I tell folks that I am a practicing Catholic because it’s really Catholic-light. What other religion holds church functions where the main revenue maker is the beer stand? It seems the church promotes responsible drunkenness. I say Catholic-light half tongue in cheek and half with a growing sense of "Catholicness." In recent years I have taken my church and faith more seriously and therein is a dilemma for me.
Listen to this. I was born and raised Catholic, but learned in adult life that I am Jew, that’s what my momma said.
We lived in the San Juan barrio in south central El Paso, on Dailey Street. I was Baptized, Confirmed, went to catechism, and did my First Holy Communion at San Juan Church located down the street from our home. That takes care of three of the seven Blessed Sacraments of Catholicism. I am in no hurry to get to number 7 – last rites. I will never get to Ordination. But, since I am married, I’ve got the basic sacraments covered.
Back then you were a good Catholic if you remembered to make the sign of the cross every time you walked in front of the church, or heard sirens, or before meals. All you had to do was to make the sign of the cross at the right time, forget that you didn’t go INTO the church regularly, or that you ate that steak on Friday. You could commit mortal sin as long as you confessed and were absolved. And you could have venial sin that did not completely separate you from God. We never learned the way to heaven other than not to commit sin, and if you did as long as you went to confession and took the Eucharist, all was right with the Lord. I never went to Confession and NOT get absolved. I could never remember my penance so I would pray Hail Mary and Our Father as many times as I could handle kneeling down.
In Catechism they taught us very basic things like how to say certain prayers, the Stations of the Cross, just the basics. I remember that to get to heaven we had to free of Mortal Sin, but with Venial Sin we could go to Purgatory and await redemption on Judgment Day. They stopped teaching purgatory somewhere along the way because my daughters, who started out a Catholic School, never learned about it. But they learned the Blessed Sacraments.
Over the years, as a youngster/teen, I would walk to church on Sundays, but not religiously. Eventually I asked Pat to marry me, we were both Catholic, but I was not in the “Catholic mode”, I knew no better. We lived together first, then set a wedding date, made arrangements. They didn’t ask, and we didn’t offer, that we had been living in sin all this time, 6 months. Nor did we offer that we had committed that awful deed – premarital sex.
In 1969 my mom moved into a neighborhood where the closest Catholic church is St. Joseph’s. That became my church, I still go there today and now I feel that I am a part of the parish, more on that later. I got married at this church without confessing my premarital sex sins. With sex came two daughters who we baptized appropriately. By this time we had discussed our desire to send out daughters to Catholic school so they could get a proper Catholic indoctrination. They learned the right things like their Sacraments and stuff; however, paying for two kids in private school got too expensive so we moved them to public school. We continued their spiritual training by sending them to CCD classes for their Confirmation.
One requirement was that they go to church so we took them. It became a pleasant ritual, church and breakfast, a ritual that I looked forward to, and one that I missed during those weekends when I was away on my Army Reserve training. As I progressed in the ranks, the absent weekends increased in frequency and I missed by Sunday worship and breakfast.
Eventually, I retired from the Army Reserve and now there was no reason NOT to be at Mass EVERY Sunday. Well, being who I am, I started going every Sunday, but I had other visions. As long as I am here, I may as well get involved so I talked to Father Joe and asked if I could volunteer. Of course, he accepted. I started helping with the Sunday collection, then became the main helper, then the head usher. One Sunday, during my duties helping the head usher, or as I learned – Hospitality Minister, lead me to the front of the church standing before the altar in preparation for Communion. Father Joe had taken a liking to me and he motioned to me to come to him. He told me to hold up the Eucharist and say “the body of Christ” and administer the Eucharist, at that moment I got promoted to Eucharistic Minister.
I enjoy my lay ministry duties and my fellow parishioners now. They look forward to me. The viejitas, or senior ladies, are so friendly to me, they hug and kiss me, more accurately, they hold out their cheeks for my kiss. It is with great pride that I tell folks that I run the 10 o’clock service every Sunday. I take care of all the details, the collection baskets, the bulletins, the collection ushers, the host and wine, the offertory.
In keeping with that commitment I decided to take up another ritual, the annual pilgrimage up to Mt. Cristo Rey the last Sunday of October. It is an inspiring tradition watching the faithful throng climbing the mountain, tens of thousands of them. It is not uncommon to see some taking the 3 mile trek bare footed to demonstrate their faith, or request a favor of their favorite Saint. So this is my Catholic faith today. I take my commitment seriously, but every Labor Weekend, I must go the Annual St. Anthony’s Seminary Bazaar and drink too much beer – you know to show my support.
