Ave Maria

In my quest to make 2010 the "Year in Miracles," I attended Catholic church on New Year's Day with my mom to kick-off the new year in style. Who, outside of those in Vatican circles, knew that it would be dedicated to the the Blessed Virgin Mary? Certainly not I. (Probably my mother.)

The experience made me reflect on a conversation I had over dinner with my evangelical church going, kismet girlfriends during which one friend was visibly upset about her cousin praying to the saints (given that it's a form of idolatry).

I started mulling over how we can pray directly to Christ but we often ask our friends to pray for us, too. Isn't that what Catholics are doing when saying the Hail Mary? Asking for intercession on our behalf? Pray for us sinners now and at the time of our death.

Not exactly. The difference is: they're dead.

Can the dead hear our prayers? And pray for us?

Given that I haven't the first clue about what I'm even writing here on this topic, I found a book that looked like an interesting Protestant take on the matter: The Lure of Saints: A Protestant Experience of Catholic Tradition. I've only just begun reading but, so far, it seems to be a very evenly weighted, deeply faith-based approach to the important role saints play in Catholicism tempered with some of the more troubling aspects of devotion to them.

Akin to increasing my knowledge of the faith while sponsoring my girlfriend Misty to become a Catholic a few years back, this book is leading me to a greater appreciation of my upbringing in the church. (Writing it must have done the same for the author as he has a blog called Almost Catholic and apparently joined the church in 2009.)

So, in honor of saintly trinkets, would it be in bad taste to wear this belt sold by Rochester's own Lucky Nahum at Always Get Lucky? I thought it was kind of cute and not at all sinful . . .

What I heard on the radio this morning (thank you Jennifer V!):


What I'm humming now:

The Yin and Yang of the Weekend

Somehow missed posting on mini-weekend day 7 (last Friday) which turned into a long weekend, instead. Nice! Gotta stay flexible for my boss and clients.

The long weekend ranged from calling hours to church, from biking to watching movies (Taking Chance with Kevin Bacon -- very moving), from hosting sleepovers to jumping on the neighbors' trampoline, from cleaning to getting my colors analyzed, from relaxing over delicious sushi with the kids at the Plum Garden to coercing them to finally take a friggin' shower. Engulfed in sadness at times. Bouncing as high as possible, and laughing my head off, mere hours later.

On the color front: I'm a dark autumn. Rich, deep colors. I can wear silver and gold. Together. And, unlike my "true summer" mom and sis, I can wear black. (Sorry Mommy Cash!) But, I cannot wear white or off-white. So I went through my closet, compared all of my clothes against my new color palette and put aside the clothes that reportedly are not best for me. This includes two lilac sweaters that I always get compliments on. So, do people simply like the color (and would make flattering remarks regardless of who is wearing it)? Or am I in black so much that they're just reacting to the fact that I'm wearing any color? Or is that a good color but a different shade would be even better? Or is the color consultant simply wrong? Only time, governed by a million and one new "Darling you look divine," comments will tell.

On the church front: I didn't realize the impact of taking my kids to a non-Catholic church all these years would have. As Grannie's car was being fixed due to a parking lot hit-and-run (which, by the by, happens to her gorgeous Lexus and not my rusty, 10-year-old Jetta: unfair), the kids and I decided to take her to her church instead of ours.

First question, asked loudly by Son #1 upon walking in, "What's that?" to which I responded, "Holy water." That was followed by a slew of related questions. I'm sure the devout Catholics around us were assuming we're the great unwashed. Next, while seated in the pew, "When are those bells going to stop? They're annoying me." That just happens to be one of my favorite sounds ever!

One kid was chewing gum. Neither would arise for the Catholic aerobics throughout the ceremony. I was continually peppered with "Is this almost over?" questions. I got two, rapid head jerks in my direction when the priest said, "ass" and I had to remind them that it also meant "donkey." One refused to take his arms out of his sleeves during the hand-holding, singing rendition of the Lord's Prayer. Both looked extremely perplexed during the Kiss of Peace. And, finally, one was dying for the bathroom but didn't know where it was -- so we ended up spawning against the tide during communion.

At the end, I asked, "So what did you think of Grannie's church?" and received the following reply, "Well, I wasn't listening but the stained glass windows are cool." Yes, they are.

Amen.

Catholic Guilt

I coerced Margaret and Martin to go to St. Patrick's with me last weekend since we were headed next door to Saks anyway. It was so crowded that you could barely inch your way to the front. We ended up saying a quick prayer while Martin sat behind us Googling places to eat for dinner on his iPhone. As we sat back in the pew, Margaret and I began talking (quietly I may add) about the Virgin Mary and the Catholic vs. Protestant viewpoint of her. The next thing you know, an old man in his priestly garb (perhaps a monsignor?) came and rapped me on the shoulder, shock his head at us in a reproaching manner and repeatedly put his finger to his lips to shush us.

Oooo, how shameful!

Key learning: It's okay to walk around as a tourist, chat about the architecture and stop to take pictures but do not, under any circumstances, whisper about religion! What do you think this is? A cathedral?

Next time, I'll have to remember to text God while I'm there. I'm sure he won't mind.

Thankfully, as I walked alone to meet Janette and Laura for lunch later that morning, I happened to pass St. Malachy's, the "actors church," where years ago my grandfather would meet me on weekends while I was visiting friends in Hell's Kitchen. There I had a few minutes of real peace and prayer. And I lit a five-day candle in memory of my grandfather whom I miss a lot. Still. Wild to think that it may still be burning right now!

Regrets, I've Had a Few

My sister and two brothers are all 1-2 years apart and then four years later I came along. My middle brother told me once, when I was really little, that I was a mistake. I started crying, ran to my mom and asked if it was true.

“Of course it is. You all were.”