Dirty Catholic

Giving Thanks

Last week I quit my church job. No two weeks notice, no big sad party. I simply walked into a meeting with my boss and walked out free. 

In truth, it's been a long time coming.  Since I went part-time last May, things never quite fit. I trained a lovely young woman to do a lot of the administrative aspects of the job and then I spent my summer on a number of frustrating liturgy projects that took all my time and ended up going nowhere. 

Slowly, I began to find less and less reason to make the 20 mile drive to work. Why go there to type on a computer when I can type on my computer at home? Why drive there for Mass when I can walk to the parish down the street? Being physically removed from a place eased in a sense of being emotionally removed from the place. Leaving began to feel not as sad as it did when I first thought about it in May.

Then there was the realization that my husband's faith life also matters. He has always been incredibly supportive of my slightly unusual vocation, but at long as I was working at a parish located an hour from where he works in San Fransisco, he couldn't participate as fully as he would like. No church choir, no classes, no committees. He simply couldn't get from work to church on a weeknight.

The parish is an amazing place, though. It's arguably one of the most diverse churches in the diocese. English, Spanish, Portuguese, Tagalog, Tongan, and Ibo (A Nigerian dialect) are the major cultural-linguistic groups at the parish, along with a smattering of other groups. Going to Mass is there is an amazing reminder of the diversity of the church and how being Catholic really does mean, "Here comes everybody!" The Eucharistic procession in an  colorful parade of all the various faces of Christ in the world.

Even in light of the beauty and kindness of the community, I feel ready to move on. The first Sunday of Advent would have marked my 4th year at the parish. Add to that the 2 years in high school organizing youth groups, 4 years in college leading RCIA, and 4 years in grad school doing all sorts of different ministries, and I've been at this sort of work for 14 years, a little under half of my life. I figure it's time for a sabbatical. 

My husband helped me pack up my office last Sunday and as were finishing up one of the last things I grabbed was a framed quote from Dag Hammarskjold that easily sums up how I'm feeling about this transition. It simply says, "For every thing that has been, THANKS. For everything that will be, YES!" 

Job Perks

I am racking up Godchildren like a hooker on Saturday night.

Aside from my sister's parish, (Episcopalians!) who made me attend a three hour baptismal prep class (it remains unclear if it was because we're heretical Catholics or because my sister neglected to mention baptismal classes were part of what I do for a living),  the "I am a DRE" thing generally gets me out of mandatory boring classes on baptismal theology. Which is probably for the best, as I have a hard time keeping it to myself when I think something is being done poorly.

Yesterday as I filled out the forms for our new Godchild, I called to ask if I could just sign myself out, since I teach baptismal classes, and, if they wouldn't mind, could I just  teach a quicky class to my husband and sign him out, too.

"Of course! That's fine! But the signature at the bottom, that can't be yours. It has to be a priest."

Of course it does.

Docent Schmocent

Welcome the Cathedral. Isn't it pretty? Here's a big ol' Jesus, and lots of douglas fir louvers that don't move, and a floor and some pews, and way down there is a guy walking around. Thanks for coming. See you later!

Okay, I might be tempted to go into slightly more detail than that, but we'll see. In the meantime, there was a front-page article in the SF Chronicle on Saturday that you can read here.

Oh, and remember how I said the cathedral has a...feminine... feel to it?  Well, our directors have suggested that the cathedral is womb-like, that it's "sacred geometry" is like a birth canal. (That's right friends, another word for "birth canal" is VAGINA.) I would usually be delighted about by the chance to say "vagina" on a tour, but docents won't have access to a defibrillator, so I'd be unable to resuscitate all the old ladies who drop dead from shock. I guess I'll have to stick to calling it a fish bladder.

I Can Hardly Wait

So, the Mass, it is changing. Again. I've been reading about it in the churchy media for a while, but now that it's hit NPR, it seems so...final. Transitions like these are not fun work for liturgist, and we just went through the same crap with the new GIRM a few years ago.

 Mark my words. I will leave before I lead a parish in learning the new Mass translation. 

Volunteeristic Vice

Recently I've have two experiences that made me think: "I could do that so much better."

First was at the wedding of "the Dads," the family that my sister and I have been nannies for for ages. They had a commitment ceremony before we met them, maybe ten years ago, but with the recent legal strides in our fair state, they decided to go for the legal recognition.

