Evening at Gert's
I went to a Bible study out of Blessed Sacrament parish tonight. I've been wanting-- as you know--to get involved in something religious, but it's not as easy as it sounds. The Catholics up here are much more hands-off than those down South, and while I'm more than happy not to have to hold anybody's hand during the Our Father or to have to run laps around my pew during the kiss of peace, that stand-offishness also translates into a dearth of social activities of any kind, even Bible studies and that sort of thing.
I'm not as bad about the church-hopping here as I've been in the past, but last week I went to one of my not-so-regular parishes and found an ad in the bulletin for a Thursday night Bible study and a number to call and speak with Charlie about when and where.
We met at Gertrude's immaculate ranch-style home with carpets so white I scanned them desperately after I came in, certain I had sullied them (I hadn't). It was neat and sparsely decorated with plenty of extremely well-maintained 70s furniture. On top of a stand-up piano was one of those Bose radios you see in the Sunday Parade magazine, that are still as expensive now as they were the first time you saw one when you were ten.
Charlie, Gertrude, and Rose were grandparent-age, and Alice and another woman and her husband, whose names I can't remember, were parent-of-adult-children age.
We studied the book of Ruth, which was ironic since the last time I did any Bible study (at my silent retreat in 2004--an embarrassingly long time ago), we studied Ruth. I was able to contribute some of what I remembered.
Charlie took the local "Bible college" course, which is this intense, four-year program anyone can take. It's too much of a commitment for me, but I bet it's worthwhile. So Charlie led the discussion and pointed out some good stuff and asked some good questions.
I felt like Alice was different from the others, and the others weren't always happy to hear what she said, but I tried to back her up when I agreed with her.
Then, the man and woman whose names I can't remember began talking about their 30-year-old son. They don't know what went wrong; he went to Catholic school, was an altar boy, got As in religion class, and now he's all the time asking them how they can believe in the Bible. The main beefs he has that they mentioned have to do with science. "He believes in evolution," the woman said, rolling her eyes at Rose, who I'm sure must have rolled hers back.
Everyone started talking about the ridiculousness of evolution. The idea that we were descended from apes! Could apes have built the pyramids? You go grab an ape, or a babboon, or a gorilla if you want, and put him in a suit, and give him a rock, and see if he can build a pyramid!
Charlie also served as something of a mediator for discussion, and he did not chime in on these ideas. But he noticed that I tried to interject something, and when a lull came over the group, he invited me to speak.
I told them that John Paul II said we are free to believe in evolution, and that the Catechism teaches that science and religion can live in perfect harmony--and must live in harmony. That everything we learn in science only teaches us more about God; nothing science teaches us diminishes our beliefs. Our beliefs may change, but there's nothing wrong with that. Even if science does prove that we are descended from apes, that doesn't mean that God didn't make it happen, or that somewhere after the ape phase there was an Adam and Eve (a proposition I'm not necessarily supporting; truth be told, I have very little concern about whether or not Adam and Even actually existed, and their reality or lack thereof influence my faith about nil).
I saw the unnamed woman smile at Rose, and when I glanced at Rose, she looked at me guiltily and smiled. "Sorry," she said. "I just don't..."
I brought up the Catechism again. I said that people have trouble when they don't want to face things that are confusing to them. If people who are religious are afraid science will threaten their beliefs, and then if they deal with that by ignoring science, people who rely on science will never take them seriously. And people who love science can be guilty of the same sort of thing, refusing to give a listen to any kind of religious ideas because they think science and religion don't mix. But they do; they have to. That's why God gave us science, and brains.
I saw Charlie's eyes smiling at me.
I'm no prophet, but I think I said some things that those people hadn't heard or considered before, and I think it was good. The unnamed woman seemed to want to think about things more and discuss with her son some of the things I said. Maybe that's why I found the ad this week. I'll probably never go back. I realized after I got there that next week is out because of my appointment, and after, I'm starting my new schedule, so I won't get done with work until 7 on Thursdays, which is when the group starts. So if I was supposed to go and say something valuable, I'm glad I could.
I learned something, too, though I can't quite put my finger on it. All the people there were cradle Catholics, and not like any of the cradle Catholics I know who are all my age. These people have been Catholics for 50, 60, 70 years. I've known very few people like that. These people also raised their children Catholic. I didn't have a Catholic upbringing. To tell you the truth, it was kind of weird to be around people like that. My family experience was so different. I'm glad I had the experience I did, but I'm not sure how it will be for my own children. I don't want to be the mother of a 30-year-old one day, nagging him in the kitchen about his evolving beliefs. But I don't want to be distant and uncertain about discussing religion, either. I want to strike a balance.
