Most children are born into a religion. As a Catholic born in a French Catholic village in southwest Louisiana in 1946, I had limited knowledge about other religions. My perspective changed as I married and moved to other states. My southern Baptist friends attended mega churches, my Lutheran friends sang really loud hymns, my Episcopalian friends and I noted similarities in our faiths, and my Jewish friends suffered guilt which I clearly understood as Catholic guilt about sin could be as enervating.
Amazing that with such a small population in a town where Main Street measured one mile, our Catholic church resembled a cathedral architecturally. A massive main altar, two side altars, marble columns; large, beautiful Stations of the Cross, comfortable wooden pews, life-sized statues of saints, stained glass windows, seating for hundreds, and a commendable choir loft. The church atmosphere was devout, quiet, and respectful. How did so few people fund that magnificent church?
In a predominantly Catholic environment, most community activities were church-centered. Pre-Vatican II Catholicism involved sacrosanct traditions, including the Latin mass. Very few people, except for the priest and some scholars understood Latin. We sang Latin hymns and recited Latin prayers reverently pretending we knew exactly what the lyrics meant. SACRAMENTUM was easy to translate, but what the heck did PACHEM mean? In our Cajun culture, some words took on strange meanings.
As creatures of habit, families filed into the same long pew every Sunday. The church atmosphere was devout, quiet, and respectful. At the Offertory, ushers thrust long-handled collection baskets into each pew, shaking them loudly to inspire parishioners to toss more money to the Lord. Women wore hats and gloves, and men wore suits. Our bodies were fully clothed. I recall one pastor's fiery sermon chastising our high school cheerleaders for inappropriate uniforms. Their skirts were knee length.
Despite the acknowledged separation of church and state, public school students marched down main Street one block to attend CCD [catechism] classes at the church hall. We memorized and recited passages from the Baltimore Catechism, a staid theological text boiled down to an elementary- grade reading level. Recitations included questions/answers such as "Who made us? God made us." Priests and nuns in cassocks and habits instructed us. Our minds wandered as we stared into the pictureless texts. "Did Sister Beatrice shave her head?" "Was she married to a priest? Girls looked at our drop-dead gorgeous pastor and thought, "What a waste!" Misbehavior resulted in a knuckle rap with a wooden ruler and a command to confess our sins.
Community activities held on church grounds included bazaars: good food, music, alcohol, and fund raising.
During the month of the Rosary, October, townspeople gathered at the high school football stadium. Parishioners, each representing a rosary bead, formed a circle on the football field. A cleric, our Pastor or the Bishop or his envoy, led the gathering in a recitation of the rosary. An amazing mix of church and state.
In May, the month of Mary, a religious procession/parade traveled down Main Street culminating at the church where a pious young female child surrounded by less pious angels crowned a statue of the Virgin Mary as we sang, "O Mary we crown thee with blossoms today."
Minstrels included black-faced characters singing, "Old Man Riv-ah¿ accompanied by Myrt Cabrol's rousing piano playing. The nuns also scheduled a square-dance performance by students. Even then, I thought it strange that Sister Bernadette knew the choreography to hillbilly music. Those of us who twirled our skirts too high on stage were reminded that sin led to hell.
Members of the Knights of Columbus who dressed in royal regalia at mass staged a popular fundraiser, a Womanless Wedding. Some of these church leaders wearing wigs, makeup, dresses, and heels looked like Vegas performers. I tried to remember, even then, that our huge, Cathedral-like church was funded by such bizarre events.
My mother dragged all seven of us to confession every Saturday. How many sins can a five year old commit in a week? I told myself, "Go through the motions. Kneel. Disguise voice and say, "Confess me, Father, for I have sinned . . . ." Confess sins. Speak rapidly so persons in line don't think you are filled with sin. Say Act of contrition. Wait for penance and hope priest does not recognize you. Listen as priest slides door shut. Kneel at altar and say penance. Run to vestibule of church and check Legion of Decency for movie titles listed. Leave church feeling cleansed and saintly.
Rituals, says Joseph Campbell, strengthen society. Interesting to perceive and recall the past of our formative years.
