My best friend and I used to fight over who got to be Judas in our sleepover re-creations of Jesus Christ Superstar.
You may find it strange, but a couple of 7 year olds with a video camera and a shiny LP of the London Cast recording from the 1970s was all we needed when Good Friday came rolling around.
I've mentioned before that I was raised Catholic. And my mother did a wonderful job with that- from knowing the stories to answering the questions and only ladling in the guilt when necessary. Sure, she skipped the masturbation chapters in "It's Perfectly Normal" when I hit puberty, and maybe it wasn't entirely accurate that giving a boy a hug could get me pregnant, but she was just protecting my well being. And one of the ways she taught me the church rules was through song and story.
I saw Ted Neeley (the actor portraying Jesus in JCS) live on stage at the tender age of 8. Amidst a flock of die hard Christians and die harder music theater buffs, my mother and I squealed with joy that afternoon when we saw him onstage at the local symphony hall. The story always left me with questions, and Mom always dutifully answered as best she could. It was our best bonding time. That's why I suppose it's never been a surprise that I hold a fondness for the Catholic Holy Week.
There's Holy Thursday, with its last supper and the reading of script while 12 members of the church get their feet washed (a symbolic portrayal of the apostles), and Good Friday, the day Jesus dies and the church becomes barren and empty, with barely even the sound of chanting, and Vigil Saturday where everyone gathers in hope and music and prayer into the wee hours of the night, and then Easter Sunday, when all the usual folk come out of hiding and don their bests for the big celebration at church. As a musician, Easter Sunday becomes a special heralding, a call to duty and the chance to sing gracefulness to The Lord. Gigs on Easter Sunday have always been treated with reverence in my family and I too, find peace in performing on those days. I've seen the insides of hundreds of churches this way. It's special, heartwarming.
But I digress. It was those moments I had as a child that lead me to my reverence of Holy Week, and while I completely goofed this week by eating chicken salad this morning (no meat on Fridays), I still try to choose appropriately for the high holidays.
I have morphed as a Catholic, even as a faithful person. I spent 5 or so years in a pseudo-pagan cult; I spent a few years thereafter practicing solitary Wicca, and a few years practicing nothing at all. Though I married in the Catholic Church, I am still hesitant to state that I am Catholic...I do not really represent the modern viewpoints of today's Catholic Church. I relish a woman's right to choose when to become a mother. I don't believe that responsible use of birth control will damn you to hell. I even support abortion in horrifically extreme cases of abuse or rape. Once, I wondered what my mother- my dutiful Catholic mother, would say to me if she knew all these things about me. I did a brave thing- I asked her.
"Claudia," she said, in the calmest voice I have ever heard, "no church should der provide more than guidelines, really. I raised you as a Catholic because your father and I believe in raising children to be faithful, mindful people of God. I had to get you from Baptism to Confirmation and see to it that you understand why the values I teach you are important. After that, your religion, your faith, is your path to walk and I can't walk it for you. You will have your own personal experiences with God. It's up to you what to do with them."
I was stunned. With all the years gone by, here stood my mother, the dutiful Catholic, telling me to forge my own spiritual path.
"Why didn't you say this after my confirmation, or when I was 21 and having my spiritual crisis, or any of those things?" I asked, a little frustrated in this new approach.
"Because everyone's relationship with God is personal. Influencing it is unfair. You are an adult, whether I like it or not, and the best I can hope for is that you have a good relationship with God. That I've taught you to have a good relationship, and that you won't be easily swayed into pain or harm or malice."
Shame suddenly filled my face, but she was kind and aware, and added, "And that you know that even the best relationships have rocky moments and painful experiences. What matters is the connection."
Mom does not regularly attend church as she used to. She doesn't go to Holy Week masses any more, and she doesn't even force the family to go to Mass on Sundays. But I know she prays. And I know that every Good Friday, I can expect her to watch Jesus Christ Superstar on her TV as a reminder of the faith she was raised in, the faith she raised me in. I know she still carries God with her every day, praying and following in her own way. Because it IS personal.
My best friend and I are no more than Facebook acquaintances today, but we can still remember our Judas vs. Jesus rock opera battles and laugh. And my mother and I can smile over our sympathy for Judas in his plight to protect Jesus from sounding too much like a cult leader. It is immaterial to anyone else, but for us, it is special.
And for me, it is redeeming. That after so many years of questionable religious experiences, I can still find enough common ground in the simple things to declare that I know that divine must exist. It is enough. The old makes way for the new, and each year, while I may not worship the death of Jesus, I find my sins washed away in the subtle experiences of those old traditions around me.
Catholic, or whatever I may be, I am freed from my chains, and it is a Good Friday, indeed.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
No comments:
Post a Comment