"A little philosophy inclineth man's mind to atheism; but depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds about to religion." -Sir Francis Bacon
Here in Massachusetts, Roman Catholicism is the quintessential religious experience. With a regretful grimace, most Bostonians you meet will identify themselves as fallen Catholics. Most of us know someone who was affected by the priest abuse scandal. For us, the sight of a church spire is, at best, bittersweet. We are the lost children of the Church. Even the new Pope snubs us.
In my family, Catholicism is just this strange archaic thing we used to do, like schoolchildren once huddled under their desks in preparation for nuclear attack. Can you believe we used to do that? And the guy with the big hat? We used to believe in all that stuff?
Sometimes my sister and I repeat bits of the Mass to each other. We haven't attended church since we were children, but the liturgy is still crammed in whole somewhere in the back of our minds. Being women, it is probably heresy for us to recite it. (That part really chafes.)
My mother recently told me, her voice filled with wonder, that after she had my little brother, she called our parish priest and asked him if he thought that, after three children and one tricky pregnancy, it would be okay if she got her tubes tied. Father So-and-So put the kibosh on the idea immediately.
"But you did it anyway," I said.
"Of course I did it anyway! I have no idea why I even asked him."
Those strange things we used to do.
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