Adam and Eve

Being a stubborn child, I had to test everything. If you told me not to touch the electrical outlet, I would touch it anyway. What was knowledge without the experience? This would pour over into my entire life. This seemed to be the cause of my pain as well as my joy. Gems are most often found after looking under a lot of rocks. I don’t think grown-ups looked at it that way, though. My inquisitive nature was more of a thorn in their side than a blessing.

One day, during religion class, Miss Conrad read to us the story of Adam and Eve. Immediately afterward she asked us what we thought. My hand promptly shot into the air. She looked around the room like she was begging for someone else to put their hand up, but mine was the only one.

“Yes, Tammy?”

"I don’t think it’s true.”

“Well, of course, it is. It’s in the Bible. The Bible is the Word of God.”

Without pause, I replied, “No. Why would God, who is ALL-loving make ALL people for ALL time be punished because of two people’s mistakes? And it’s not like a really big mistake or anything. Eve shared an apple with Adam. Big deal! God wants us to share. You even said that!”

“Yes, God does want us to share. Adam and Eve had all the Garden of Eden to share, except for this one apple. God told them they were not allowed to eat that apple, and they disobeyed.”

I tried to process this and, just as my teacher thought it was safe to move on, I interjected, “What does God care about one dumb apple when they had the whole Garden of Eden?” My classmates laughed.

My teacher, knowing I had the potential to make this an all day discussion, threw in the towel. She asked us to pull out our math books. I raised my hand. She looked away so I waved it real big to get her attention. She turned her back to me. I yelled, “Miss Conrad. Miss Conrad.”

“What is it, Tammy?”

"We aren’t supposed to start math for ten more minutes and…”

“Today we will do things differently. Open your book to page one hundred forty-six, class.” I shrugged. I don’t get grown-ups. They do the strangest things, and they don’t like to answer questions either.

Nan

My Nan was a good person with a huge heart, but don’t make her pick you up from school. She was my first experience with religion on a personal, deeper level. I would peek through the crack in her door and watch her as she prayed the rosary. With her eyes closed, she would reverently stroke the beads in her fingers one by one. The words that came from her lips were not mechanical but bathed in love. I don’t think she ever knew I was there, silently and respectfully in the shadows filled with awe and wonder. This was my experience of the word “holy”.

To go in my Nan’s room was not just taking your life in your own hands but like walking into a shrine. Her walls and dressers were filled with crosses and pictures of Jesus; Mary, the Blessed Mother; and many of the saints. Among these items would be treasures we found for her: a flower wilted from time, a “special” rock, ribbons, drawings (or scribbles, depending on whose eyes you were looking with.), and any number of other little gifts that had been given to her.

I was fascinated with her room, and not just because of her goody drawer of all kinds of cakes, pies, and candy either. In a quiet way, I learned more from my grandmother about God and love than I have ever learned from a priest or preacher, perhaps there is something to be said for that.

Many would not consider my grandmother a good Christian lady. She did not go to church on Sundays, except for rare occasions; and she certainly did not parade her religion around like a peacock strutting its feathers. Nor did she agree or disagree with anyone else’s expression of their beliefs, yet there was no doubt in my mind that my Nan loved God.

This is not to say Nan did not take a more active role in teaching me about God. As soon as I had been able to talk, she taught me to say my bedtime prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my Soul to keep…” I think it is a horrible prayer myself. It scared the daylights out of me thinking I might not get up in the morning! But my grandmother insisted I should say it every night, and I didn't dare argue. Although I do think I slipped in a quick "Please God let me wake up in the morning because it can be bad here, but I don't know where I'm going there." While I didn't really believe in a hell, I wasn't quite ready to take my chances since I was often told what a little devil I was.

Nanny would also clap my hands together gently and teach me how to bless myself, but these would be the only outward expressions of religion I would learn from her. The most important lessons I gleaned were about love, strength, compassion, and nurturing. And those lessons were taught to me silently, by example, not from her lecturing me about it. Maybe that is why they were so powerful.

To Confess or Not to Confess (Part 2)

“I went on the boys’ side of the schoolyard so many times. I got caught on top of Joey pounding his face into the ground,” I rushed on, “and that would be it. Guess I’ll have to say five ‘Hail Mary’s’ this time, huh, Father?” I grinned. Father turned ever so slowly towards me. I swear he looked like the devil himself had possessed him.

“Just what would make you hit another human being?” he said angrily. My grin disappeared.

“He was calling me a baby and a sissy. I’m not no sissy so I showed him I wasn’t.” Father seemed like he was going to blow. He looked up towards the ceiling and then back at me.

“You will say a full rosary and tell Joey you are sorry for your penance.” I gulped. I didn’t dare argue about that, but I sure wanted to. He shooed me off with a few waves of his hand.

“Hhmmph!” I thought. “It was worth a rosary to put Joey in his place.” I glanced back worried that I may have said it out loud, but Father was gazing straight ahead, lost in his thoughts.

A thought came into my mind and I turned back, “Father?”

“Yes?”

“Why do I have to tell you my sins? Why can’t I just tell God directly? I mean, God sees and hears everything anyway so what’s the difference?” Father took a very deep breath.

“Because you are born with sin and thus not worthy to talk to God. This is why you confess through a priest.”

