Permanent daylight Catholic faith must not be so judgmental

On Easter Sunday, I ventured to Boston.com, eager to see what misery plagues the Earth this Easter Sunday, and I was intrigued by a headline suggesting that future president John Kerry’s taking the Eucharist (communion, little round bread thing Catholics eat at church) has become a political issue.

According to the article, Kerry is getting in trouble with local Catholic authorities because he supports abortion rights, a public action that goes directly against the interpretation a few old, celibate men have of the Bible.

Perhaps it’s because she who bore me is so strict a Catholic that I was not allowed to get rides from boys in high school. Or that I have enough rosaries that my roommate thinks I am a closet fundamentalist. For whatever reason, I eventually embarked upon a religious journey of my own. For almost a year, I took the “What Catholics Believe” class at the Boston University Catholic Center.

I learned a ton and enjoyed the class, but I never really involved myself with the Catholic community because, like Kerry, I discovered that despite my full support of Jesus’ teachings of love and brotherhood, there was a lot created in the religion since Jesus’ passing that I simply do not agree with.

I missed all the Tuesday night bonding-session spaghetti suppers at the center. I deleted all the group emails advertising Catholic events and spent an hour arguing with one of the brothers that I didn’t need to go to Mass if I acted like a good person. During my one and only confession, which lasted a good hour, I tried to convince the father that there is nothing pagan about tarot cards since the gypsies were Christians themselves. I even chose a confirmation name merely because I thought it was cool that St. Anastasia was an Egyptian Hermitess.

I’ll admit I am no perfect little Catholic school girl: I have trouble deciding which sin is my favorite (currently fluctuating between sloth, lust and gluttony) and my friends ask what I do with my horns when I enter a holy building. But does that really mean that I, like Kerry, should be excommunicated from the Church community because I don’t follow their every dictum? Should doors be closed for those who rarely but surely seek shelter from a disturbing world? It often seems that Boston clergy are eager to throw the first stone at those who have stood by the local church during its plethora of recent sinning.

Before we all convert to being “Jews for Jesus,” maybe there should be a new strand of Catholicism for those of us who have become somewhat more of cultural Catholics, following unorthodox credence but still shouting the good word of the Bible time and again. Even better, rather than establish a new religion like Henry VIII, couldn’t the Bible, much like the U.S. Constitution, be amended and interpreted with the issues of the ages?

I mean really, few are those in contemporary America who still pay a tithe or think divorce is a one-way ticket to hell (meaning post-mortem hell; because a good many things have brought a certain level of hell to earth). We’d all be vicious purgatory-bound heathens if sin was more of a fact than an opinion.

Two years ago, I was confirmed on Easter Sunday in a ceremony that officially inducted me into the Church, yet I have only been to church once since. I didn’t go on Christmas. The one time I did go was one random Sunday after work when I was weary and disheartened and wanted to be around other people who sought comfort and unity for an hour. I went because I knew it was a place where people went to contemplate and feel good by just sharing a room, a song and a prayer. Just like Kerry, my pro-choice self took the Eucharist.

As much as I respect most of the Church and was thankful it provided me with that hour of comfort, I hope Church policy will someday fully respect those with diverging opinions. But most of all, I’m glad some politicians have learned to separate church and state, even if it means losing the support of one of the two. I can definitely say Amen to that.