11 March 2004
hy·poc·ri·sy
n. pl. hy·poc·ri·sies
The practice of professing beliefs, feelings, or virtues that one does not hold or possess; falseness.
An act or instance of such falseness.
This post is going to be a long one and a serious one. It will discuss matters of religion and personal belief. If this is not your thing, turn back now.
As a baby, I was christened at the Church of Scotland, the Church my mum had attended since her childhood.
Throughout my early childhood, I was taken to Church with my mum, and attended Sunday School as soon as I was old enough. I knew the ten commandments before I could read, write or count.
One Sunday, when I was maybe three years old, a van pulled up in our street, and my friends got into it. I wanted to know where they were going, and if I could go too.
The next week, I joined them in that van, and started going to the Salvation Army Sunday School. It was noisy and happy, and exciting.
For a few years, I attended both Churches. Church of Scotland in the morning, and Salvation Army in the afternoon. Eventually, I didn't want to go to the Church of Scotland any more.
Both Churches taught pretty much the same thing - despite the fact that they weren't singing from the same hymn book, the bible and its teachings remained the same. Despite that, even from an early age, I became uncomfortable at the differences between the two congregations. At my mum's church, I didn't get the same feeling of warmth and welcome as I did at the Salvation Army. I didn't see the same level of interaction between the members of the congregation. Certainly, there were groups and events - The Choir and the Boy's Brigade, the Council and the Women's Friendship Circle - all the ingredients of the perfect middle-class protestant congregation, but it just didn't feel the same.
So I stopped going to the Church of Scotland, which disappointed my mum somewhat, but she allowed it, so long as I went to a church, any church, until I reached the age of 16, where she felt I would be adult enough to make up my own mind.
So that's what I did.
My mum threw herself into her church activities, and I got heavily involved with the Salvation Army. I resented her involvement sometimes - when I felt she chose the people in the church over us, her family.
I signed the pledge, aged 7, where I declared that I wouldn't smoke, wouldn't drink alcohol, and wouldn't have sex until I was married. I joined the band, and the choir, and yes, I even played the tambourine.
In short, I believed.
I swallowed all the hype. Hook, line and sinker. They got me from an early age, and I was brainwashed.
I grew older, and I got more involved, and the more involved I got, the more the cracks began to show - both internally and externally. My innate curiosity was battling with the promise I'd made to not explore certain avenues, and it began to trouble me. I took my promises seriously, even though the vast majority of people around me didn't.
Like any group of teenagers, there was drinking, and smoking, and sex - by the bucketload - but nobody paid it any attention... and gradually the scales began to fall from my eyes, and I became aware of the petty politics that were going on. The power struggles and the put-downs. The myriad of little hypocrisies, and eventually, after much consideration, and more than a few heated arguments (and for heated arguments, read screaming matches) with my mum, I left the Salvation Army too.
My mum continued to be heavily involved in her church, and I continued not going to any church, and eventually, we reached an understanding, and she accepted that having tried both places, and given it more than the agreed timescale, it wasn't for me. I had experienced it, researched it, evaluated it and made my own decision.
In the intervening years, I never went back to the Salvation Army, and only went back to my mum's church on very rare occasions, and always on the understanding that I was there for her, not for the faith.
A month after I moved to London, I went back home and back to that church to see my parents get re-married.
Six months later, I was back again, this time for my father's funeral.
The minister came round, doing his "duty", like a vulture scenting blood. I very calmly explained to my mum that I didn't wish him to speak to me, beyond common courtesies, and that I would be very angry if he did not respect my beliefs, and tried to "comfort" me with scripture and prayer, because although she might find those comforting, I did not.
... and so, life went on. I would receive phone calls from my mum, where she would cry, and tell me how lonely she was, and I would tell her not to worry, because she had a bigger friendship circle than I had, and she had her church, and to be honest, I couldn't see what the problem was.
Six months later, my gran died. My mother's mother - and now, my mum really was alone - living on her own in a house that had once held five. My sister and I miles away - me in London, her in Dover, and even though my mum's health had deteriorated, I wasn't worried, because she had her church.
Only she didn't.
Two months ago I went home for the first time since my gran died. I was in the kitchen, probably feeding the cats - I can't quite recall now, when D came through and told me that my mum was becoming Catholic.
I spluttered.
"Are you kidding me"? I demanded.
