Never, Never on a Sunday

So, on Sunday, I let the kids walk ahead to the coffee and doughnut reception for new (unsuspecting) members of the parish and I wait for Father G. who was glad handing at the church doors.

Though we've not met formally, he knows who I am instantly. And smiling all the while, he says the strangest thing. He says he understands I've had some concerns. He's read my letter. And now that I've sent the letter, he hopes I won't "feel funny about coming to Mass at Our Lady of Condemnation."

Well, geez, I should hope not.

Should I?

I chose to ignore the notion and all that it suggests. Soon enough the congregation chased him to some heinous parish in another part of the diocese. Chased out the new Monsignor, too. They were not worried about little old me and my one voice. They had bigger fishes and loaves to fry.

But nonetheless, the general unwillingness to accept parishioners who reject the school remains palpable. And since Sr. Francis Charles has left her post as Director of RES, one of the congregation has been tapped to assume the role in her stead. It is like a misogynist taking over WOAR.

And so now we worship along side those who are not compelled to even attempt to hide their disdain for "the publics." It is clear that they think we are uncultured, idol-worshipping pagans masquerading as Catholics as we sit beside them on Sunday Masses and the Holy Days. As we get our Ashes at the dawn of Lent. As we get our throats blessed through he power of St. Blaise. And we endure our unofficial Holy Days: The Feast of the Immaculate Condescension. Insinuation Thursday. The Feast Day of St. Facetious.

After 7 years of smiling through the friendly little attempts to humiliate, I have reached a breaking point. I am like Michael Douglas in Falling Down (without the baseball bat...).

I rev up my laptop and log into my e-mail account. I am at my wordsmithing best.

Uh-oh.