On faith and memory

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My Catholic roots are deeply intertwined with the tapestry of my childhood. Though I do not weave them through the warp and weft of my life today, they have always served as a solid foundation, enabling me to navigate life with a sense of peace, security, and boundless freedom.

I vividly recall the Friday evening Rosaries. The rhythmic clicking of the beads as they slipped through my mother’s fingers echoed the cadence of her whispered prayers. With each Hail Mary, I would impatiently await the end, yearning to run outside and play with my sister.

On Saturday afternoons, the serene ambiance of the church would embrace us as my sister and I assisted our mother with the flowers for the altar, ensuring their freshness for Sunday mass. While my sister had the honor of carrying the week-old vases, I was delegated the task of sorting. Perhaps my mother had her reasons to doubt my dexterity (or perhaps lack of attention) when carrying breakable objects.

These memories have left an indelible mark. Even today, discarding withered flower arrangements, as I had to do when I returned from my trip, feels almost sacrilegious. The wilted petals and stagnant water resonate with silent prayers, pleading to be left undisturbed.

In my child’s memory, Sunday morning masses were full of chaos and confusion. The whirlwind of preparing four children, adorned in their Sunday best with my mother always winning out on what I was to wear, contrasted sharply with the solemnity of the mass. But Easter Sunday was special. It wasn’t the prolonged service that captivated me but the excited of a new Sunday hat and dress, my shiny patent leather shoes, and delicate lace gloves.

The church’s aesthetics enthralled me. From the priest’s ornate gold rimmed robes to the grandeur of the statues, I would sit and stare until my mother poked me with a whispered, “Pay attention”. It is perhaps in the church where the seeds of my feminist nature were planted. Amidst all the allure, the gendered confines of the church stung. Why couldn’t girls, equally devout and capable, serve at the altar?” I would ask my mother, only to be hushed with a sharp retort to be quiet or stop asking questions.

My childhood was also marked by innocent transgressions and the subsequent confessions whispered into the darkness of a confessional booths screen behind which an unseen priest sat. I knew my litany of sins by hear and practiced them with my sister to ensure we didn’t sound exactly the same: bickering with my sister, disobeying my mother or father, and the unintentional swallowing of water before the mass in the days when eating or drinking anything before consuming the holy wafer was a big no-no.

Post-mass Sundays had their rituals too. Breakfast awaited, and my father’s culinary feats were nothing short of legendary. Invitations to join were frequent, and few could resist.

My recent journey to Ireland rekindled these poignant memories. The landscape is dotted with majestic cathedrals and humble churches, their spires reaching towards the heavens, silent witnesses to centuries of devout worship. It’s impossible not to feel the profound depth of Catholic faith imbued in the very heart of the Irish people. The ubiquity of crucifixes, gracing everything from homes to local stores, speaks volumes of a culture where the sacred and the secular seamlessly converge.

In this nation, where belief threads through every aspect of life, I found echoes of my past. The sanctity I witnessed in Ireland, in the daily lives of its people, reflected my own childhood filled with the mysticism of faith and the embrace of family.

These reminiscences emphasize the profound influence of my roots. Although I’ve distanced myself from the strict religious practices of my youth, the spiritual foundation laid during those years keeps me grounded. I firmly believe that life, with all its mysteries, wonders, and challenges, is divinely orchestrated. It’s a gift to be treasured, a journey to be celebrated with joy and love, no matter your spiritual beliefs or credo.

13 thoughts on “On faith and memory”

  1. Sorry, Dearest Louise, for having taken over your space (with Mark).
    You are one very wise woman. I’m not Catholic, but a Christian, and, as I said above; we wd have lots to discuss!

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    • I think a zoom would be amazing Kiki — I’d love to ‘meet’ you in person. 🙂

      And I love the exchange of ideas amongst readers. I feel like I’ve just connected two wonderful people!

      And your thoughts are always a beautiful gift. ❤

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      • All of this is so exciting. But I have to warn both of you – once we start discussing, there is no end to it. I couldn‘t live without my faith but I also am a critic of many things ‚we‘ did wrong for a far too long time – we call this: Es mänschelet überall (humans make errors all the time, everywhere – human = Mensch).
        I‘ll be away for a week of singing and two charity concerts, and a celebration of this well balanced woman‘s birthday, but if ever we could have that discussion (or any other), that would be marvellous. Something to look forward to.