Now, about that Jewish business…it started when I was in Germany. Having been raised Catholic light, I was bowled over when I got a letter from my sister, Maria Estela. This was 1976, she sent a two-page letter, typed, single-spaced, do you know how odd that was when the average letter was one page handwritten? It did not say “Dear Jaime.” Oh noooo, it said “Praise the Lord.” It seems that my sisters and my mom had been saved and they were born again Christians. The letter came in a large yellow envelope with two paper back books, one was The Late Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsey. Never read it, and I don’t remember the name of the other book but it was the same kind of book.
Life was about to take a turn, a good turn, but a sharp turn. My other sister was also in Germany at the time and I visited her a couple of times. One Sunday they were going to church, Southern Baptist, a good ole fashion gospel service, and being a good house guest, I tagged along. Well, the Pastor was preaching and he said “stand and bow your heads,” so we all did. He prayed, then he told the congregation “if any of you need prayer, just raise your head.” I was curious about who might need prayer and my curiosity got the best of me. I looked to the right, then to left and no one was looking up. I looked under my arm to the back and no one was lifting their head. I looked up and he got me, we made eye contact.
At the end of the service he called out to the congregation and said, “all those of you needing prayer come to front,” he looked directly at me, stretched out his arm and pointed at me. Everyone knew he was calling me out. Gotta be a good house guest and it is my sister’s church, so I started out when he calls for “Brother James,” my brother-in-law, to join us. Well, they prayed, we went through the Book of John and they asked me if I accepted Christ as my savior. Well, what could I say, no? Of course I accepted Christ as my savior. At that moment I was saved.
I went back to my old ways, you know, being a G I in a foreign country and all, and was discharged in June, 1977 whereupon I returned home and my comfortable Catholic ways. But my family members were all bible toting Christians and some how they got hooked up with a Rabbi named Sammy, a Messianic Jewish Rabbi. I know that is kind of an oxymoron, but that is what he was.
Once, I went with him to some factories, while doing research for a college paper and heard him pray for hundreds of workers on the factory floor. While driving around we talked, all morning we did this. I didn’t learn anything that changed my life, except that Rabbi Sammy was very much involved in the pro-life movement. I don’t know if that made a lasting impact, but today I am pro-life.
My brother and I were the two hold outs. I remember mom telling me about a dream of hers where she is overlooking a raging sea from a cliff top and her interpretation of the dream was that the sea was raging because me and Javy were not “right with the Lord.” Once, we all went to baptism at a church and saw mom and Stela get baptized. Then another time, mom got baptized in a backyard swimming pool in water that had lots of leaves in it. That was a Messianic Jewish baptism.
One Friday night I came home kind of early, pretty much under the influence, and there was this party going on. All the men were wearing funny hats, some wearing colorful shawls. They were having a Hava Nagila party that made no sense to me, but it was a party so I stood in the corner of my living room taking in the scene. I learned later that it was a celebration and they were putting a mezuzah on our home.
From that point on, mom took her Jewishness very seriously. She read prolifically, most of the material was Jewish or Holocaust related. Her extensive VHS collection had many movies with those themes. She occasionally did this thing at holiday meals with bread and Manischewitz wine and said things in Hebrew.
One day she told me that she was Jewish and her rationale was based on the Spanish persecution of the Jews. She said that Jews, in an attempt to avoid persecution changed their names or changed the spelling of their names. Her mother’s maiden name was Perez and she said the some Jews whose names were Peres changed the “s” to a “z.” They later fled Spain and many settled in Mexico. Hence, she was Jew, and in accordance with Jewish custom, I am Jewish. That’s what my momma told me. Shalom and mosoltov!
Mom passed away last year. It was her wish that Eleazar Ben Joseph preside at her service. Instead of the customary cross on her casket, we put the Star of David. Eleazar was there and we DID NOT have a Catholic Rosary type of service. Ele spoke, as did all of her children and her oldest brother. Imagine this, Amazing Grace starts (thanks Paul) and every one starts crying. I call the thing to order and introduce Ele. He says some customary Hebrew things that none of us understood. Each of us siblings get a turn at the lectern. I am Catholic, I don’t know what faith Lucy in practicing these days, Carmen is Episcopalian, I think, Javy claims atheism, but he isn’t and my uncle is a dedicated Mormon. What a service that turned out to be. A Jew, a Catholic, and a Mormon walk into a funeral home…I know there is a good joke in there somewhere.
When we cleared out mom’s house, I took the Mezuzah, I put it on the door at my house, and took it with when I bought a new a couple of years ago. A colleague of mine did some research and we did a little ritual and prayer on the front porch then celebrated.
Back to growing up Catholic…the church is pretty, how shall I say, traditional, old fashion, if I said antiquated, that would sound bad, but I don’t mean it to be bad, nothing wrong with standards and traditions. The older I get, the more a creature of habit I am. Many things I accept without giving them much thought. I am in a pickle right now because something personal is giving me pause, just pause, not reevaluation, but pause for introspection. I won’t elaborate on that, but this certainly gives my Catholicness greater weight and value, just because I pause to think about it, where as in the past I would have made the sign of the cross and been on my merry way. Catholic is not so light after all.
