Dear Pope,
Hello from a Catholic in the United States! I like your hat. And your robe. Other than that, I don't think about you much. Except when you say some REALLY ridiculous things that make Catholics seem like the most exclusive people on earth...like only men can be priests...or only heterosexuals can receive communion. I think about you when you say things like that. Then I forgive you. That hat must get heavy and scramble some things around in your brain. It doesn't matter. I am not about to tell you how to run the Catholic Church. It must be hard to run an institution where about 99% of the members are just dying for a change, and the other 1% holds the power and the money and would simply self combust at the thought of any change. Oh wait. That is what it must be like to run the United States. Poor George Bush. I forgive him now too.
Okay, so I don't think about you much, but I think about God a lot. This is better, don't you agree? I barely take a non-God-filled breath anymore, and this has nothing to do with being Catholic or the fact that you exist.
Like I said, the purpose of this letter is not to express my opinion about running the whole shebang. But I am dying to tell you about this dream I had last night:
I was at my church (which is the most fantastic place on this earth), and it was the part of the mass that was the preparation of the Eucharist. I love this part of the mass. Don't change a thing about this part. I am always entranced by the way our priest (who is the MOST fantastic priest on this earth, whom I can barely look in the eye, because he is so spiritually "with it" and I fear that he will see the parts of me that are so spiritually not "with it" that I will burst into flames or tears) handles this part of the mass. He is so meditative and deliberate, that even the simple act of preparing the table lifts my heart to a new level.
Well, in my dream, just before communion was to be given out, a mentally challenged girl got up and took all of the bread. (Now I have to wonder, in the interpretation of dreams, who this mentally challenged girl represents. Me?). Anyway, there was nothing left for the congregation to receive as communion. So the priest and the rest of the parish staff (who are also the MOST fantastic, scary, spiritually "with it" people on this earth) had to scramble. And do you know what they did? They served us brownies. BROWNIES! The most delicious, caramel-filled brownies I have ever tasted.
Now Pope, doesn't this seem like a good idea? I am sure as the ruler of one of the richest religions on the planet, you have never had to hold a bake sale. Well, keep some things up mister, and your bake-sale days are near. As a person who has attended many bake sales, I must say...people come out of the woodwork, out from holes, down from ceilings and out of offices with zeal to purchase goodies without batting an eye.
That is all I have to say. Brownies for communion. A good way to increase numbers.
I know it can't be that way. Someone told me once that when we receive the Eucharist, we are receiving each other. Good people, sick people, mystical people, mean people, handicapped and elderly. WE are the body of God. And it isn't always going to be like a delicious brownie...but we take it, fumble around with it on our tongue, and ask for the ability to forgive those people who can make life so hard for us. For many of us, those people exist in our own spirit.
Anyway, keep up that hat! Please keep talking about Peace. Please stop talking about exclusivity. This freaks people out, and we don't need any more fear from men in odd hats.
I'll get to work on perfecting that brownie recipe. When you are ready for it, you know where to find me.
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4 comments:
I have to say, brownies would go a long way to getting my ass back in a pew.
Although the whole not letting women be priests b/c we are somehow not worthy of the job is still a deal-breaker...
I just can't wrap my head around the idea of forgiveness. Forgiveness for those who make life hard. And not even hard. The word forgive implies a larger wrong has been done than a simple, everyday mistake. It's something I have long wrestled with. I've written about it and still have no conclusions. I love reading pieces like this because it gives the idea a new dimension.
I see forgiveness as a ritual in the Catholic church. I like how you juxtapose forgiveness with the Communion ritual. Even though I no longer attend church, and have never believed, I remember the hairs going up on the back of my arms when I was a child; looking at the chalice, bread plate (I know there is a term for it) and the vestments, I thought "I guess that's religion." I remember learning the word, "transsubstantiation."
Don't worry, Gina. The struggle is the point. I learned tonight that forgiveness does not equal reconciliation. Forgiveness simply means that you can breathe again through the pain that you carry around 1) for no reason or 2) because it feels so damn good and you identify with it until it makes you feel so ugly you just want to die. Kind of like an addiction.
Anyway, I struggle too.
You. Are. So. Brave.
I have only read the first few entries and it is painful how much I miss you.
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