Of my birth, in March, I don't remember
Though Mom said it was more like December.
In Saint Colette's I was welcomed wearing white
To begin to understand wrong from right.
In the beginning my only savior was the cop
Who with ice cream my tears did stop.
Into his front seat I was lightly tossed.
He took me home when I was lost.
In Ohio, I went to Catholic school
Where I confessed breaking the Golden Rule.
At eight, not knowing what sin comprised,
In my first confession I may have lied.
Many Hail Marys and Our Fathers were said
Before I stuck out my tongue to take the bread.
Here I learned some songs and petitions
But not how to say the "Act of Contrition".
This was the time the church was changing
At nine, this is what I noticed rearranging
During the communion prayers bells stopped ringing
During the holidays there was less carol singing
Also more people now helped the priest
The Eucharist lines were faster at least
The prayers once spoken were now sung
And the host taken in hands and not on the tongue
I never went to CCD or Sunday School,
So how did I learn the Catholic rules
Or the stories from The Good Book.
For religious education where did I look
To the Christmas and Easter TV shows
And the holiday poems, songs and prose
Also the Bible Crosswords I sometimes do
Provide me with a periodic review.
After a few years back in Illinois
Getting to Church became less than a joy.
There was always a Sunday morning fight
About whether it was wrong or right
To attend mass in stained holey jeans
Or in clothes clean and pristine.
Some times I wished I'd yelled "Who Cares?"
God doesn't, as long as we are there.
It became an understood weekend routine
That a McLean could never be seen
Shaking a priest's hand after church
Without the police mounting a search.
Finding us at home, already out of the car
Sidling up to Dad's cookie/milkshake bar,
Where they could arrest and book the tribe
For offering and accepting unhealthy bribes.
In High School came the first of my falls.
First Christmas and Easter than not at all.
In college there were better things to do
Like homework, parties and drinking cold brew.
I couldn't find a church, though I barely looked.
So on Sunday morning other things were booked
Like returning from home to college dorm
Or cleaning up my roommate's storm.
After I graduated and later married
With returning I often parried.
Whether for me or for future generations,
I kept getting the distinct sensation
That to organized religion I should return
And the bridges between us should burn.
Saint Julie's I quietly began to attend
So the deity I'd no longer offend
Somewhere, some one must have pulled a trigger
For I shot into Saint Michael's with such vigor.
For a year I went to RCIA to relearn
The tenets and creeds to help me discern
If I could rededicate heart and mind
To a religion I thought I couldn't find.
The classes led me on my merry way
Down the path towards Confirmation day.
This scenario may seem all well and good
But things didn't go as smoothly as they could.
My next fall was The Pedophile mess
When I left the church in some distress
At how men could bandage this canker sore
Letting the victims suffer all the more.
But again I found a reason to come back
From Father Tim's singing sermons I felt a lack
When things seemed to be just peachy keen
It became time for fate to intervene.
A church error slapped me in the face
When a letter kicked me out of my place.
And diet excommunicated me from the Eucharist
As with a wheat allergy I was kissed.
I felt strange sitting alone in my pew
While the others joined the Communion queues.
At somewhat of a mystical disconnection
And feeling it time to seek a new direction.,
I renewed my own religious education
By attending churches of all denominations.
Methodist, Lutheran, Episcopal, Baptist
I found, in the end, I'd remain a Papist.
I've rediscovered my religious home
And I will no longer have to roam
dragonpoet
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