parish family

Today I was perched behind the organ in the chapel, watching the Baptismal festivities. The two babies who were baptized were so cute, and I am lucky to be able to help the deacon with the annointings, because I get an up-close look at the action. From where we sat on the organ bench, we had a great view of a little toddler in a pink dress who was having a great time babbling and checking everything out. Her family passed her around until the right aunt kept her busy and cozy in her lap. After a while, she ended up out in the center aisle, walking slowly toward the front. As she moved forward, I watched each adult at the end of their row tap the shoulder of the person in front of them, passing on the job of being the watchful eye for this little girl. No one jumped up and panicked about her being loose, they all seemed to know her pretty well and know she'd be okay and not disruptive- but they all kept a loving eye on her. It was a neat example of how a family works- I am starting to see that there is enormous value in being part of a big, loving, extended family.
Later I saw that again, with Marissa and Nicole and little Alycia all taking care of each other at Mass. Young people follow their parents' lead in so many ways, but it just can't be discounted how incredibly important a great Auntie can be, how valuable a loving Godparent can be.
I served as a Eucharistic Minister at Mass, too, and was touched by the hands that reached out to receive Communion from me. I'm always intrigued by the different styles of receiving; by hand, by mouth, by hands held up high or way down low, by the people who say "Amen." before I even finish saying "Body of Christ." One guy walks up so close to me that he bumps into my bowl. Some bow before receiving, most don't. Some look into my eyes, some look at the wafer, some at my hand. But anyway, tonight, I was amazed by all the sizes and shapes and textures of the hands that reached out in front of me. They were all ages, and some were strong looking and some were curled up with age. It felt beautiful to be serving communion and be in communion with the variety of hands that make up our parish.
Now I'm off to be with the same headache that's dogged me since Friday. Hormonal, I guess. Tomorrow's supposed to be very cold again, Spring hopes are dashed. But Easter's coming, I can feel it.

I'm so not Italian... but I'm a big fan of their food (and families)!

This weekend it was the circle of life, Italian style. I'm working on some good one-liners, like "more cleavage than an Italian wake" or, "how many black cows have to die for an Italian funeral?" They're still rough, I'm working on them.
We went to the funeral of a co-worker's father, and it was beautiful testament to the man and his family. He was a war hero, and a policeman in the town, then a restaurant owner- he built a royal family and was much respected- the line at 7:00 to enter the wake was a block long, and we waited an hour.
The funeral was impressive too, crowded. Scott leaned over at one point and said "not a lot of blondes here..." and I said "and NO natural blondes!" Sorry, I know, not nice... but Scott's half Italian so by marriage, I'm allowed. But anyway. There were 18 pall bearers, and so many people filed in with the family. The stories told about him were impressive- not just the stories of heroics on the job, but of his prayer life and deep faith.
Then, today, it was a Baptism- one baby (we usually have up to 6 at a time) and she was surrounded by a doting fan club- when the pastor asked the godparents if they were ready to support the parents in bringing the child up in the faith, they said "OH yeah!!" enthusiastically- and I believed them. There was a lot of love in that chapel.
The best part of working in a parish is being able to witness these moments in people's lives. Even the hardest times, in loving families, just brings focus to the one thing that bonds them together, keeps them strong, defines them as family- the love and devotion they have for one another.

gene therapy

We'd be at about 7 and a half months pregnant now. At our parish, the Respect Life committee has a big poster up in each entry showing a fetus at exactly the same age ours would be. The posters change every month and say things like "I can hear my mommy's voice!" I can't wait for that damn imaginary baby to be born. There's something pretty disquieting about walking by that poster as time goes on.
I guess I've mentioned before that I have never felt called to motherhood. I remember in college being in the mall with my friend Shannon- she noticed that I didn't even seem to notice the cute babies around me. I seemed to be missing a gene that most women have. I have long had the rep among my friends as being the one NOT to call when you need a babysitter. And don't expect me to hold the baby until that neck can handle itself.
My new job at my new job is to revamp the Baptism ministry. One of the first things I did when I got to the parish after my most recent miscarriage was to attend a Baptism. Now just about every day I am talking with new mothers and fathers and meeting new babies and it is striking. I do see now how people might be able to handle having a baby, if all the conditions are right and they have plenty of money and all that. I'm still not there, but I do think my "babies are cute" gene has awakened. I'll even hold a baby if that situation arises. No problem.
Yesterday we had two baptisms during the 11:00 Mass. The babies were straight off Gerber jars- big cheeks and wispy hair and shiny eyes. I get choked up around babies now, sometimes.

Grab the rope

I've been thinking a lot lately about how parents form their children's beliefs. It's come up often in first Eucharist and Reconciliation prep, and now in Baptism prep too. Today at First Reconciliation class I was listening to the teacher tell the parents that they have to be careful that their own fears or negative feelings about rec. won't color their children's feelings about the sacrament. I think parents have to make this choice all the time- a parent who hates going to the dentist must sell it to their kids as a great thing to do, and they do it knowing that having one's teeth cleaned is good for everyone, even if it's uncomfortable and unpleasant.
The parents were reminded that at the First Rec. service, they too will be invited to partake in the Sacrament- and their kids will be watching. It reminded me of a time I went rappelling with a group of teenagers who I worked with at a residential treatment center. I was all for the trip and for all of them facing their fears and slipping down the rock face- the tall, scary rock face. I knew they would walk away from this experience exhilarated, proud of their accomplishments, and braver and better as a person. Yay for the kids!
One by one, the kids said "what about YOU? Are YOU going down the rock face?" and over and over I said "ohhhh you know, I want to make sure ALL of YOU get to go, in case we run out of time. I'm happy to SACRIFICE my turn so that you can have this IMPORTANT experience."
But my kids did not take my crap. They wanted me to try this crazy, dangerous activity, this one that called for new bravery- they wanted me to show them that not only did I believe in its importance for them, but also for me. And of course, they were right.
And now it's time for me to step up to the rope again, because here I am teaching parents how important it is for them to model this Sacrament, and I haven't been in nearly Forever. But, just to make sure everyone else gets a chance, I'll go to another priest. In another parish. Out of town. :)