"No, and I don't think your mother is either - it doesn't strike me as the kind of thing she'd joke about..." he replied.
... and so I went through to the living room, and asked my mum straight out, if she was becoming Catholic.
She replied that she was thinking about it, and that she was taking classes, and had been for three months already, and would take three more months, before making up her mind whether she wished to join.
I was flabbergasted.
My mother, protestant from birth, passed down through generation, going to the chapel? Seeing a priest? Going to confession?
My mind boggled. Not, you understand, because I have any problems whatsoever with Catholics, despite being brought up in the highly sectarian West of Scotland, but because the whole practice of the religion was such an alien thing to me and seemed diametrically opposed to the Church of Scotland.
I asked her why, and quite literally felt sick to my stomach as she explained.
In the days and weeks following my dad's funeral, not one of her friends from the church had visited, or even phoned to see if she was ok. The Minister visited once, a week later. Other than that, not a peep.
Cards were pushed through the letterbox although it was obvious she was at home, the senders sneaking down the path, firm in their belief that they'd done their bit.
As my gran was hospitalised after a fall, no-one came to see if she needed anything, no-one phoned to ask why she hadn't been at choir practice, or church on Sunday.
Nothing.
After my gran's funeral, more cards were pushed through the letterbox. The phone stayed silent. When my mum called them, excuses were made, conversations held short. Busy lives had to be led. The Minister visited once, a week after the funeral, but after that, nothing.
No visit to see how her health was.
No-one to visit her in hospital, the many times she was hospitalised.
Not one phone call, or get well card.
At the time that she most needed her church and her friends there, they deserted her.
So how did she wind up deciding to become Catholic?
A neighbour from down the road came by and saw her struggling with her wheelchair and offered to help. Conversation flowed, and my mum was invited to the drop-in centre at the chapel. Everyone is welcome, she was told, doesn't matter whether you're Catholic or not.
... and so she went, and was welcomed with open arms, and she began to go more often, because some days, it was the only way she could be sure of actually talking to someone, face to face.
And so, at this late stage in her life, my mother has gone through the six months of classes, and made her decision.
I have serious problems with organised religion, and have a few misgivings about such a late change of church, but to be honest, what troubles me more is that it was necessary in the first place.
It deeply saddens me that an organisation to which my mum has devoted so much of her life, people for whom she would have done anything for, were it in her power to do so, turned their back on her.
It sickens me that the Minister, the man whose job it is to protect his flock, didn't have the time, or the inclination, or whatever, to comfort someone in need. Of course I understand that he's a busy man, with a large parish, but when an active member suddenly drops out of view, I don't think it's beyond the grounds of what's reasonable to expect that he might investigate why, even with just a simple phone call.
... and more than anything, it's brought home, once again, the hypocrisy of the church. The Sunday Christians - like Sunday Drivers, but with less charm. The people who go to Church because they feel they should, because their parents brought them up to, because it's what all the other people in the street/their bridge club/their social club/whatever little suburban peer group they belong to do. That chore they do, like cutting the grass, or trimming the hedge, so that they can feel better about themselves. Led by the Minister who preaches "do as I say, not as I do".
I hope that she's happy with her choice, and that her chosen method of practicing her faith gives her the comfort she so obviously needs - or if nothing else, the cracks that will inevitably be there, don't begin to show, because I'm not entirely sure what effect it will have on her to have that particular rug pulled out from under her again.
For me, it's just confirmed to me that belief in ourselves and doing what we feel is right, rather than what we're told we should do, or feel we should do to look good, is far more important and worthwhile than turning up at Church one day a week.
Ahhh middle-class Church of Scotland. I was the same, Boys Brigade, bible class, Scripture Union classes and camps, and I can remember when it started to unravel.. but that's for another time.
I hope it works out for your Mum. I'm no big fan of religion but I know it works for some people, and if joining the Catholic church gives your mother that circle of friends she obviously needs then it's nothing but a good thing... right?
ulph....heavy stuff.
I understand your fear about having that rug pulled out from underneath her, but I think, too, it's best for her to seize what she can, while she can. If this makes her happy for now, why not?
My parents were very religious - they sent me to every church they could find. ;) Of the two dozen or so different religious services that I've attended on a semi-regular basis, I have to say that I find the Catholic church to be the most welcoming, and the most self-assured. They don't need to reassure themselves of the message, because they feel that they are the original church (and history tends to agree ;). Because they incorporate such a vast variety of people in their global church, they are more accepting of individual differences than one would think.