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      • Aren’t those the best kinds of discussions Kiki? The ones that each question leads to another. I wish you a wonderful journey, singing and celebrating this ‘well balanced woman’s birthday’!!!! Happy B-Day! ❤

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    • Thanks Kelley, A while ago, thinking about my spiritual presence on this planet I had the realization that I don’t need labels – which in my worldview is what a religion provides (along with a bunch of other stuff too) 🙂 . IWhat I want is connection – connection that is all inclusive, equitable and considerate of all.

      The challenge I’ve experienced is that most religious community provide state that’s what they provide, but we must all believe the same to be connected to it. And that’s where I struggle. I don’t want to be connected if that connection is dictated to by rules and laws and doctrine I cannot stand for. ❤

      I think that makes sense — your comment gave me pause to ponder! Thank you. ❤

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  3. LG – Like most people of our generation, I was raised in a church-going family, and attended Sunday school until I escaped at age 12 – they relented because I told them I wanted to explore ‘other churches’ which they tolerated as ‘me finding my own way’, though I found my way most often to the Baptist church. Not because I liked/believed what they taught any more than the others – but there was a really cute girl I had a crush on …

    FFWD – and I stopped going; though I sing along with Christmas carols and celebrate the gift-giving of that season and the hot-cross buns at easter.

    I am, however, not a believer. I understand, and tacitly support those with faith and belief – I have friends of most stripes of religiosity, but can’t get over the fact-barren landscape of dodgy documentation of 12 guys who spread the message of one, who spread the message of a mythical one nobody has seen, and no credible evidence of miracles exists. So, rather than atheist, or non-theist, I’m a ‘not one who has found a religion that fits’. What I have found, and enjoy very much is people who do have deep belief in spirits, an afterlife etc.

    For me – my church-going memories and my experience living in judeo-christian society is ‘it’s an ethical foundation’, rules to live by which are at the root of our legal systems and codes in the ‘first world’ but which also continue to shed blood in may parts of the world, most notably this week in the middle east, again, again, and it seems always that the home-base of so many faiths are about hatred rather than peaceful co-existence, about what, exactly?

    Three interpretations of philosophy about a mythical figure? OK, that’s my cynical non-believer inside voice leaking out, but c’mon, we’re a species with a more developed brain than the others – it’s a shame more of us can’t use theirs, do math or draw lines on maps in a cooperative way.

    The world is not going to hell on a speedboat, because if it were – I can suggest some people who could get aboard …

    Your memories and roots of your belief are wonderful, kind and full of lovely feelings; no fair-minded thinking person or faith or one living in non-belief would quarrel with your experiences and feelings. Because we have freedom of thought as well as freedom of speech.

    Unfortunately, most of the world thinks people are great or ‘to be hapted’ based on what church they claim to be part of notwithstanding they worship the teachings of books about love and peace …

    We all like to agree with people we like and care about – but on religion, we are not on the same page. In terms of humanity, there we are closely aligned …

    Cheers,
    Mark

    p.s. a few years ago, a mutual friend reconnected me with the Baptist girl who has returned to care for her Baptist-attending alcoholic parents – the stories she told were riveting (who knew?), but she’s given up religion in favour of believing we are all living in an alternative universe. Each to their own … I did, post high school, have one date with her – we saw The Graduate on opening night in Red Deer, then went drinking at a house party … and I’ve not seen most of those folks since. And, no longer a Baptist, she still drinks (???, really) notwithstanding her upbringing and now caring for aging drunks, and she drinks coffee. Therefore, no more Baptists for me!

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      • I three-way approach to a coin with two sides and one of those has two sides… interesting; I am up for a discussion – how bad could it be? … or how good could it be?

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      • Now, who is philosophical AND sophisticated! Had to re-read this as it‘s quite a tall order to get this right. I‘m afraid I might not be up to your standards. And I‘m really bad in hypothetical 3D talk….

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      • p.s. – the side of the coin which is Christianity has, as I was trying to describe two sides at least itself: the Cathic vs. everybody else

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    • Wow Mark! What a powerful response.

      Humans are the foundation of all religions. Even when they attribute it to a deity of some sort. I think the challenge is always, man gets involved and we become mired in taking sides and then potshots at those who disagree with whatever we’ve espoused to be, the one and only truth.

      There is truth in everything but not all things are true.

      I love the story of your baptist friend. Sad that her life has been so filled with trauma and apparently continues to be.

      Much gratitude for you my friend.

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