Confirmed

Grams and Grandad spent the weekend in Houston with Nick and Marie. We were there to celebrate with them as Marie received the sacrament of confirmation.

Marie being anointed, the priest moved right in front of her just as I snapped the photo

The confirmation took place on Sunday evening at Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church. Although we've been practicing Catholics for our entire married life, this was a unique experience. Our Lady of Lourdes is actually Giáo Xứ Đức Mẹ Lộ Đức which is a Vietnamese parish of the Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston. The church hosted confirmation for several parishes last Sunday, which also was Pentecost Sunday. I think there were close to a hundred adults who were confirmed that night. Most Catholics are confirmed as teenagers, but often, for one reason or another, while they are baptized as babies and receive communion around eight years old, they never get around to confirmation. Such was the case with Marie.

I want to tell you a little bit about the church. The building is only about a year old and is really, really beautiful. This is the second new church I've been to in the Diocese of Galveston-Houston, and they are really exceptionally beautiful in the traditional sense. So many modern churches look like retail establishments. These buildings are much more traditional and I'm sure much more expensive. But, kudos to their architect. They really are gorgeous. This church has mass in the Vietnamese language with one mass in English on Sunday.

Photo from here

As you can see, the church is beautiful. But, the church is not the building. The church is the people and this church has some wonderful people. You could tell they were proud to be hosting this event and they were proud of their church. As we arrived that evening, I was intrigued to see several ladies in traditional Vietnamese clothing. As it turned out, those dresses were lay minister's vestments. The Eucharistic Ministers wore white and gold and the Hospitality Ministers wore bright pink.

I snapped these photos with no flash because they were taken during the mass. I thought the traditional dress was a beautiful addition to a very special celebration. Eucharistic Ministers at our church and at most churches dress exactly like the photo below. Serviceable and neat, but much less beautiful.

Photo from here

I have to say that I was very disappointed in the behavior of quite a few of the people who attended this mass. Before the service began, an announcement was made requesting that everyone refrain from flash photography and from moving forward to take photos during the service. There would be ample time afterward to pose for pictures and the Vicar General, who was bestowing the sacrament, would be happy to pose for photographs after mass. Over and over during the very long service, people with cameras got up and walked in front of everyone to snap a photograph. Some even had their friends stop in front of the altar and pose for pictures during the mass. It was very disrespectful of others who were straining to see their own loved ones as they were anointed.

Marie chose Christopher as her saint's name. Saint Christopher is the patron saint of travelers. Marie is definitely a traveler herself. Next week Marie will start her new assignment with Exxon in Norway. Here is the newly confirmed Marie with her husband and sponsor Nick. Congratulations Marie, we are very proud of you!

I thought you might also like to see that today I have a new blogging assistant. Her Highness is asleep on the sofa right next to me. Yesterday we drove home from Houston to Corpus Christi. Then we met Katy in Three Rivers last night and I came back to San Antonio with her to spend the week taking care of Her Highness. Grandad will come up for the weekend. Our Little Princess has gone with her Daddy and big sister Mady to visit family and friends in Louisiana.

As you can see, we're both working very hard. Nice work if you can get it.

One of those subjects we should avoid ... Religion

Grams has spent several days writing and re-writing this post.  I realize that it will not be popular and will probably tick some people off to the extreme. But I'm going to publish it anyway, because sometimes you've just got to say what you've got to say. This is one of those times.

Grams was raised in the Southern Baptist Church. When I say that I mean, if the church-house was open, we were there. We went to Sunday School and church services on Sunday morning. We went to training union and evening services on Sunday night. And we went to prayer meeting on Wednesday night. As teenagers our entire social life was centered on the church. We had youth group on Tuesday and sometimes Thursday nights, youth choir on Sunday afternoons, and youth fellowship on Sunday nights. We went to church camp in the summer and usually one or two weekend retreats during the year. Most of my friends were from the church and virtually everyone I ever dated I met at church. By the time I was in high school, I started teaching Sunday School.

Grandad was the only guy I ever dated who was not Baptist. Grandad is Roman Catholic. He never misses mass on Sunday or on Holy Days.  He goes to confession regularly and has, at various times, served as a lay minister and director of several parish programs. He even went to the minor seminary with the intent of becoming a priest. Basically, he's as Catholic as I was Baptist.

After we married, we tried attending both churches but it was short-lived. Honestly, every time Grandad walked into a Baptist Church, he acted like he was about to be struck by lightning. After a couple of years, I realized that the basics are the same, it's the trappings that are different. Baptist churches are generally plain and unadorned, Catholic churches are ornate and highly decorated. Catholic priests wear vestments, Baptist ministers wear suits.

