words. I take words very seriously.
This morning, after the pancake episode, I went to Bible study. Now being a progressive who struggles with Church teachings, Bible study is not exactly my style (to say the least). But I went for my second time because I was touched by the genuineness of the leader. He was my age and invited me to come. I’d told him I struggled with many of the Church teachings and didn’t feel like I was getting a lot out of Mass. He encouraged me to give this “small group” a try.
Let me underscore the strangeness of me attending “small group.” Living in the Deep South where people go to church not once but twice a week, and talk about “small groups” like they were family, I’d felt an outsider. After all, Catholics don’t sing loud, keep to themselves during Mass (except for the sign of peace part) and are generally private. At least that’s how I was raised.
But I give the Catholics here credit for trying to reach out to one another, actually read the Bible and discuss. But, as I suspected, I don’t want to know what’s in their heads. This morning, it became clear: I’m not one of them. Unlike the motto of my parish, “All Are Welcome,” I didn’t feel it.
***
One minute someone was talking about the good in everyone, even the criminals she works with. It was about having compassion and God’s mercy. Hey, I’m down with that.
Then someone else brought up “homosexuals.” Criminals, homosexuals. “We may not understand or agree with them, but God loves them,” and similar comments. “Uh-oh, here it comes,” I thought, clutching the coffee cup in my hand. Next came the “I have friends who are gay and they are great people!” remarks. I felt my face flush and tears start to well. I knew what was next.
The issue of gay marriage, with several people saying they love their gay pals (and even family) but don’t know if they could in good conscience go to a gay wedding. They care about their gay friends but don’t believe what they do is right. That’s not what their faith tells them. They are torn. Hate the sin love the sinner. Sanctity of marriage, wonderful, miraculous, life-giving sacrament of marriage. Between a man and a woman. (Marriage between a man and woman is still a sacrament even if they are infertile, one said. Felt like she was going to add, 'bless their hearts,' to that.)
The gays are great to go to dinner club with. They're perfectly nice people. Their homosexuality is just their cross to bear said one woman who mentioned a gay family member. He was wonderful but that was his "cross."
I felt sick to my stomach.
“If you’re that torn up about going to a gay wedding, don’t go,” I blurted out. (Thinking the gays would probably do just fine without them there and the wedding would be more fun without a bunch of torn up Catholics sitting there secretly praying for their souls. I mean, have you been to a gay wedding? Generally more fun than one in the parish hall. Just sayin’.)
I continued, “Do you think that somewhere out there there’s a group of gay people sitting around in a circle saying, ‘I don’t agree with what straight people do, but some of my best friends are straight! They were made in God’s image after all? He’ll have mercy on them.” They laughed a little at that.
I told them I’ve (gasp) been to gay weddings. That my brother is gay. That they don’t know who is sitting in that room. I said that discussions like this make it hard for me to go to church (or something along those lines, because I was getting emotional and inarticulate). Something about our church keeps me coming back and makes it hard to leave.
What I didn’t say is it’s sure as hell not a “small group.”
I cried on my way home, filled with rage. I can’t say anyone was outright hateful – they were just speaking candidly about their struggles in a small group. But I was still mad. Why were people still so judgmental? So self-righteous? Why had I wasted that hour? Why get upset?
When I got home I started laundry. Putting it away I heard my son sing a song he’d learned in Sunday school. His sweet four year old voice softened the jagged edges of my anger.
I often struggle with why I choose to raise him in the Catholic Church. There are many more walks we could choose from. It is, like the rest of my faith, a bit of a mystery. But he’s starting to say his prayers in earnest, and we’ll keep going.
Just not to any group that’s small.
Related Links:
Rituals of the Cloth
The Florida Independent: Catholic Groups Spent Millions Supporting Anti-Gay Marriage Efforts