Sonoma Sojourn

Catholic or not, today’s election of Pope Francis riveted many around the world – me included.

I am a recovering Catholic.  I would like to re-engage with the Church I knew as a child. I miss the traditions of my early Catholic years; I miss the rituals:

May Processions: Dressed in beautiful dresses with floral wreaths on our heads, we  lined up according to the color of the dress we wore. We walked carefully and in time with one another from St. Edward’s School to St. Edward’s Church. Our hands folded, we sang to Mary, Mother of God: “Oh Mary, we crown Thee with blossoms today! Queen of the angels…queen of the May.”. It was magical; we were little princesses singing to our Queen.

And Mass during the week was especially meaningful. We’d sing our Gregorian chants, and when it came time for Communion, we lined up to receive the body and blood of Jesus Christ according to where our favorite altar boy stood. Paul Cruise? I headed down the left aisle to be served by the priest that was served by Paul.

Stations of the Cross? Mmmmmmmm…burning incense still brings to mind all those seasons of atonement before the Bunny arrived early Easter Sunday morning. Oh wait! The Easter Bunny and Jesus’ ascension are not to be confused…although they were part of the same celebration, try as we might to keep these two events separate.

I could go on about early-life Catholic memories, including wearing mantillas – the lacy triangles we anchored to our heads with bobby pins (covered heads showed proper respect while in church). I loved wearing mantillas; they made me feel like I had the most glorious long hair on earth – even if my pretend hair was made of navy blue lace. And when we made our Confirmation at age 13, we were allowed to wear nylons for the first time! There were no panty hose in those days, and I remember pulling up the edge of my nylons to hook into my garter belt … and being SO excited to wear something as grownup as nylons, I pulled the nylons right through the hooks and ripped them. Oh. My. God. It was tragic.

Since I continued Catholic school education through high school (Cardinal Spellman High School in Brockton, MA) and into Junior College (Aquinas Junior College in Milton, MA), there are many more happy memories I have of growing up Catholic, before I became unhappy with being Catholic. (Another story, another time – yes?).

But today’s election of Pope Francis reminded me of my parents’ love of – and commitment to – the Church. My mother kept a statue of St. Francis of Assisi in the backyard of each of her homes. When Mom and Dad made their last move from their home on West Elm Terrace to an apartment with no yard for St. Francis, I inherited the statue. I loved St. Francis; I remembered especially my mother’s joy in the impatiens blooming in front of the statue each spring and summer. My mother reveled in nature, flowers, the outdoors – simple pleasures amplified.

I first brought the statue of St. Francis to my office in Natick, which I had arranged according to Feng Shui guidelines. St. Francis fit in perfectly. Then, when my mother died and we landscaped the bench that was to be her grave marker, it was obvious that that’s where St. Francis needed to be. He’s been watching over both Mom and Dad now for the past 12 years. I know they are happy to have him there.

And so … after suffering through years of Pope Benedict (there: I’ve said it. I did not care for him at all … he looked like a maniac to me and perhaps will be proven so – although I wish all things Catholic were clean and pure and real), I was unexpectedly happy to hear Pope Francis is to lead the Church.

I see Mom and Dad happy with the choice, too. Their faith in human kind – their appreciation of simple pleasures – is their legacy. Seeing Pope Francis on the balcony tonight at St.Peter’s gives me hope that the Church might now be led by a man worthy of the mantle he wears.

Many of the stories that surround the life of St. Francis deal with his love for animals. Perhaps the most famous incident that illustrates the Saint’s humility towards nature is recounted in the “Fioretti” (“Little Flowers”), a collection of legends and folklore that sprang up after the Saint’s death. It is said that, one day, while Francis was traveling with some companions, they happened upon a place in the road where birds filled the trees on either side. Francis told his companions to “wait for me while I go to preach to my sisters the birds.” The birds surrounded him, intrigued by the power of his voice, and not one of them flew away. He is often portrayed with a bird, typically in his hand.

This gives you an idea of what May processions were like in the early 60s – and if you need to hear “Oh Mary, we crown thee with blossoms today …” visit http://youtu.be/p_fln4An7G4.