I hope I'll be good at it.
I'm not as bad about the church-hopping here as I've been in the past, but last week I went to one of my not-so-regular parishes and found an ad in the bulletin for a Thursday night Bible study and a number to call and speak with Charlie about when and where.
We met at Gertrude's immaculate ranch-style home with carpets so white I scanned them desperately after I came in, certain I had sullied them (I hadn't). It was neat and sparsely decorated with plenty of extremely well-maintained 70s furniture. On top of a stand-up piano was one of those Bose radios you see in the Sunday Parade magazine, that are still as expensive now as they were the first time you saw one when you were ten.
Charlie, Gertrude, and Rose were grandparent-age, and Alice and another woman and her husband, whose names I can't remember, were parent-of-adult-children age.
We studied the book of Ruth, which was ironic since the last time I did any Bible study (at my silent retreat in 2004--an embarrassingly long time ago), we studied Ruth. I was able to contribute some of what I remembered.
Charlie took the local "Bible college" course, which is this intense, four-year program anyone can take. It's too much of a commitment for me, but I bet it's worthwhile. So Charlie led the discussion and pointed out some good stuff and asked some good questions.
I felt like Alice was different from the others, and the others weren't always happy to hear what she said, but I tried to back her up when I agreed with her.
Then, the man and woman whose names I can't remember began talking about their 30-year-old son. They don't know what went wrong; he went to Catholic school, was an altar boy, got As in religion class, and now he's all the time asking them how they can believe in the Bible. The main beefs he has that they mentioned have to do with science. "He believes in evolution," the woman said, rolling her eyes at Rose, who I'm sure must have rolled hers back.
Everyone started talking about the ridiculousness of evolution. The idea that we were descended from apes! Could apes have built the pyramids? You go grab an ape, or a babboon, or a gorilla if you want, and put him in a suit, and give him a rock, and see if he can build a pyramid!
Charlie also served as something of a mediator for discussion, and he did not chime in on these ideas. But he noticed that I tried to interject something, and when a lull came over the group, he invited me to speak.
I told them that John Paul II said we are free to believe in evolution, and that the Catechism teaches that science and religion can live in perfect harmony--and must live in harmony. That everything we learn in science only teaches us more about God; nothing science teaches us diminishes our beliefs. Our beliefs may change, but there's nothing wrong with that. Even if science does prove that we are descended from apes, that doesn't mean that God didn't make it happen, or that somewhere after the ape phase there was an Adam and Eve (a proposition I'm not necessarily supporting; truth be told, I have very little concern about whether or not Adam and Even actually existed, and their reality or lack thereof influence my faith about nil).
I saw the unnamed woman smile at Rose, and when I glanced at Rose, she looked at me guiltily and smiled. "Sorry," she said. "I just don't..."
I brought up the Catechism again. I said that people have trouble when they don't want to face things that are confusing to them. If people who are religious are afraid science will threaten their beliefs, and then if they deal with that by ignoring science, people who rely on science will never take them seriously. And people who love science can be guilty of the same sort of thing, refusing to give a listen to any kind of religious ideas because they think science and religion don't mix. But they do; they have to. That's why God gave us science, and brains.
I saw Charlie's eyes smiling at me.
I'm no prophet, but I think I said some things that those people hadn't heard or considered before, and I think it was good. The unnamed woman seemed to want to think about things more and discuss with her son some of the things I said. Maybe that's why I found the ad this week. I'll probably never go back. I realized after I got there that next week is out because of my appointment, and after, I'm starting my new schedule, so I won't get done with work until 7 on Thursdays, which is when the group starts. So if I was supposed to go and say something valuable, I'm glad I could.
I learned something, too, though I can't quite put my finger on it. All the people there were cradle Catholics, and not like any of the cradle Catholics I know who are all my age. These people have been Catholics for 50, 60, 70 years. I've known very few people like that. These people also raised their children Catholic. I didn't have a Catholic upbringing. To tell you the truth, it was kind of weird to be around people like that. My family experience was so different. I'm glad I had the experience I did, but I'm not sure how it will be for my own children. I don't want to be the mother of a 30-year-old one day, nagging him in the kitchen about his evolving beliefs. But I don't want to be distant and uncertain about discussing religion, either. I want to strike a balance.
I hope I'll be good at it.