I hated church. My mom made us go every Sunday of our lives until we were 18. There was no way out of it. Believe me, I tried. I don’t think any of us were lucky enough to get sick on Sunday.
It was the monotony of it all. I grew up Catholic and the repetition of the mass every single Sunday was mind-numbing. If this was anything like God, how would I endure an eternity with him?
Then it got worse. We moved to a tiny little town where the priest literally spoke in the same, unlilting monotone the whole time, punctuated by a throat-clearing tic every few words. It was too bad to be true. That hour each week was torture. I looked at my dad’s watch every aching minute of precious time gone down the tubes.
“Why would they ever let this guy be a priest, Mom?”
“Well, they send all the dynamic priests to churches in the big cities. The small towns get the rest.”
“Oh. Great.”
I remember one Christmas my older brother was visiting us. When we walked out of Midnight Mass he said, “Wow. I felt so good going in and now I feel so bad coming out!” My mom remembers it well and laughs about it a lot.
When I turned 18, I’m sure my mom hoped that with confirmation under my belt, I’d feel a devout pull to align myself with the Catholic way. No way! I was free! I didn’t even remember what they got me to say in confirmation. I just did it because there was no getting out of it. My age had finally rescued me from obligation.
I had paid the price – almost 1,000 excruciatingly dull Sunday masses – one every week from birth to 18.
For the first time in my life, I got to revel in staying in bed on a Sunday. It was a fantastic feeling.
Almost 30 years later, I am that parent, and my kids are now me, the 14-year-old asking, “When will it be over, Mom?”
(He has no idea how good he’s got it.)
to be continued…
Copyright © 2020 Edee Kulper, excerpt from a book in progress
I’ve been in different situations over my “chosen” faith lifetime that has left me frustrated and watching the clock. One thing we used to do was try to capture one takeaway to discuss over lunch. Some days it was easy and others not. But it gave us focus and proved a good tool to see the ”good points” in a sermon.
Amazing how something inspiring and life-affecting can be dulled to barely-tolerable lifelessness. I learned the trait of endurance in those years.