As a young bride and before we had children, Grams converted to Catholicism. I just couldn't see trying to raise kids in both churches. I think religion is confusing enough if you're getting the same message all the time. Trying to teach both to a kid ... that's just too much. So after a few months of instruction from a priest, I was confirmed in the Catholic Church on Palm Sunday in 1978.

I said all that to say this, I have spent my life around people who profess faith in God. Most of my friends and acquaintances are self-professed Christians. But I can't help but wonder if they really believe what they claim to believe. Do they practice their religion because that's how they were raised or have they really thought about what they believe and why they believe it?

For example, Catholics believe in "transubstantiation." That means they believe that when the bread and wine are blessed by the priest during mass, they actually become the body and blood of Christ. Let me be clear, they don't believe it represents the body and blood, they believe it becomes the body and blood. But, it has long been my contention that most Catholics don't really believe in transubstantiation. I think that if they really believed that transubstantiation was real, churches would not hold everyone who would want to receive communion. If the faithful really believed that they could receive the actual body and blood of Christ, they would not be able to stay away.

With the exception of about a year in 2003-2004, there has never been a time in my life when I didn't attend Sunday services of some type every single week. Over the past several years, I've come to realize that I'm a product of both my birth and my circumstance. I worship as I do because that's what I've been taught and where I've been, not because of my own investigation or understanding.

I know there are many other religious groups who believe many things and follow different doctrines ... some I agree with and some I don't. But, what I have come to believe in recent years is that modern religion is mostly designed as a control mechanism. It's all about someone controlling someone else. Whether it's birth control, abortion, dancing, or any of a plethora of other subjects, it really is about control.

I'm trying to become more conscious of my own beliefs and my own thoughts. You see ... the bottom line is that I have my own brain and my own conscience and I can think for myself. I don't need the church or anyone else telling me that I have to do this or not do that. Maybe I'm just burned out on church ... or maybe I'm just moving on to the next step. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I've lost my faith, but I'd willingly lose my religion!

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Church

Grams and Grandad are in Houston this weekend dog-sitting for our Grand-dogs while Nick and Marie are in San Antonio. They live in northeast Houston, very close to Humble.  We decided that we would drive over to Kingwood for mass this Mother's Day at St. Martha's Catholic Church.  We had driven past it before and thought it would be nice.  We didn't remember exactly where it was so I "googled" the address, punched it into my Tom-Tom, and headed for church.  As usual, we were running on a very tight schedule.

We hurried the ten or so miles following the directions step by step.  As we made the last turn onto Woodland Hills Drive, there was a huge church on our right.  I thought to myself that the church was bigger than I remembered.  We turned into the driveway, ready to rush in just in time for the service to start.  The parking lot was full and there were cars parked along the side of the road.  We noticed a big sign in the parking lot that said "Free Valet Parking."  I must admit that I found that a little odd.  But again to myself, I thought that, given how crowded it seemed, valet parking was a great idea.  We were greeted by two very friendly "parishioners" who were dressed in khakis and golf shirts.  One of them drove off to park our car while to other one pointed us towards the "sanctuary."

As we turned to head towards the church I saw it ... a small sign that said "Welcome to Kingwood Baptist Church."

I quietly tugged on Grandad's arm, he leaned over and I whispered in his ear, "This is a Baptist church." The look of shock on his face was priceless.  He turned to the one remaining valet attendant and explained to him that we were at the wrong church.  I stood by quietly beginning to laugh.  The attendant jumped into a handy golf cart and chased down our car.  They were very gracious and invited us to stay for services at their church even suggesting that we could be "Southern Baptist for the day."  I jokingly told them that I was raised Southern Baptist, but I used to tell my Mother that I overcame it.  They didn't laugh.

As soon as we got in the car, I started laughing maniacally.  I got a huge kick out of almost getting Grandad into the Baptist Church for the day.  He didn't think it was as funny as I did, although he did seem mildly amused.

We made it to St. Martha's just in time for the opening hymn.  It was a special treat, because it was first communion Sunday at St. Martha's.  There is nothing sweeter than second graders dressed up for their first communion.  I'm happy to report that St. Martha's was just as crowded and just as friendly as Kingwood Baptist seemed.  The service was a lovely celebration of first communion and Mother's Day.  They have a fabulous choir, friendly people, an entertaining and interesting priest.   I really enjoyed being there.

However, I can't help but think that my Mother (God rest her soul) had a hand in guiding us to Kingwood Baptist Church for Mother's Day.  Some people never give up!

The Catechism of Kids and Candy

Grams was raised in the Southern Baptist Church.  As an adult, I converted to Catholicism because that's what Grandad practices and I reasoned that I can serve God where ever he put me.  Since I know many who read my blog are not Catholic, I'm going to give you a little bit of background on the Catholic sacrament of First Holy Communion and the rites and traditions that surround it.

May is First Holy Communion season in the Catholic church.  Picture angelic little children ... girls dressed in white dresses and veils, boys dressed in dark trousers with white shirts and wearing their first-ever neckties.  (Those are my children on the right.)

