I’m not naive about my working class Catholic upbringing in the 60s. The parishes had terrible secrets. There were John Bircher lunatics running the Catholic school I attended. We were accustomed to corporal punishment of the most sadistic kind, and there was terrible shaming of the girls and boys for simply being human. Everybody got slapped.
BUT! You know what?
It was also the time of Sister Corita, the Berrigan brothers, liberation theology, and the radical clergy being “all-in” to stop the Vietnam war, and fight for civil rights. I remember an open air mass where young men burned their draft cards! We hugged each other and sang our little hearts out. There were nuns stripping off their stuffy habits to repudiate patriarchy. The new vibe was: dedication to embracing humanity. That was the part I loved as a nine year old.
My church choir was run by one of the radical nuns who took her habit off her head one day and showed her hair; what a scandal! We sang a Pete-Seeger-style repertoire of songs about freedom and dignity for all.
I could tell, even at that age, that the church was having an internal war between the fuddy-duddy authoritarians and the new generation who wanted to change the world. It was a visible rift.
That is why... when I see those Covington Creeps today, having their pathetic racist snark fest at the Lincoln Memorial— even though it’s way past my time to have any heart pangs of identification— the first thing that occurs to me is:
HOW CAN THEY CALL THEMSELVES CATHOLIC?
I flinch on behalf of my mother, and my Aunt Tessie, and all the passionate anti-fascist Irish Catholic women I knew, growing up. They were devoted to the civil rights movement; they identified with it. Being into a ‘loving Christ figure’ in that era, in their circles, meant identifying with the oppressed.
Now, it apparently means you are a heartless thug.
Jesus wept.
Photo: Elizabeth Bright
That is an actual photo of my First Communion, in the dress my mom made for me. And yes, I was that serious. I wanted to make sure I did everything just like they showed us ... there’s a choreography for First Communions... but I also knew that I was going to have this big encounter with Jesus, my first taste of the consecrated host. The look you see on my face is my concentrating so hard on what I wanted to tell him... which was: We must have justice. No one should be hungry. We must have peace. I will do anything. I knew he was going to help me. THAT is what I thought being Catholic was all about, in its best moment.
Needless to say, there was a bit of a denouement after this event...
