You're Still Catholic?

by

J.C. Sullivan

If I needed a reminder of why I don’t go to Mass every Sunday, a recent Christmas provided it. I must qualify what follows however.

Because of my previous writings critical of some practices of the Roman Catholic Church, some have thought I had abandoned the Roman Catholic faith into which I was born. I have abandoned the American Democratic Party, I confess. And, individuals within the Roman Catholic faith have certainly given me reasons to think, “Hey, why the H… have I remained Catholic?” Certainly some priests and other individuals have given me reason to become agnostic. However, my personal spirituality holds that faith and religion are two different things; faith being spiritually given while religion is man-made. But, back to Christmas Mass.

In anticipation of the 10:00 a.m. Christmas Day Mass at St. Barnabas,  I showered, shaved and donned a class “A” uniform, i.e., dress clothes. Our church building is what might be called modernistic – we have no kneelers, which isn't a bad thing. However, except for a few of the faithful, I don’t believe American Catholics have any sense of  reverence.

I observed men, women and families beginning to fill the pews. In they came – men in jeans, their sons in numbered sports jerseys with football players names on the back. Most wandered into their chosen pew, many with their hands in their pockets. No sense of reverence, no acknowledgement of the tabernacle and the presence of God. No bowing of the head, no genuflection, as if they were entering a movie theater. In came oversized women who ought to be wearing clothing that flatter their figure but instead are squeezed  into undersized pants. Don’t they know how they look?

Inside the church, in front, hangs a painting of what, I suppose, is somebody’s depiction of  what the historical Jesus looked like. I don’t know how they know that – maybe a painting of Jesus has survived and they have painted a newer, larger version. It’s a  distraction to me.

Yet, despite all these personal misgivings, I see the innocent child peering back over the pew in whose family is seated. The brass is heard clearly, enhancing the music from the cantor. The bell choir is novel and appreciated. Most important, however, is the presence of the faithful. My presence there carries on the tradition of my family. I’m aware of the history of the Irish and the persecution of those of the Catholic faith. I’m there because I want to be – an outward sign of my faith.

I’ve been given a good Catholic education in grade and high school. As one of nine children of a Cleveland Detective, my parents sacrificed to pay tuition to insure I had a Catholic education. It’s been a good base for the development of my spiritual growth, which wasn’t an easy task for my parents and teachers, and has given me an inquisitive mind.

I thank the Sisters and Priests of my boyhood who gave me an education in faith and morality. I thank the Benedictine Brothers and Priests of my high school for being the models of manhood that I remember. I thank my parents for loving me inspite of having given them reasons for not doing so. 

It’s for these reasons that I don’t go to church every Sunday. It’s for these reasons I have remained Roman Catholic.