Listen to this. I was born and raised Catholic, but learned in adult life that I am Jew, that’s what my momma said.
We lived in the San Juan barrio in south central El Paso, on Dailey Street. I was Baptized, Confirmed, went to catechism, and did my First Holy Communion at San Juan Church located down the street from our home. That takes care of three of the seven Blessed Sacraments of Catholicism. I am in no hurry to get to number 7 – last rites. I will never get to Ordination. But, since I am married, I’ve got the basic sacraments covered.
Back then you were a good Catholic if you remembered to make the sign of the cross every time you walked in front of the church, or heard sirens, or before meals. All you had to do was to make the sign of the cross at the right time, forget that you didn’t go INTO the church regularly, or that you ate that steak on Friday. You could commit mortal sin as long as you confessed and were absolved. And you could have venial sin that did not completely separate you from God. We never learned the way to heaven other than not to commit sin, and if you did as long as you went to confession and took the Eucharist, all was right with the Lord. I never went to Confession and NOT get absolved. I could never remember my penance so I would pray Hail Mary and Our Father as many times as I could handle kneeling down.
In Catechism they taught us very basic things like how to say certain prayers, the Stations of the Cross, just the basics. I remember that to get to heaven we had to free of Mortal Sin, but with Venial Sin we could go to Purgatory and await redemption on Judgment Day. They stopped teaching purgatory somewhere along the way because my daughters, who started out a Catholic School, never learned about it. But they learned the Blessed Sacraments.
Over the years, as a youngster/teen, I would walk to church on Sundays, but not religiously. Eventually I asked Pat to marry me, we were both Catholic, but I was not in the “Catholic mode”, I knew no better. We lived together first, then set a wedding date, made arrangements. They didn’t ask, and we didn’t offer, that we had been living in sin all this time, 6 months. Nor did we offer that we had committed that awful deed – premarital sex.
In 1969 my mom moved into a neighborhood where the closest Catholic church is St. Joseph’s. That became my church, I still go there today and now I feel that I am a part of the parish, more on that later. I got married at this church without confessing my premarital sex sins. With sex came two daughters who we baptized appropriately. By this time we had discussed our desire to send out daughters to Catholic school so they could get a proper Catholic indoctrination. They learned the right things like their Sacraments and stuff; however, paying for two kids in private school got too expensive so we moved them to public school. We continued their spiritual training by sending them to CCD classes for their Confirmation.
One requirement was that they go to church so we took them. It became a pleasant ritual, church and breakfast, a ritual that I looked forward to, and one that I missed during those weekends when I was away on my Army Reserve training. As I progressed in the ranks, the absent weekends increased in frequency and I missed by Sunday worship and breakfast.
Eventually, I retired from the Army Reserve and now there was no reason NOT to be at Mass EVERY Sunday. Well, being who I am, I started going every Sunday, but I had other visions. As long as I am here, I may as well get involved so I talked to Father Joe and asked if I could volunteer. Of course, he accepted. I started helping with the Sunday collection, then became the main helper, then the head usher. One Sunday, during my duties helping the head usher, or as I learned – Hospitality Minister, lead me to the front of the church standing before the altar in preparation for Communion. Father Joe had taken a liking to me and he motioned to me to come to him. He told me to hold up the Eucharist and say “the body of Christ” and administer the Eucharist, at that moment I got promoted to Eucharistic Minister.
I enjoy my lay ministry duties and my fellow parishioners now. They look forward to me. The viejitas, or senior ladies, are so friendly to me, they hug and kiss me, more accurately, they hold out their cheeks for my kiss. It is with great pride that I tell folks that I run the 10 o’clock service every Sunday. I take care of all the details, the collection baskets, the bulletins, the collection ushers, the host and wine, the offertory.
In keeping with that commitment I decided to take up another ritual, the annual pilgrimage up to Mt. Cristo Rey the last Sunday of October. It is an inspiring tradition watching the faithful throng climbing the mountain, tens of thousands of them. It is not uncommon to see some taking the 3 mile trek bare footed to demonstrate their faith, or request a favor of their favorite Saint. So this is my Catholic faith today. I take my commitment seriously, but every Labor Weekend, I must go the Annual St. Anthony’s Seminary Bazaar and drink too much beer – you know to show my support.
Now, about that Jewish business…it started when I was in Germany. Having been raised Catholic light, I was bowled over when I got a letter from my sister, Maria Estela. This was 1976, she sent a two-page letter, typed, single-spaced, do you know how odd that was when the average letter was one page handwritten? It did not say “Dear Jaime.” Oh noooo, it said “Praise the Lord.” It seems that my sisters and my mom had been saved and they were born again Christians. The letter came in a large yellow envelope with two paper back books, one was The Late Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsey. Never read it, and I don’t remember the name of the other book but it was the same kind of book.
