Saturday, January 17, 2004
Church in another context
(Where's the funny hat lady?!)
I went to a Catholic Church service the Sunday before Christmas…It’s interesting to see what something so familiar from my childhood is like in another country AND I had nothing better to do. I didn’t really know how to get to the Church, but somehow managed (maybe it was divine providence). As I was walking down the street, I thought I heard a parade coming, but I was behind a bus, which was obstructing my view. Then I realized it was actually the bus motor/engines that sounded like drums—no parade.
There were many beggars outside the church, cups in hand. Some had obvious physical disabilities; others were just thin and dirty. I watched to see how many people actually gave. From what I could tell, not that many, though most did give to the collection plate (which, I found out from an interview with the Archbishop this week, goes to the maintenance of the Church and living expenses of the priests). The Church runs a free lunch program nearby. I was also told by a man working at a nearby restaurant that a woman in a Mercedes comes every Saturday morning at 5 am and hands out food to the beggars who wait there. He doesn’t know who the mystery woman is.
There were people of all different kinds of people at the Church (Westerns, Africans, Indians, Chinese, etc). The family sitting in front of me was Indian, with another woman I assume to be their Indonesian maid (she sat/stood when others did, but otherwise did not participate…and most maids are Indonesian). There was a teenager with a majaruana leaf on his t-shirt. An Indian woman in a bright pink sari caught my eye. What’s she doing here?! I thought. She was exotic in her different dress and it didn’t fit with my assumptions of Catholic church-goers…my knee-jerk reaction was thatshe was supposed to be Hindu or belong to some other religion, not the White, Middle-Class Catholicism I grew up with! Going to Church in another country puts a different face on that religion.
The main differences in the mass were that the Lord’s Prayer was sung and there was no wine offered. Also, at the time of the sign of peace, they actually bowed to each other with their hands pressed together at their chests!
I found it difficult, as always, to pay attention during the sermon, particularly because the priest was ancient and accented. I remembered “singing in the gym” at Regina and wished I was at a church with those songs…I remembered when I had my Reconciliation in 4th grade and confessed to the priest that I had been mean to my mom My penance was to say so many Hail Marys and to empty the dishwasher so many times. I decided to take the Eucharist, though I haven’t in a long time (and hadn’t confessed, so technically shouldn’t have. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—beyond that, I don’t even remember the proper way to confess! And, beyond that, I have a problem with the whole middle man thing). I love the way the wafer dissolves in my mouth. As I waited in line for it, I envisioned saying “illhumdolilah” (Arabic for ‘thanks be to God’), instead of “Amen” (‘I believe’) and the reaction I would get. I didn’t do it, but the thought amused me.
(Where's the funny hat lady?!)
I went to a Catholic Church service the Sunday before Christmas…It’s interesting to see what something so familiar from my childhood is like in another country AND I had nothing better to do. I didn’t really know how to get to the Church, but somehow managed (maybe it was divine providence). As I was walking down the street, I thought I heard a parade coming, but I was behind a bus, which was obstructing my view. Then I realized it was actually the bus motor/engines that sounded like drums—no parade.
There were many beggars outside the church, cups in hand. Some had obvious physical disabilities; others were just thin and dirty. I watched to see how many people actually gave. From what I could tell, not that many, though most did give to the collection plate (which, I found out from an interview with the Archbishop this week, goes to the maintenance of the Church and living expenses of the priests). The Church runs a free lunch program nearby. I was also told by a man working at a nearby restaurant that a woman in a Mercedes comes every Saturday morning at 5 am and hands out food to the beggars who wait there. He doesn’t know who the mystery woman is.
There were people of all different kinds of people at the Church (Westerns, Africans, Indians, Chinese, etc). The family sitting in front of me was Indian, with another woman I assume to be their Indonesian maid (she sat/stood when others did, but otherwise did not participate…and most maids are Indonesian). There was a teenager with a majaruana leaf on his t-shirt. An Indian woman in a bright pink sari caught my eye. What’s she doing here?! I thought. She was exotic in her different dress and it didn’t fit with my assumptions of Catholic church-goers…my knee-jerk reaction was thatshe was supposed to be Hindu or belong to some other religion, not the White, Middle-Class Catholicism I grew up with! Going to Church in another country puts a different face on that religion.
The main differences in the mass were that the Lord’s Prayer was sung and there was no wine offered. Also, at the time of the sign of peace, they actually bowed to each other with their hands pressed together at their chests!
I found it difficult, as always, to pay attention during the sermon, particularly because the priest was ancient and accented. I remembered “singing in the gym” at Regina and wished I was at a church with those songs…I remembered when I had my Reconciliation in 4th grade and confessed to the priest that I had been mean to my mom My penance was to say so many Hail Marys and to empty the dishwasher so many times. I decided to take the Eucharist, though I haven’t in a long time (and hadn’t confessed, so technically shouldn’t have. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—beyond that, I don’t even remember the proper way to confess! And, beyond that, I have a problem with the whole middle man thing). I love the way the wafer dissolves in my mouth. As I waited in line for it, I envisioned saying “illhumdolilah” (Arabic for ‘thanks be to God’), instead of “Amen” (‘I believe’) and the reaction I would get. I didn’t do it, but the thought amused me.
