October 24
I was enchanted from the start.
I came in late. I hadn’t seen the cathedral the first time I passed, and on the way back I found it only by the abundance of cars. There were no signs visible from the main road – the church faced the other direction. I circled around and opened the old oak door. I stood on the threshold as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. The church smelled earthy, like an old quilt. The first thing I saw when my pupils dilated was a middle-aged Hispanic woman smiling at me and waving me in. I stepped forward onto the plank floor. The service had not yet begun.
The Cathedral was big, about the size of a football field. Its walls were made of plaster and were about four feet thick, whitewashed on the inside. You could run your hand over them and feel the irregularities of loving construction. On the walls hung colorful Biblical paintings and tarnished mirrors in shape of Latin crosses. The ceiling was high, about 30 feet up, and giant rafters ran from one wall to the other. The oak pews were crowded. Twice I scooted over to admit new worshippers.
The service began with a hymn. The pastor welcomed us in English, then we sang in Spanish. I looked around. I was one of a dozen non-Hispanics. I found a hymnal and sang, understanding about half of the words I spoke. Throughout the service we sang, knelt, prayed and spoke in unison, in a pattern everyone seemed to know. They seemed even to know the hymns by heart. I wondered how long the sequence of a Mass had remained unchanged. “May the Lord be with you,” the pastor said several times. “And with you also,” we replied.
In the middle of the service the pastor left the pulpit and held two pamphlets up for view. Someone, he said, had been placing them on cars during the worship hour. They told worshippers how to vote. The pamphlets were not related to the church. The Catholic church, he told us, had no official position on the upcoming election, though it did have printed guidelines he would be happy to distribute to anyone who requested them. “Whoever is putting these on cars,” he said, holding the outlaw pamphlets aloft, “please stop. You do not have permission.” He urged us to go vote, but said we should make our own decisions. He walked pack to the pulpit. “If you’re wondering, yes, I am upset,” he said to the congregation. His voice had never risen. He was not a man of anger. “Now on to the announcements,” he said. The congregation laughed.
On my windshield after the service I found the two pamphlets the pastor had showed us. Both denigrated abortion as an affront to good Catholics. One called it a “non-negotiable issue.” The other told me explicitly to vote for George W. Bush. I leafed through the pamphlet the pastor had given me, authored by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. It gave guidelines for Catholic voters, and mentioned the church’s opposition to abortion and euthanasia, but it advised its readers to think for themselves.
From the pamphlet itself: “As bishops, we do not wish to instruct persons on how they should vote by endorsing or opposing candidates. We hope that voters will examine candidates on the full range of issues and on their personal integrity, philosophy, and performance.”
Amen.
I came in late. I hadn’t seen the cathedral the first time I passed, and on the way back I found it only by the abundance of cars. There were no signs visible from the main road – the church faced the other direction. I circled around and opened the old oak door. I stood on the threshold as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. The church smelled earthy, like an old quilt. The first thing I saw when my pupils dilated was a middle-aged Hispanic woman smiling at me and waving me in. I stepped forward onto the plank floor. The service had not yet begun.
The Cathedral was big, about the size of a football field. Its walls were made of plaster and were about four feet thick, whitewashed on the inside. You could run your hand over them and feel the irregularities of loving construction. On the walls hung colorful Biblical paintings and tarnished mirrors in shape of Latin crosses. The ceiling was high, about 30 feet up, and giant rafters ran from one wall to the other. The oak pews were crowded. Twice I scooted over to admit new worshippers.
The service began with a hymn. The pastor welcomed us in English, then we sang in Spanish. I looked around. I was one of a dozen non-Hispanics. I found a hymnal and sang, understanding about half of the words I spoke. Throughout the service we sang, knelt, prayed and spoke in unison, in a pattern everyone seemed to know. They seemed even to know the hymns by heart. I wondered how long the sequence of a Mass had remained unchanged. “May the Lord be with you,” the pastor said several times. “And with you also,” we replied.
In the middle of the service the pastor left the pulpit and held two pamphlets up for view. Someone, he said, had been placing them on cars during the worship hour. They told worshippers how to vote. The pamphlets were not related to the church. The Catholic church, he told us, had no official position on the upcoming election, though it did have printed guidelines he would be happy to distribute to anyone who requested them. “Whoever is putting these on cars,” he said, holding the outlaw pamphlets aloft, “please stop. You do not have permission.” He urged us to go vote, but said we should make our own decisions. He walked pack to the pulpit. “If you’re wondering, yes, I am upset,” he said to the congregation. His voice had never risen. He was not a man of anger. “Now on to the announcements,” he said. The congregation laughed.
On my windshield after the service I found the two pamphlets the pastor had showed us. Both denigrated abortion as an affront to good Catholics. One called it a “non-negotiable issue.” The other told me explicitly to vote for George W. Bush. I leafed through the pamphlet the pastor had given me, authored by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. It gave guidelines for Catholic voters, and mentioned the church’s opposition to abortion and euthanasia, but it advised its readers to think for themselves.
From the pamphlet itself: “As bishops, we do not wish to instruct persons on how they should vote by endorsing or opposing candidates. We hope that voters will examine candidates on the full range of issues and on their personal integrity, philosophy, and performance.”
Amen.
posted by Jeb Butler at 6:02 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home