When I was still very young, my family attended a nearby Protestant church within walking distance. I don’t know why we stopped going; it may have been that getting two small children up and ready grew too complicated. But maternal grandmother stepped in, and I began going with her to St. Bernard’s Roman Catholic Church, downtown.
The Mass was in Latin; I had no clue what was being said, but the beauty of the Gothic space gave me my first taste of awe. Pink and blue angels painted on the ceiling hovered in a circle above us; saints and more angels were painted on the walls. Two tiers of stained-glass windows reflected color over the congregants. Gold-bedecked statues flanked the marble altar. My Gran walked forward to that altar for Eucharist, and when she came back, she knelt and put her hands over her face to pray. When she cupped her palms over her eyes, she became someone else, unknowable. Mystery was everywhere in that space, and it drew me. At home, Gran had a plastic faux ivory rectangle with electric lights arranged to simulate an altar. It sat on the buffet flanked by lit candles decorated with pictures of Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower, or of the Virgin Mary. It all seemed holy to me. Whenever we visited, I walked to the buffet, knelt, and sang “Silent Night,” the most sacred song I knew. So far as I know, no one taught me to do this. Certainly no one paid any attention to me. I’ve always believed that if we had not moved when I was eight, if I had made my First Holy Communion, I would have become a nun. Had we not moved from deep in that fume-filled city, however, I would not have known early loneliness, solitude, or the comfort of books.
1 Comment
MJ White
7/13/2022 01:22:06 pm
I love the idea of alternate lives, here in this piece, you, Judy, as a nun.
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Baptist GirlI was a conservative Baptist girl who grew up to become a career Christian, working first in a Baptist school and then in a Baptist college. For about three decades, it was very good until it wasn’t, and I had to leave. But the Baptists formed me. This is my homage to the good times and good people of the world I left, finally, at forty-three, when I became an Episcopalian. These are my memories; others might disagree with my recollections. So be it. Archives
January 2024
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