The Atascadero Writers Group

"Don’t say that. The Blessed Mother cries when she hears you speak that way." That was my mother talking. One of her ways to keep me on the straight and narrow. It was too, the strategy of most catholic mothers, pre-Vatican II. A loaded sin. Guilt with a capital G.

The Catholic Church loomed like a heavy shadow in most of our lives. God, our Father, punished. The way to get to him was through the myriad of saints, who somehow shielded us from his wrath. There was Saint Anthony for lost things -- maybe lost causes too --  Saint Anne, mother of Mary, for new mothers, Saint Christopher in your speeding car. (In 1939 my uncle Tony was speeding at 35 miles an hour, to the delight of my cousins and me, on our summer trips out to Long Island!) The list went on and on. All could intervene for you because the belief was that God was to be sought after by prayers through intercession. Rarely did one go straight to Him. A saint became the delegate. So, in1962, the architect of Vatican II, Pope John XXIII, helped break the many chains of guilt. Ecumenism was embraced, recognizing our Protestant and Jewish fellowship.

The era of scaring kids witless was over. But not before scars that needed to be healed. Miss Sunday mass, Mortal sin. Disobey mom, Mortal sin. Steal an apple from a fruit vendor. More sin. Think ugly thoughts, a sin in itself. Purity was the name of the game. And that’s why there were nuns, in big, black billowy skirts, a paddle under their folds to take care of problems. Of course, the paddles seemed aimed at boys. The girls’ punishment would be more piled-on guilt.

Getting ready for your First Holy Communion was the biggest test of all. After learning all of the Baltimore catechism required to receive Jesus for the first time, the motions of how to do this were taught. In catechism class, everyone learned how to kneel, fold hands over hearts, (a sure way of indicating love for the Lord), closing our eyes, with protruding tongue in anticipation of the blessed Host. Before that however, came your first-ever dreaded confession for which there was even more preparation. When the day of my first confession arrived, I sat at our kitchen table and while my mother placidly did some ironing, I gazed at the paper in front of me, pencil in hand, ready to write down my long list of indiscretions against God and man. For the life of me - I was ten years old - I couldn’t think of one single sin I might have committed. So, I indulged my mother to help. I began by asking her if I was ever "mean" to her. You can imagine her response. A field day for any mother. Later that day, I took my small piece of paper into the confessional with me and with trembling voice and hands I announced all of my Deadly sins. I was happy that the screen between us hid the priest’s angry face. I was sure he hated this sinner.

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness." That was the Catholic mantra. So, after the Saturday night weekly bath, there was a good supper before the mandatory fasting between sunset and sunrise that followed. After Mass we ran home to breakfast. The cycle began again. If I had missed Mass that Sunday, I felt plagued by mortal sin. Our Lord certainly wouldn’t welcome me into Paradise. And, in my childish mind, If I lived safely until mid-week, I had not to die until next week’s confession could take away my sins making me Heaven worthy once again. One tried desperately not to miss Sunday Mass.

In the years that have followed, life in the Catholic Church has been a gentler one. For me, experiencing the spiritualism and guidance of new thinking has helped change fear of the Lord, to acceptance of a kinder Being. Though Pope John XXIII died during the design of his new wave of thinking, nothing takes away my belief in his Sainthood. His legacy of Ecumenism looms larger and much more brilliant than the shadows of yesterday. Yet, in some ways, I have to admit nostalgia for the past. The Mass was a mystery, accentuated by the Latin in which it was spoken. I sometimes miss the mystery, and the meditation I believe it encouraged.