I too went to RCIA for almost a year (which is the local length of time conversion takes), but I decided that I couldn't go through with it in all honesty, because I am agnostic. However, I still attend a Catholic service on occaision, simply because I find the ritual soothing, and the people welcoming.
Like any organization, there will be power struggles and whatnot, but the practice of moving the priest every five to seven years helps weed that down, too.
I'm sorry for your mother, that the people in her congregation were so selfish. 'Twere I you, (and I'm not, by any means), I'd write that Minister a note, explaining why, exactly, he's lost a member of his church. Not angry, but informative. Perhaps he'd listen, perhaps not - but either way, I'd stand up and say "Yo! Shumcks!!!"
BTW, I'm glad I'm not the only person whose parents had re-married. ;)
That's sad. And I don't mean sad that your mother's becoming a Catholic - growing up in Northern Ireland has left me with very little time for those arguments.
I mean it's sad that that has been her experience of the Church of Scotland. But tht's the thing about middle-class Christianity (and I'm speaking as a middle-class Christian, here): going through the motions without too much regard for what the church is supposed to be, a compassionate community that goes out of its way to care. There are churches that get it right, but way too few. Basically, you hit the nail on the head - and again, I'm speaking from the inside, here. Although, the flipside is that I have a friend who is a minister, who has had a frightening number of terminally ill members in his church, and he spends every hour he has at hospital bedsides, and with families, and it kills him. The theorists'll tell us he cares too much, doesn't detach himself, and will burn out. But that's compassion. That's actually giving a shit. That is, to get right down to it, why he does what he does.
Good luck to your mum. I hope she's found herself with a bunch of people who get it.
I'm with Courtney - I'd drop that minister a gentle line and explain the situation. If he has any wit at all, and holds that Bible of his as in any way valuable, he'll appreciate the eye-opener. And if he really *has* got some sense, he won't then go trying to 'win' your mother back.
Wow.
All the best to your mum - I'm no fan of organised religion, and particularly the hypocrisy of Catholicism (I'll forever find it hard to justify their virtual beatification of my hellspawn of a grandmother), so it really comes as something to see that they're not the worst of the bunch.
Good for her, though - if it's helping her with life, and to have people to talk to etc., then I hope it all works out.
I think writing a note to the minister is a very good idea (it just might make him think the next time his compassion disappears) but most of all I'm glad your mother has found a welcoming community.
I read this last week, and I've been thinking about it a bit. Coming from a Catholic background which I was given the option to leave (and boy, did I) at a reasonably early age, I never really experienced that community aspect of organised religion as anything other than the major element of church that I disliked and which irked me the most.
Had it been a welcoming, encouraging social forum, there's a chance I might not feel the way I do now, regardless of how much I might like to think to the contrary.
We're all human, after all.
Hm.
Disclaimer - I'm born and raised Catholic, and although I only see a church once in a blue moon, I do still consider myself (loosely) Catholic and, in a couple of months, will be involved in raising a Catholic kid.
I had a similar blowout (minus the heated arguments at home) with the youth group in my church. I got EXTREMELY involved in it, as did many of my contemporaries, and it eventually imploded.
What I got out of being in youth group was a sense of community - people that liked me and thought like I did. What I learned in the aftermath was that I didn't have to go through the Church to find that. (Email me and I can go into details.)
I think organized religion, for all of its shortcomings, should serve two purposes: to provide a framework for faith, and to provide a community of believers. Sounds like your Mum needs a good dose of the second from someplace, Church or otherwise. (Maybe a poker night with the ladies?)
Interesting story. I agree it is quite disappointing that any group of people, let alone a "Christian" organization that should have, consistently with their faith, a special attention for people in need, should keep distant from a person who has been part of the community itself for long, which would be even more unacceptable if we are talking about a small village/town or a not to crowded parish.
In a certain sense, your mother actually chose those who, at least there, have behaved with more consistency with their faith and humanity. I guess much depends on the people involved, rather than the actual church denomination. Though it would be interesting to know which factors, if any, make a church more welcoming than others, as it has been mentioned above by Courtney.
That said, I wonder if everywhere the Catholic church would be welcoming people if they were, say, notoriously disagreeing with their cathechism, divorced, or homosexual. I don't think so. But that's another story.
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