I was raised Catholic. My family stopped being avid church-goers around the time my brother was born, but we remained at least Christmas/Easter Catholics, and there was always an understanding that this is what we were and how we believed and so forth. I went to Catechism, took First Communion (5/9/69, as I have memorized from the back of the little St. Christopher medallion I had for years), was Confirmed (by Bishop Juan Arzube), and so forth.
In college, as my folks were beginning to attend church more regularly again, I was able to explore my own beliefs more. And I found I enjoyed participating in the Mass at McAlister Religious Center and leading the music and being involved in — well, I guess, as part of the show of the Mass. Not that I treated it solely as such — it was still a solemn sacramental gathering, but there were also logistics and staging and hitting your lines and all of that show biz sort of terminology. Because much of the Mass is ritual, which is the community both establishing, through formula, what they believe, and that they believe it all together.
(Put that way, it sounds sort of creepy, but it also makes a lot of sense, which is why ritual is important in so many social and religious groups. Indeed, I think, as communication shorthand, it’s part of all social interaction. But I digress.)
Cheryl and I were married at the parish where the priest, Fr. Frank, who served the college campus actually was a part of. We had to stretch a bit to make that happen, since you’re really supposed to be married in the bride’s parish — but Cheryl had no parish, having converted to Catholicism during our courtship, so it worked out okay.
After that, the whole religious thing sort of faded from my life a bit, in terms of regular practice. Main problems was that the parish where Cheryl and I lived was kind of — I don’t know, after the intimate, lively college experience, it was sort of dull and staid. And, to be honest, no longer being a big fish in a small pond, I might not have been as quick to rush off to Mass on a Sunday morning. And, of course, since Catholics are really supposed to be tied to their geographical parish (church shopping being pretty much out of the question), that was that.
And when things started going seriously south in our lives, and so on and so forth (and that is, perhaps, another blog), the whole religious thing sort of went by the wayside. I mean, I never stopped believing that there was a Deity, or a purpose, or anything like that. But I was angry, not to mention distracted. I explored other avenues of my faith, but not with a fervor that would actually lead me to convert anywhere.
Fast forward several years or so (mercifully). Cheryl and I are through, except for the settlement. Margie and I are going together. And we’re looking toward getting married.
Margie had gotten involved in the Episcopal Church when she was off in North Carolina, I believe, participating in choir and so forth. As we were looking for a religious aspect to our wedding and marriage, not just a civil one, the Episcopal Church seemed a reasonable way to go. And, frankly, the EC always struck me as the Catholic Church with the Latin serial numbers filed off and a cute English accent. The ritual stuff was all there and familiar to me. Besides which, they allowed women to be priests, which I found philosophically and theologically pretty nifty (or, rather, found the lack of which in the Catholic Church to be goofy and indefensible).
So, Episcopal we went.
And here in Colorado, as we started contemplating expanding from 2 to 3+, we decided we wanted our hypothetical children raised in a religious, church-going context. That’s a bit difficult to explain. I think it was less about the specific theology or ritual or beliefs (though those are important) than it was that our kids would grow up with the idea of church and God and rules as part of their lives. I fully expect that Katherine, et al., will eventually make her own decisions about her faith, her beliefs, what she wants to do and why. And I have to respect that, even as I expect my own decisions to be respected. But I think that, without growing up in a church-going context (to whatever degree), it’s more likely that those decisions are less likely to be made, because the need for them is not perceived.
Or, put another way, being actively religious (whatever that means, in whatever faith) means one is (or should be) engaged in the objects of religion — the spirit, the Deity, faith, the Meaning of Life, what it means to live a good life, to act rightly, etc. I think that’s a good thing. I think it’s particularly good for a kid, because it gives them a foundation to make those sorts of decisions on their own someday.
At least that’s what we figure. Your Mileage May Vary, and that’s what makes a horserace.
So we searched around the area, and eventually found a home at Good Shepherd Episcopal. We’re active in the community there, I administer their web page, Margie cooks for some of their classes, we serve as Lectors and as Chalice Ministers, we’re off on our annual Parish Retreat in three weekends, and so forth. Katherine was baptized there, hangs out in the Nursery during the service, gets fetched out for Communion at the right time, etc.
All of which is prelude to what I actually wanted to talk about in this blog post.
Y’see, though I think my folks are disappointed that we’re not Catholic, and though they’ve become much more active in their religious practice (going to Mass daily, going on retreats, and, heck, my Dad served as parish administrator for several years after he retired, and they never had a better one), we still have a kick talking about the subtle differences between the Catholic liturgy and the Episcopal one. They go to Mass Sunday a.m., then join us at Good Shepherd afterwards, and then my Dad and I have theological chit-chat (hence the post name) about it.
For example, they use a fairly similar lectionary to ours. This week, their Old Testament reading was from Ecclesiasticus (Wisdom), which the Protestant churches consider part of the Apocrypha, so we had Deuteronomy, but the Epistle and the Gospel readings were the same. The various prayers and even the order of the Mass are much the same.
So my Dad and I have great fun chit-chatting about the differences.
And the really cool thing is, it doesn’t make that much difference. Where we have specific differences, it is, at worst, an “agree to disagree,” and, usually, a “huh, that’s weird, oh well.” Like, in the Catholic Church, kids don’t go to Communion until they’ve been through certain classes so that they understand its significance, hence the whole “First Communion” thing. Usually happens around age 8 (gauging from my own). In the Episcopal Church, the rule is as soon as they can put it in their mouth and keep it there, they can take Communion, since it’s an invitation by Christ to his table. Two different approaches, both of which I can see the reasoning behind, and so can my Dad, and we go from there.
My folks are really cool about this. Which maybe is a way I’m like them, since I tend to look at the religious differences between me and others and say, “Huh, that’s kind of cool.” When it’s cool. And, really, it usually is, since I think the religious/spiritual influence is a natural, intended part of human nature, and stems from a desire to reach the same, ultimate goal. But that’s a subject for another post.
And we all share the same ability to observe the human frailties of our respective denominations. And both chuckle/regret them, and not let them unduly influence our faiths in what those denominations stand for. We can even stand some ribbing of each other. Again, that’s neat. And that’s probably why I started writing this very, very long post, which has wended and wound its way through some very lengthy side passages through the mare’s nest which is my brain.
Actually, what’s kind of fun about discussing this stuff with my folks, is that I went through a lot of these “Wow, they do it that way? That’s odd/neat” thought processes and discoveries when I first started attending the EC, comparing them to my experience as a Catholic. Like I said, the similarities, theologically and liturigically, between the Episcopalians and Catholics are, in some ways, much more trivial than substantive. (I know there are a number of folks in both denominations who would hasten to disagree, but maybe that’s my own open mind — or lack of understanding — showing). It’s sort of like American English vs British English. It’s a sibling denomination, as opposed to cousins. With the exception of the whole Apocryphal books thing (and the Dissolution of the Monastaries), the split by the Church of England from the Roman Church had very little to do with basic beliefs and more with politics. (Again, I know there are some who would disagree vehemently.) So it’s not surprising that there are so many similarities.
Though we still have a cute English accent on our side.