Showing posts with label Story about my religious Roman Catholic mother and the cost of her belief system to our family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Story about my religious Roman Catholic mother and the cost of her belief system to our family. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Open Your Eyes to the History of the Catholic Church

As I turn on to Duke Of Wellington St., inch Verdun, I oculus yet another of the Roman Catholic Annual Collect postings of a Renaissance picture of the kid Jesus, tucked lovingly into the warm encompass of his darling mother, yet Virgin, Mary. Their eyes serenely closed, female parent and kid bask deep bonding. The advertizement petitions money and reads "The Catholic Church – keeping the household alive."

What is incorrect with this picture, displayed all over Montreal, in footing of Catholicity and household life?

The fine art might suit in the dining room of a priest's abode but how makes it associate to the history of 'The Family' vis-à-vis The Catholic Church? I walk on feeling both angry and sad.

Suddenly, I conceive of myself sponging wet gum over the offending posting and slapping on, instead, a exposure of my Roman Catholic Irish People mother, Agnes, from St. Henri, QC taken in the 1960's.

This bad photograph would item a true witnesser of the human relationship between the Church and The Family: her sagging breast and stomach, her twelve children crowding unit of ammunition her in assorted states of lostness, my mother's panicky eyes, staring unfastened and consecutive ahead inquire "How are we going to pay the measures this month?" Unable to stretch along Dad's nice dollar far enough, Mother is not smiling nor are her children. My parents tithed to the Church even then.

As a small girl, there was something else I thought odd, although I soon learned to hush myself, to subdue such as insight. One eventide after female parent dished up the dinner she'd cooked throughout the afternoon in the two giant pots she used so well, she whipped down the hall, grabbed her coat and hastened to the door.

"Where are you going, Ma?" I asked

"One of Delores' brood is still ill so I'm going over to repair Father Crick his dinner again tonight."

"But Ma, why doesn't Father travel over and assist Delores instead? Isn't it his turn?"

"That's a joke" said Ma. Very Funny. Har dee har har" she said, mimicking her darling Jackie Gleason of The Honeymooners as she closed the door behind her. Those two telecasting comedians, Art Carney and Jackie Gleason, sewerage cleansing agent and autobus driver, married to Alice and Trixie, women who emphatically talk up, brought my female parent more echt laughter and hope every Saturday nighttime than ever she knew with the autocratic Roman middlemen who ruled her life.

I remember female parent telling me, back in 1959, that her parish priest once leaned over and whispered to her, "Agnes, how old would your youngest be now?" Translated, that meant, 'Get cracking – clip to do another psyche for God.' Many old age later, Mother said that if a priest ever spent so much as five proceedings on a labour table, giving birth would soon go a person sin.

Unlike the sensitive Mary caressing her only child, my female parent had no clip for us. She truly had so many children that she did not, like the adult female in the shoe, cognize what to do. A fear-based person, she served her Church unfailingly and died at 52. If she'd had the 1 kid featured in the posting chosen by the Christian church to stand for 'family' she would have got lived.

On my manner to work on the metro, I am again faced with the calm Virgin, her eyes demurely closed, and in deep encompass with her lone child. I sadly reflect on the clinches my angry and exhausted female parent never had clip to give me nor any of the youngest of her tremendous gang. This disregard caused awful problems. I also short letter that the graphics chosen to stand for The Family misses the presence of a 2nd partner. Yes indeed, it is true that in working much overtime to feed us all, Dad was largely absent.

Might the Catholic Church reflect for a minute on the hurting this beautiful but ever so ill-chosen painting arouses in the grownup children of all the Catholic women who tire kid after unwanted kid to avoid the ageless disapprobation they were threatened with it they didn't?

Might the Catholic Church characteristic at least one of these grotesquely big households that instead of remaining together got dogmatically torn apart? Finally, perhaps the finances gathered can be used for Women and Men's Shelters or drug and alcoholic beverage detox centers, where the youngest girls and boys of neglectful Catholic households often reside.