One of the funniest things about living in the South is the total lack of understanding that so many of our protestant brothers and sisters have about the Catholic faith. I went from being in a majority Catholic (the practicing part is debatable) environment to being a total minority. I want to be careful, though, about sounding holier than thou with the people who inhabit this Bible Belt. To be honest, I've encountered an occasional radical that has overtly ugly things to say about the Catholic Church. It doesn't help that the media, fueled with juicy stories of sexual misconduct and perversion, are now pushing for the total media blitz of The DaVinci Code.
Anyway, being Catholic in certain pockets of the South has the same effect as coughing up a bunch of phlegm in a roomful of people. Most people are too polite to point out that you are disgusting, but you can see them physically bristle.
Ash Wednesday is one of those times when we get the curious looks. Rosaries seem to have the same effect on Southern Baptists as a string of garlic has on good ole Dracula. Crossing ourselves in the most elementary and profound prayer, the first one we usually learn as tiny children, has such a mysterious allure with some people, that they imitate it. Funny that they try to achieve an element of cool with a component of a faith they criticize.
This weekend we celebrated First Communion in our parish. There were lots of people who attended the Mass and were clearly clueless. One woman, who was earnest and serious about participating in everything, desperately wanted to bless herself with Holy Water. She would go up to the font, peer into the bowl, and leave again.
I must admit, it was entertaining watching her watching people dip their fingers in the bowl and take off. It became clear to me that she was trying to see what they did with their hands as they walked away from the bowl.
C'mon now, you know we do this by rote, absentmindedly dipping and crossing ourselves in such a smooth action, that from behind, it does seem to be a little bit of hand waving and mumbo jumbo. When I realized this, I went up to her to see if there was anything I could do for her.
She was relieved, and told me that she wanted to understand what was happening. I helped her cross herself, starting what might just be the road to conversion. Maybe.
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Nah, generally I'm gutless. I happened to be an usher at that Mass--a command performance for John (that bossy Beth told him he had to do it) and so, I came along as a package deal. it's easier to do that stuff when you're wearing a pin, all official looking and stuff.
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