Religious Rediculousness

My mother was a died-in-the-wool member of the Church of Christ. Yes, the one where they don't use musical instruments in their worship; teach girls not to dance; wear make-up or otherwise dress suggestively and most importantly that women have no place in worship other than to sit quietly and sing when appropriate. Women are not even allowed to teach Sunday School to male children over the age of 12. Imagine my shock when I spent my life going three times per week: Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday evening and any other time the doors were open only to realize in my early teens that I was a non-person. It didn't sit well with my personality, to say the least. 

I went though. I had no choice. Mother told me I "had" to go until I was sixteen years old and then I could make my own decision to continue to not. I did not. There were moments that I recall as precious. The Acapella singing was really quite beautiful. I was in choir at school and in the Madrigal Acapella singing group in high-school. I did love the singing. I remember as a small child playing with an old ladies hat pins as we sat behind her in church. I remember looking at the beautifully carved pews with grapevines and leaves on the end posts. I also remember being taunted and teased and looked-down-upon because I was the daughter of a poor, blind widow. Youth are viscous regardless of where you find them. It wasn't just the youth though. The adults saw our family with eyes of pity. One cannot ascribe to feeling like a worthwhile person when pitied to the extent that we were. 

Anyway, all of this is to say that Bruce was slung around the baptismal font like a toy on the end of a stick. He had been converted and baptized Catholic on the battlefield in preparation to marry Barbara in the Catholic Church. I supposed he did have some modicum of hope while he was there. Barbara and her family scheduled a Rosary to be said at the funeral home and as they were all gathering on their knees in front of the casket, mother made Gary and I leave and go downstairs to the lounge. She did not want us to bear witness to something so foreign to her. I guess she was afraid that we too might "catch" Catholicism and go to hell. 

The Church of Christ people think they are the ONLY religion that will give entry into heaven. You've heard the joke: Guy dies and goes to heaven. St. Peter gives him the tour and when they reach a big meeting room he tells the guy to be real quiet as the Church of Christ people are in there and they think they're the only ones in heaven.

Next day she had a full mass said for Bruce at Divine Child Catholic Church. They took the casket over to the church so we stayed home that day. I seriously regret that we did not get to go. Now that I'm over 60 I know that I would have been blessed by that service as I am spiritually exhilarated and soothed by High Church. Of course I didn't know that then and didn't want to be the source of causing my mom more discomfort as she acquiesced to Barb's needs as his finance.

So the expectations and local mourning were over in Dearborn Heights, MI and it was time to take his body to Tennessee for burial. Mother would not consider flying so she rode in the car with her brother, Howard, and his wife - the one that hated us. My oldest brother, Clyde, stayed with Gary and I until the next morning when we three flew in our first airplane ride. It was quite exciting really. Although, in a funeral climate we had to keep ourselves contained. 

We arrived at Aunt Effie's house, mom's sister in Clarksville, Tennessee. Mom was ensconced in the rocker looking medieval in her black mourning clothes and head-down. I know she was hurt. I know she was devastated. I don't necessarily begrudge her the drama. Only that in hind-sight we experienced the sadness and a depth of despair that was not healthy for two young children to live with for years to come. It destroyed our family. Totally destroyed it. 

After another little country Church of Christ funeral, we buried him next to my father with my mother's future grave in between them. There was the flag ceremony; the 21 gun salute; the bugle playing taps...the whole military nine yards. It was ever so sad. I do not recall going back to Michigan, but I know we did fairly quickly as we needed to get on with life. It was the worst of times and it was the worst of times. Somehow we survived.