Slumming with the Lutherans
I was raised Catholic. But, like my gender and my ethnic background, I’ve always thought of my religion as a bit of an accident of birth. I mean, it’s not like anybody asked me; they just poured water over my head at six weeks old and proclaimed me a Papist.
So I love to hang out with people from other religions – Christian, non-Christian, etc. – to see how the rest of the world views God, the Goddess, or whatever. I’ve always felt that the surest way to ensure tolerance is through understanding and exposure. So I “expose” myself as much as possible through friends, community and the like.
It’s a journey that my sisters also undertook; the results for them included adult choices that led one to Judaism, and another to Protestantism. I think that’s cool. [Actually, it makes me feel a little bit lazy for adhering (in whatever small way) to the Catholicism I was born to.]
But it’s cool, and the resulting syllogisms are baffling in their simplicity: I love my sister; my sister is a Jew; therefore, I love Jews. I love my other sister; my other sister is a Presbyterian; therefore, I love Presbyterians. Where’s my Nobel Peace Prize? I’ve also been trying to get my Mom to pursue an old interest she had in Wiccanism. I’m already picturing the bumper sticker: “That’s no Witch; that’s my MOM!”
And for the past couple of years, I’ve been teaching at a summer Vacation Bible School (“VBS”) program at one of the local Lutheran churches here on the Island. They have the same program at the local Catholic parish, but I thought it would be fun to hang with the Lutherans. So I grabbed my own kids, and the neighbors’ kids (Methodists), and off I went to teach four and five year-olds about love and forgiveness. Lutheran style.
VBS is the most insane week you can imagine: 140 kids running and screaming through the church and an attached school, trying to learn a few bible lessons and three songs over five three-hour days. And the Lutherans are great at it. The Pastor, whom everybody refers to as “Pastor Bob,” is a grandfather. [Of course, I find this totally amazing, because I’m used to celibate priests.] They run the whole thing like a boot camp, but everybody – and I do mean everybody – has a blast. So I’m going back again this year, and I'm taking my kids with me.
I called over to Pastor Bob this week and told him to be sure and include me on the teacher list for Summer 2006. “I’m the Catholic,” I reminded him, “from last year. Do you remember me?” He said of course he did. The fact that I’m not part of his congregation didn’t matter. Isn’t that great?