The Confessions of A Lapsed Catholic Schoolgirl

What with one thing or another, I’ve been thinking a lot about death recently. Well, death and religion (leaving the taxes for another less exciting dinner party, naturally). Panic not, you can pop your oyster card away, there is no need to charge round to Sophington Towers to check for a pulse, it’s just a fair smattering of Facebook memories from this time last year has got me thinking… and indeed remembering.

You see this time last year one of my relatives died. Even if I wanted to speak ill of the dead, I couldn’t as this chap had nary a bad bone in his body. And my Great Uncle (for it was he) was a Catholic priest. Perhaps this is the time to go on a slight confessional (ahem) diversion here and stake my own post in the consecrated ground… Catholicism runs deep in my family. However much to my grandmother’s dismay it seems that it has come to a sharp halt at my generation. I am what could be called, a lapsed Catholic. Personally I prefer to think of myself as half agnostic, half Jedi (imagine a very confused looking Yoda, sometimes the force is with me). As such, I get all of the guilt without any of the solace. And despite the what the nay sayers and anti religion types out there (& there certainly are many in my generation) may think, religion, or perhaps better put – faith, can offer a lot of solace to those who have it. In my opinion, that can be no bad thing no matter how misguided others may think it is, especially important in times of trouble, or at the end of one’s life as my Great Uncle was. Now, I won’t disagree religion (or perhaps actions committed in the name of religion), has indeed resulted in some awful atrocities, however my generation’s dismissal of all things religious (throwing the faith out with the holy water as it were) can irk me. Anyways, digression over, that’s where I stand, and that’s what I’m sticking to!

The big J-C himself

Now, I loved my Great Uncle a great deal, he was a kind, generous & wise man. And am pleased to say for all you religion haters out there, lacking in the things most people tend to associate with the Catholic church nowadays, namely a vast stash of Nazi gold hidden under the garden shed, and don’t even go there on the other ever present Catholic scandal. In fact, on the occasions we did discuss religion, he was very open minded about my declaration that I wasn’t too sure about this ‘Son of God’ business, and smiled generously on my assertion that the big JC was probably just a well meaning hippy ahead of his time. So when his funeral rolled around this time last year I knew I had to do him proud. However, I had a dilemma...

You see, I’m rather out of practice at this whole Church thing. I haven’t been in many a year, in fact not since the last funeral I went to. My recent Catholic church going history seems less 4 weddings & a funeral, more just 4 funerals. So not only did I have to go to my local Mass to practice & make notes (well, there’s an awful lot of kneeling down & standing up at very specific times during a mass. It plays havoc with the creaky knees y’know) but it appears I was rather out of the prayer loop too. In the near 20 years since I’ve been away, they’ve changed some of the words. And didn’t I feel like a chump when I bellowed out a response that it appears went the way of The Crash Test Dummies, circa 1994, i.e. gone and promptly forgotten (except by me it seems).

And it being a Catholic funeral service, not only were there prayers, but also several readings. Honouring my Great Uncle as I wanted to, I volunteered to do one. Unfortunately for this occasion, despite my 13 years of Catholic school education & A grade in our mandatory Religious Education GCSE, I have never been much of a one for the Old Testament, sticking firmly to the AD chapters as opposed to BC, or as I like to think of it, B-JC. Now, I don’t know about you, but the Book of Habakkuk (definitely Old Testament with that name) was never high on my reading list at the University of Lapsed Catholicism. I’d never even heard of it, let alone read it, and thus was rather shocked by not only it’s appearance in my life, but also it’s size. At a mere 3 chapters, it’s less of a book and more of a pamphlet in my eyes, but its what my Great Uncle wanted, so it was what he got, albeit with slight word mangling (Yahweh anyone?) though am sure he would have understood.

And this being a clergy funeral, he was treated to not one but two services! The first as low key as one could be with archbishops & a troop of monks in attendance. The second got the full hurrah, with nigh on 30 priests showing up. Now, as stated previously, I am not as virulently anti religion as some I know, in fact, I might go so far as to say that if on the off chance I would marry, a Catholic blessing wouldn’t be out of the question. But even I was somewhat unnerved by 30 men doing what looked like a very well rehearsed hand jive when the Eucharist was raised. Clad as they all were in their white robes it was like a rather elderly Tai Kwando convention, with slightly creakier moves… However, when all is said and done, it’s the send off my Great Uncle planned (though perhaps without my hand jive reference).

So where does this leave me one year on? Remembering certainly, both the high exposure to Church and my Great Uncle. Am I left with any more Catholicism running through my bones? Not so much. However, when I think of him, I think of not only his kindness and faith in god, but also his faith in humanity, and as the world seems far too often to be going to hell (if you believe in it!) in a handbasket, surely that can only be a good thing.