This is who we are

It was the Saturday before Pentecost. The evening vigil Mass had just let out, and I hung around the back of church. Sellers of fair-trade Latin American goods, mostly crosses and woven religious art, had set up tables. I scanned prices and listened to people talking around me.

One parishioner, conversing with a table staffer, related: “So then she said, all you people are cannibals.” My ears pricked up.

Apparently, the parishioner had been traveling in Latin America when he encountered a Protestant fundamentalist, whether convert or missionary I wasn’t sure. A heated discussion ensued. “Cannibalism” was the fundamentalist’s term for the Catholic Eucharist.

I smiled. My family and I had been here before.

My mom grew up on a street where one side was a solid Polish enclave. That was her side. The other side, and the rest of the neighborhood, consisted of what my grandparents somewhat dismissively called the Americanski, the Americans.

In Mom’s retelling, the Americanski kids simply did not get the Polski kids. The Americanski asked her why she wasn’t Christian. She asked why they thought that. Well, the Americanski responded, you Catholics don’t pray to God: you pray to statues. Mom had that argument enough times to still be smarting over it decades later.

I had that argument once, too. Almost. I was on a field trip in eighth grade. Two kids in the next school bus seat abruptly turned around and confronted me. “Are you Catholic,” one of them loudly demanded to know, “or are you Christian?”

I punted. “Catholics are Christian.”

One kid turned to the other: “See, didn’t I tell you?” They began arguing about whether it could be true. Happily ignored, I stared out the window.

More recently, just a few months ago, I noticed that whenever I got on or off my train in the Chicago Loop, there were typically several people outside the station, promoting a rack of free books and chatting with commuters. The tracts were entitled “What Does the Bible Really Teach?” I waited until one time when nobody was around before snatching my copy.

According to the tract, one of the important things the Bible really taught was the signs of the End Times. There were drawings of specific trials and tribulations we would endure in the last days. I recall: one showed a man shouting at his wife. One showed a soldier at war. And one showed a smug-looking pope standing on a balcony.

I threw the book in the trash.

To my Protestant relatives and friends: I very much understand that in the year 2013, such encounters are outliers, brushes with the fringe. Also, I am actually thankful for experiences of religious friction. You learn who you really are. You speak your own name. Once you start doing that, nobody takes it away.

Nobody takes it away. Even when, in a somewhat eye-popping about-face, the main people telling me who I am not are overwhelmingly Catholics themselves.

When I read online articles about Catholic issues, I regularly find people in the comment sections hissing that we progressives should just go become Episcopalians, a word spat out as though it were an obvious corollary of gambling, drinking, and debauchery. We are ordered to leave the holy, easily-irritated remnant in peace.

Some bishops openly agree, though their phrasing is more subdued. Bishop Thomas J. Paprocki of Springfield, Illinois, recently joined LGBT advocate Sr. Jeannine Gramick, SL, in Phoenix to speak about gay marriage. According to an NCR article by Michael Clancy, Paprocki darn near personally suggested to a young woman that if she disagreed with him, it was time to go:

One of the youngest people in the room said she was a devout Catholic, but when her aunt and sister told her they were gay, she was put on the spot. She asked Paprocki if she could remain a good Catholic and still support her family members in their desires to form lifelong relationships.

“It is a struggle to be a good Catholic while supporting gay marriage,” the bishop said. “It strains your relationship with the church.”

He said those who oppose the church on the issue should become Protestants. “They do a lot of good things too,” he said.

But such noises, while initially jarring, soon sound about as sensible to me as “cannibalism” did. I’ve already been there, heard all that. So have we all. We’re grown-ups now, and the commands and definitions offered by the fundamentalist fringe, whether street-corner preachers or Catholic bishops, don’t faze us anymore. We know in our bones that, as Pope Benedict XV (r. 1914-22) put it, Christian is our first name and Catholic our surname. This is who we are. We claim it. We’re not leaving.

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4 thoughts on “This is who we are

  1. I couldn’t tell you how many times as a teacher that I’ve had students ask me if I’m Catholic or Christian. They seem puzzled when I tell them that Catholics are Christian.

    • You’ve randomly reminded me of another story I could have told here, had I thought of it. I worked at a public library for a while. One time, the children’s librarian was talking about how she believed God had led her to her present job, and would lead her to other jobs in the future. She asked me if I was a Christian. I said yes. She brightened and wanted to know what denomination. I said Catholic. Her faze froze awkwardly and unblinkingly for a couple of seconds. Then she said it was time for her to get back to work now. With that, the conversation died.

  2. Ha — I would have done the same thing, snatched up one of the books when no one else was around.

    The “Catholics vs. Christian” mentality really bothers me, too. I remember being in a Christian bookstore once, and picking up a book all about how the Pope was the anti-Christ and the Catholic Church was the Whore of Babylon. I was so offended that this “Christian” bookstore seemingly had no regard for their Catholic customers. I never patronized that bookstore again.

    It’s true that being in favor of same-sex marriage strains your relationship with the Church, but only because the Church keeps making cringe-worthy and embarassing statements around the issue that makes one want to distance oneself from any association with it …

    • This one time on late-late-late-TV, I saw a very imaginative attempt to apply the dreaded “666” to the papacy. But thankfully, the preacher seemed weirdly intent on applying it to Pope Pius VI, who died in 1799. Thus I could breathe a small sigh of relief.

      Paprocki’s words definitely “strain our relationship with the church” all by themselves. It’s new, startling behavior for a bishop. It’s one thing to talk generally about a “smaller, purer church,” a concept bandied about during Benedict’s papacy (though I don’t think the exact phrase is traceable to him), or to speak darkly and ruefully of “those people” who have “separated themselves” or “fallen away.” It’s totally another thing, a consummately “cringe-worthy and embarrassing” thing, for a bishop to offer what amounts to a specific directive that “you folks need to go be Protestant.”

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