Life was about to take a turn, a good turn, but a sharp turn. My other sister was also in Germany at the time and I visited her a couple of times. One Sunday they were going to church, Southern Baptist, a good ole fashion gospel service, and being a good house guest, I tagged along. Well, the Pastor was preaching and he said “stand and bow your heads,” so we all did. He prayed, then he told the congregation “if any of you need prayer, just raise your head.” I was curious about who might need prayer and my curiosity got the best of me. I looked to the right, then to left and no one was looking up. I looked under my arm to the back and no one was lifting their head. I looked up and he got me, we made eye contact.
At the end of the service he called out to the congregation and said, “all those of you needing prayer come to front,” he looked directly at me, stretched out his arm and pointed at me. Everyone knew he was calling me out. Gotta be a good house guest and it is my sister’s church, so I started out when he calls for “Brother James,” my brother-in-law, to join us. Well, they prayed, we went through the Book of John and they asked me if I accepted Christ as my savior. Well, what could I say, no? Of course I accepted Christ as my savior. At that moment I was saved.
I went back to my old ways, you know, being a G I in a foreign country and all, and was discharged in June, 1977 whereupon I returned home and my comfortable Catholic ways. But my family members were all bible toting Christians and some how they got hooked up with a Rabbi named Sammy, a Messianic Jewish Rabbi. I know that is kind of an oxymoron, but that is what he was.
Once, I went with him to some factories, while doing research for a college paper and heard him pray for hundreds of workers on the factory floor. While driving around we talked, all morning we did this. I didn’t learn anything that changed my life, except that Rabbi Sammy was very much involved in the pro-life movement. I don’t know if that made a lasting impact, but today I am pro-life.
My brother and I were the two hold outs. I remember mom telling me about a dream of hers where she is overlooking a raging sea from a cliff top and her interpretation of the dream was that the sea was raging because me and Javy were not “right with the Lord.” Once, we all went to baptism at a church and saw mom and Stela get baptized. Then another time, mom got baptized in a backyard swimming pool in water that had lots of leaves in it. That was a Messianic Jewish baptism.
One Friday night I came home kind of early, pretty much under the influence, and there was this party going on. All the men were wearing funny hats, some wearing colorful shawls. They were having a Hava Nagila party that made no sense to me, but it was a party so I stood in the corner of my living room taking in the scene. I learned later that it was a celebration and they were putting a mezuzah on our home.
From that point on, mom took her Jewishness very seriously. She read prolifically, most of the material was Jewish or Holocaust related. Her extensive VHS collection had many movies with those themes. She occasionally did this thing at holiday meals with bread and Manischewitz wine and said things in Hebrew.
One day she told me that she was Jewish and her rationale was based on the Spanish persecution of the Jews. She said that Jews, in an attempt to avoid persecution changed their names or changed the spelling of their names. Her mother’s maiden name was Perez and she said the some Jews whose names were Peres changed the “s” to a “z.” They later fled Spain and many settled in Mexico. Hence, she was Jew, and in accordance with Jewish custom, I am Jewish. That’s what my momma told me. Shalom and mosoltov!
Mom passed away last year. It was her wish that Eleazar Ben Joseph preside at her service. Instead of the customary cross on her casket, we put the Star of David. Eleazar was there and we DID NOT have a Catholic Rosary type of service. Ele spoke, as did all of her children and her oldest brother. Imagine this, Amazing Grace starts (thanks Paul) and every one starts crying. I call the thing to order and introduce Ele. He says some customary Hebrew things that none of us understood. Each of us siblings get a turn at the lectern. I am Catholic, I don’t know what faith Lucy in practicing these days, Carmen is Episcopalian, I think, Javy claims atheism, but he isn’t and my uncle is a dedicated Mormon. What a service that turned out to be. A Jew, a Catholic, and a Mormon walk into a funeral home…I know there is a good joke in there somewhere.
When we cleared out mom’s house, I took the Mezuzah, I put it on the door at my house, and took it with when I bought a new a couple of years ago. A colleague of mine did some research and we did a little ritual and prayer on the front porch then celebrated.
Back to growing up Catholic…the church is pretty, how shall I say, traditional, old fashion, if I said antiquated, that would sound bad, but I don’t mean it to be bad, nothing wrong with standards and traditions. The older I get, the more a creature of habit I am. Many things I accept without giving them much thought. I am in a pickle right now because something personal is giving me pause, just pause, not reevaluation, but pause for introspection. I won’t elaborate on that, but this certainly gives my Catholicness greater weight and value, just because I pause to think about it, where as in the past I would have made the sign of the cross and been on my merry way. Catholic is not so light after all.
1 comment:
Post a Comment