Of Catholics and Protestants
Saturday, December 03, 2005
As read in Moby Dick the previous Wednesday evening in Texas – a short passage:
“I never fancied broiling fowls; – though once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will. It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the pyramids.”
There were times when certain passages struck Collette’s fancy for no reason in particular.
(11:59am) It was one of those rare Saturdays – the sort where OLeif and Collette had nowhere to be, that morning at least. It was a time to enjoy a breakfast of pancakes and eggs, prepared especially by Oleif, and a time to string the Christmas lights on the balcony in the bitter cold gray of the day, while old 40’s classics played.
Much to Collette’s surprise, that evening… In the hopes of attending a Concert Choir concert at the All Saints’ Catholic Church down the road from Violet Gentles’ house, she found it to be a mass instead, with the choir singing from the loft only during the offering and the end of the service – the Hallelujah Chorus. Although she had finally been able to see the inside of the church, built sometime in the 1800’s. Vaulted ceilings, stained glass, oscillating fans attached to the carved and painted posts leading to the sky. Icons of the Saints next to Christ, kneeling angels, a Christmas tree in the corner, the pink and purple candles of Advent in garlands, gold and white, pink and blue – the colors of the ceiling and walls… Collette recalled one afternoon in particular when she had driven there, while out on errands with Carrie-Bri. And much to Carrie’s embarrassment, she parked the car in the parking lot and walked back to the shrine on a path beyond the cemetery. Carrie would not join her, as she was too nervous being in such a Catholic presence. Once Collette arrived, she noted the small stone alcove with an image of Mary surrounded with flowers, beads, pictures (several of soldiers), and other various icons. It made her sad seeing such devotion to a young woman – a miserable sinner as everyone else who had ever breathed on the earth, aside from Christ, who was God Himself. She almost felt as if she was in some place very unholy. Although such are often the imaginings of a Protestant in a place of Catholic worship, as she was tempted to feel that very same evening in the church as the Catholics began to kneel there.
“We have fought many terrible wars against one another,” the priest (who looked like Uncle Clarence) was saying to them during the mass, in reference to the various denominations there gathered, “so let us tonight extend the hand of peace to one another, as we all are Christians.”
Collette felt almost guilty for not doing so to anyone in particular, as the congregation began to shake hands with one another. And yet she was wedged between OLeif and Molly, and would have had to turn around to the greet the Catholic behind her. On the way back to the apartment, OLeif began discussing whether or not it was right to partake of communion with Catholics, as Protestants. After all, if they were truly Christians, and the Catholic Eucharist truly Christian, why would they not take communion with them? It was yet another thought to be pondered… How satisfying and comforting, yet many times wearying and hurting, to know that one was saved – to truly know it.
After the concert, there was pizza and cards and such at the apartment with Joe, Magnus, Curly, Wally, Giggles, Rose, Molly, and Starr. Sleet began coming down at close to nine when Collette drove out to get more soda. She was thoroughly enjoying the present Christmas season, and hoped that a good several snows would arrive in time for Christmas itself.
“Christians must not keep their religious and moral convictions in one compartment, and take (their) reading merely for entertainment, or on a higher plane, for aesthetic pleasure.” – T.S. Eliot