Pew Poems & Pieces
How I Got Here
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Fifty-five years ago, in the days we could write what we Catholics called, “Offertory petitions,” not yet our wedding vows (perish the thought!), I wrote: “That we may dwell in the House of the Lord all the days of our lives.” Of the six or seven blessings my husband and I sought in our married life, Church membership scored. I often wonder, how I knew, even at the tender age of 21, when my Catholic identity was fully embraced, that remaining faithful to the Church would someday be a challenge.
In that list of petitions, my husband and I also asked the congregation to join us in prayer that we might live to see our children’s children. In my case, that came true, but my husband died ten years after we married, leaving behind his two much-loved daughters. All of this not-knowing what life will deliver, despite early premonitions of probable-doom is why people (or at least I) cry at weddings. Or maybe I cry at weddings because my Irish heritage kicks in.
We wrote that petition in the heady (and heart full) post-Vatican years. Much has happened, or been revealed, since that time, and today I would dare say the Church is as divided as the country is. I identify still with the hope of those early years when Pope John XXIII established the Second Vatican Council to “open the windows and let in the fresh air.” The Church is the People of God, declared the Council. And I assumed women were among those people.
I still attend Mass every Sunday, and often on weekdays. And I join with the congregation, in affirming the Nicene Creed, “for us men and for our salvation, He came down from Heaven.” For us MEN!!? I physically tense as the liturgy approaches those words, which for people who don’t know the Catholic Mass, the congregation speaks out loud.
Why do I keep doing this? Because it’s my Church and I love it. I want to dwell in it all the days of my life. What I wanted 55 years ago and what I want today: the same. I’ve had so many grace-filled experiences in Mass. I love the church’s rituals, liturgies, its sacraments marking the human journey with spiritual markers. As a member of the Communion of Saints, I’ve learned so much about the spiritual path. The Church’s intellectual tradition is rich and open-minded, despite the periodic repressiveness. I received a rigorous meaning-full education from sisters, priests and dedicated lay people in parochial schools from Kindergarten all the way through college. I love the Church who taught me to work for a preferential option for the poor and marginalized, a Church of the Beatitudes, a Church Jesus would recognize and bless.
And, despite the current discord, I believe the Church has room for me and voices, like mine. To that end, I speak. And I do feel heard. I’m not the only one writing and speaking out. I have written poems as a faithful Catholic which express my anger and frustration. I’ve also written poems of joy and discovery specifically in the confines of church, in the pews, so to speak. Many of these poems have been published but they are scattered and therefore difficult to find. I’ve also begun reviewing books that move the Church conversation forward, or at least my version of “forward.”
I believe this is a good thing to do within the Church I love which has given so much to me. I know change in an institution as large and unwieldy as the Catholic Church is painfully slow. I also know that given the gift of grace, it can be lightning-quick. That is in God’s hands, and ours.
I’ve looked for a place to gather writings, past and future (for which I own the copyright) and decided to try a Medium publication. So- going forward, here are poems and reviews with some connection to Church, especially those of internal struggle, and the way we, as the people of God, can make the world a place of peace and joy.