In our diocese, children must complete at least two years of religious education (formerly known as CCD) by attending weekly classes.  It's traditional to make your First Holy Communion  in the second grade, so that makes the kids about 7-8 years old.

There are numerous horror stories where overzealous priests and/or bishops quiz kids about their Catechism or ask them to recite prayers aloud during Mass.  As you might imagine, these stories usually include kids who freeze up and can't answer said questions or recite a even single Hail Mary. Most modern priests have long since abandoned this practice and, if they do question the communicants or make them recite prayers, they do it before the Mass in one of the religious-education classes.

Mass usually begins with a procession down the main aisle of the church.  The procession is led by a "cross-bearer" who carries a large crucifix, followed by altar servers, the lector, Eucharistic lay ministers, and the priest.  On First Communion Sunday, the First Communicants join this procession, following right behind the alter servers.  It's a very serious and stately procession.  The religious education teachers have carefully instructed their students to walk with their hands folded prayerfully.  When the procession begins, the congregation stands and the choir sings.  Moms, Dads and Grandparents lean into the aisle and snap photos of their little angels walking in the procession.

The Communicants then sit together, right up at the front of the church, with their families and loved ones right behind them.  When it's time for communion, these First Communicants go first.  Again, many photos are snapped; although some churches prohibit photography during the actual Communion.

Grams and Grandad attend a very small rural church.  In fact, it's so small that most years we only have one or two kids making their first communion.  This year's class was huge.  There were five First Communicants.

To say that our priest is "old school" would be an understatement of epic proportions.  He's a very pious, serious and old-fashioned priest who has been elevated to the honorary position of Monsignor.   Most people his age would be retired, but given the shortage of priests, he's been moved to our small parish which is as close to retirement as you can get.  He still celebrates Mass every day for our tiny little parish.  And while I appreciate his service, I have noticed that the "old school" part of him can't quite give up many of the old ways.

This morning's Mass and First Communion went very well right up until the end.  It was clear that the CCD teachers, parents and students had all done their jobs admirably. The kids were well behaved and well prepared. 

After Communion, while the Eucharistic Ministers where clearing the altar, I noticed that one of the First Communicants got up and went to the back of the church, presumably to the bathroom.  Before the young man returned, Monsignor got up from his seat, came down off of the altar, and stood right in front of the kids.  For a moment I thought he was going to shake hands with the First Communicants and congratulate them.  But, alas, the "old school" part of him felt the need for one more lesson about the importance of attending church regularly.  It went something like this.

He started by saying in his loud and stately voice, "What and have we already lost one of our children?"  The congregation chuckled.

He continued "Well children, now that you've received Jesus through Holy Communion, it's your responsibility to attend church every Sunday or Saturday night.  But, since you're only 7 years old, it's your parents' responsibility to make sure you get to church every Sunday.  Because if someone saw a child your age walking down the street alone you could get picked up."  (At this point the voice in my head went "Huh?")

He continued by asking "Do you know your multiplication yet?"  A little voice responded "I know some."

Monsignor quizzed "Whats 24 x 7?"  I couldn't hear the response but, obviously, it was something that included "No, that's too hard." or some variation of that.

Monsignor decided to take a different tack.  "How many hours in a week?"  Again some inaudible response from one of the little people that indicated that the answer was above their education and ability. 

As Monsignor continued, the "missing" child came out of the bathroom and realized he might be missing something important.  This led him to dash full speed down the center aisle only to skid to a stop and slip, not so quietly, into the front row of seats.  (I, along with several other parishioners, stifled a giggle.)

Undaunted by the interruption, Monsignor decided to answer his own question.  "There are 168 hours in a week and Jesus only asks for one of those hours."  (Again, the voice in my head with the "Huh?" and I thought to myself "that's not exactly what he means.") 

Clearly these kids were not getting the point to Monsignor's satisfaction.  He decided an illustration was in order.  "If you had 168 pieces of candy and your friend asked for one, would you give it to him?"  A little voice answered clearly and firmly "No!"

Monsignor rephrased and directed the question to another child "If you had 168 pieces of candy and your brother asked for one, you'd give it to him.  Wouldn't you?"  Again, the answer is an emphatic "No!  He never shares with me."  The entire congregation busted out laughing uproariously.  

At this point Monsignor abandoned the question and answer part of the program and made his point that these children have reached the "age of accountability" and must now attend church to satisfy their Sunday obligation and, until they're big enough to get there on their own, it's their parents responsibility to get them there.  He then returned to the altar, gave his final blessing and followed the recession out of the church.

We left the church with everyone talking about the refreshing honesty of children.  Even the stoic and serious Monsignor was smiling with a twinkle in his eye as we filed out and shook his hand.