“Oh, then you pass it on?” He nodded yes.

“But aren’t we talking to God when we say our prayers?”

“Yes, but that is not the same.” I didn’t get that one, but I let it go. I chewed on this information for a few seconds while Father stared at me coldly. It gave me chills, and I thought about something else.

“Who do you tell when you sin?”

“I tell God or another priest.”

“If we’re all born into sin then what makes you so special?” I thought.

Apparently, Sister is a mind reader too because she dragged me out of church by my ear and called my Nan, who dragged me all the way home by my ear. I think it was red for an entire month! I must’ve been thinking out loud without even knowing it. Sometimes I do that.

The Sacrament of Eucharist

Rows and rows of boys in neatly pressed suits and girls in pristine white veils and dresses made of laces and satins were almost spoiled by the dark, ominous skies. Various colored umbrellas hung precariously over the heads of the young children being quickly ushered from the convent to the church. It was the day of my First Holy Communion, and the clouds had burst open with a fierce downpour. The rain pounded the pavement around us, splashing dirt onto our shiny white shoes. It looked as dreary as I felt.

Making your First Holy Communion is a big deal in Catholicism. For the first time in a child’s life, you are old enough to enter into another aspect of your religion. It was a very special time we were told. We would be allowed to receive the body of Christ in the form of a wafer, which begged the questions, at least from me, “How did they get Jesus’ body into that little wafer? And why would you want to eat it?” Many more of these crossed my mind, some expressed and some not.

Then, of course, was the counterpart of the wafers, the wine (I thought you had to be an adult to drink?). But this wasn’t any ordinary wine, it was supposed to be the blood of Christ. Gross! This seemed pretty creepy to me. I guess, it was just me, though, because everyone else seemed to enjoy it quite a bit, especially the priests.

Part of me felt very proud to participate in this special occasion, parading across the schoolyard for all of our families to see, but another part of me could not escape all the questions it brought forth. It made me uncomfortable. As we entered our local church, we were escorted into the pews and warned again to be quiet. I sighed and nervously peeked back to catch a glimpse of my Nan and the rest of my family. I couldn’t see them so I turned back around and put my attention on the altar.

It was adorned and surrounded by beautiful white and blue flowers leftover from the May Procession, which was in honor of Mary, the Virgin Mother of Jesus. I had asked Nan what did it mean to be a “virgin," but she waved me off with a brief but abrupt answer that never made any sense to me.

When I asked my teacher that same question, “What was a virgin?” she turned several shades of red, stuttered awhile, and then asked why I wanted to know. Slightly relieved when I told her I wanted to know why Mary was called a virgin, she told me that God put Jesus in Mary’s belly. I thought about this and then said, “My neighbor was talking to my Nan and told her that Pauline would be a virgin for the rest of her life. Is God going to put a baby in her belly, too?”

My teacher’s mouth hung open and her face lit up like the red bulbs on our tree at Christmas time. “No, Tammy,” she managed to squeak out, “Mary was very special. This won’t happen again.” I chewed on that thought for a few moments and then spit out,

“Did God marry Mary afterwards? Did Mary divorce God and marry Joseph? Aren’t we all children of God? If we are then are our mommies virgins too…” The words flew out of my mouth like bullets but were halted in mid-air by the look on my teacher’s face. She reached up and rubbed her temples.

As she turned back to the class, she said, “We’ll talk about this more another day," which translates into “when hell freezes over.” I giggled at the memory of it and was snapped back into the present by Sister Mary tapping on my shoulder. She leaned close to my ear and whispered, “I have my eye on you, young lady.”

“Great!” I thought. “Why does she always have to sit right near me.”

Father Comes to Class

Two days later, Father Callahan took over our Religion class. I was glad to see he kept his promises. He was a younger priest and much nicer to look at then Sister Anne. Father sent Sister to the back of the room. I giggled into my hand as she tried to squeeze into an empty desk. It kind of looked like a penguin when they waddle their back end into something, and it struck me funny. When I turned around in my seat, Father wagged his finger at me.

“Okay, children, today we are going to talk about sins.” He made columns on the chalkboard for the venial sins and another one for the mortal sins. He asked us for examples of these. I sat and listened because everyone was yelling at once. Father had to tell everyone, “One at a time. We’ll start here and go all the way back.” Great! I was the very last one. They would take all my answers!

We had to name a sin and then say if it was big or small. Lying, disobeying parents, stealing, cheating, fighting, and not going to Mass on Sunday or Holy Days were some of the standard answers. Some of us were more original. Susie said her brother knotted her cat’s tail to a rope and then tied it to their fence and then made a loud noise causing the cat to try and run. That’s just mean!

Jeffrey said that his dad liked to look up their neighbor’s short skirts when her husband wasn’t looking. He said his mom caught his dad once, and she didn’t talk to him for a week! That reminded me of something and I piped up, “That’s okay. My dad came home drunk one night and brought his girlfriend with him! My mom cursed a lot, and there was lots of sinning going on that night. My dad wasn’t even allowed in the house for like an entire month! How many ‘Our Father’s’ would you have given for that, Father?”

I think that was the shortest religion class I ever had! And I never did get an answer to my question. How do you like that?