At their (very brief) city hall wedding, the officiant, who could not find her way out of a liturgical paper bag, instructed Papi to say his vows and then began the exchange of rings, skipping Abba's vows, even after Abba gently reminded her about them. ("Later," she said, and by "Later" she apparently meant, "After this is over and you go home.")

As a liturgist, a specialist of ritual, I was royally pissed off. Ritual eases us into transition and marks sacred time and events. It's familiar enough that everyone knows the parts. We've been to enough weddings to know that both people get to say something. Abba knew he was missing out. But the officiant was oblivious. Who let this woman volunteer? How many weddings has she ruined? In Catholic circles, missing the vows makes the whole thing invalid. Luckily it's the paperwork, not the ceremony, that counts in civil circles. But nonetheless, what the hell?

I could totally do it better.

Then of course, there's the youtube video of a tour of Oakland's new Cathedral. The tour director is fine, but something about the way he talks ("The bronze is going to get rough and that's... beautiful?") that makes me think... I could do that better.

So today I'm sending in applications to volunteer for both civil ceremony officiant and Cathedral docent. It's probably a bad idea to volunteer based on prideful conceit, but I just like to call it "knowing my strengths."

Wish me luck, or pray for divine intervention (like lightening?), your choice.

Musicial Differences

You have no idea how difficult it is to keep your game face on when the devout 80-year-old woman you are listening to keeps referring to the pianist as "the penis."

The Learning Curve

We had our annual First Communion Mass marathon this weekend. Here are some of the things that I learned:

1. According to the preacher, all the children at the service were conceived "in holy communion." (No wonder Catholics have so many kids.)

2. Even if I beg, plead, and cajole beforehand, the only way to stop flashing cameras at Mass is a firm, well-timed quip from the priest.

3.  Don't wear the dress with the slit up the back when teaching kids how to do a "profound bow" at the altar.

4. Ignoring the GIRM is the best way to have a First Communions Mass that doesn't annoy the crap out of the rest of the congregation.

5. Sitting at a First Communion Service, anxiously staring at the clock so I could leave and get to Passover? Maybe it's time to switch occupations.

Just Like a Chicken

After 5 years of dealing with First Communicants and 1 month of dealing with Chickens, I present:

The Striking Similarities of Chickens & First Communicants:

1. They follow the one in front of them, even if the one in front of them has no idea what s/he's doing.

2. When you say, "Come here," they don't.

3. "Bewildered" is their most common facial expression.

4. They like to pick at whatever is nearest to them.

5. The girls have funny things on their heads.

6. The boys are noisy.

7. You have to chase down the one that you need.

8. They don't want to be where you want them to be.

9. Most adults lose their capacity for rational thought in their presence.

10. They have a hard time paying attention to anything for longer than a minute.

Trouble

"Alright, so that concludes this portion of our youth ministry immediate preparation for Communion. Communion is in just a few weeks, so we'll talk about procedure and all that next week. Before we go, do you have any questions?"

"Yes, Katrina, do you have a question?"

"Uhm, you know that Jesus guy, that you, uhm, keep talking about? Well, uhm, who is he, and why, did he, like, have to die?"

"..."

"..."

"Katrina, why don't you stay after so we can talk about this."

Tales from the Ambo

There seems to be a proliferation of unpracticed Lectors lately.

At a staff meeting, the following anecdotes were shared:

One Lector came in late and didn't see the Lectionary.  So instead she brought her daily missal up with her. Rather quickly, two things became clear: she had a missal with reflections on the readings that connected them to modern experiences, and she had an inability to turn a single page at a time. The combination of these created the following modernized proclamation: "Moses and the Israelites arrived at the Red Sea (one page turn too many) and cars were everywhere. Traffic was just completely stopped. ...The Word of the Lord?"

Then there was the Lector who spent the entire reading describing the "Friar Sis" and the "Sad Jewses" who were arguing with Jesus.

And most fresh in our mind was this Palm Sunday, when it sounded like Jesus was involved in some sort of human-trafficking from the cross, crying out, "Elly, Elly, Lemme sell back Tony!"

Perhaps you have some tales from that Ambo that you'd like to share in the comments?

(And perhaps your community, like mine, could profit from this awesome website put out by Net Ministries, which offers a transliteration and audio guide for the pronunciation of biblical words.)