Yesterday, I had to attend my friend Joe's funeral, and it made me think of my admittedly spotty…read morehistory with this church. When i moved to the area as a teen, some of the friends I made had been students at its parochial school, St. Elizabeth's, when they were kids. One friend got in trouble and was forced to scrub bird dung off the statue of the Virgin Mary (at least that's the story I heard). Another friend was attending school around the time they outlawed "corporal punishment" in Catholic schools, but my friend's father told the nuns, "It's OK; you can hit my kid if you need to."
Not having been raised Catholic, I was never a parishioner here, and I stopped attending the Lutheran church I was forced through childhood to attend when I was 15. When an old friend's mother died some years later, I attended her funeral here. When that same old friend got married, the ceremony was performed here, and I was one of the groomsmen (for a time, I dated one of the bridesmaids, a relationship that didn't last long, although it wasn't all that much shorter than the marriage of my friend). When another old friend's father died a few years ago, I attended the funeral here.
Not too long after my re-union with my genetic family, the father of my half-siblings (who were raised Catholic) died (my birth father's name began with "O'" and their father's name ended with "O"), and I thought the respectful thing to do was to buy a Mass Card. I came to Perpetual Help (even though their father had died in Passaic County), not entirely sure of the process. I found a pleasant-looking house which I assumed to be the rectory on the sprawling property, found the office, and a polite woman in civilian clothes (my assumption was she was a nun) made out the Mass Card, and took my money. I'm not sure my half-siblings, who are ardent atheists (my half-brothers anyway), really appreciated the effort, but I felt better for having done it.
The property, as mentioned, is sprawling, wooded and peaceful. The school stands alongside the church. It evidently was started in 1900. Inside, there's nothing garish or ostentatious, and there's a sedate but nonetheless powerful aura of rectitude, spirituality and history that goes back over 100 years. Generations have worshiped here, mourned here, sought solace here. Dark wood beams in the ceiling support frosted glass panels. The stained-glass windows are tastefully rendered. I've always found the Catholic churches I've been to in my life impressive but sometimes the grandeur of them (St. Patrick's in NYC is awe-inspiring but I can't help thinking about Lenny Bruce's bit about "Christ and Moses" returning to Earth) can ignite the cynic in me. Perpetual Help, by its very simplicity, is all that much more impressive because of it.
The last time I was here, a few years ago for the funeral of my friend's father, I found the service a bit unsettling. As a non-Catholic, I never felt excluded when the parishioners went up to take Communion at my birth mother's church (I went as part of the bonding process between us, but I liked the services, and she has been prone to say, "In your soul, you're a Catholic."). It never bothered me. "You're Catholic, I'm not, I get it." At one point, a parishioner returned to the pew after partaking, and said with a smile, "Next time it'll be you." It wasn't me next time, and it hasn't been, but the comment was made in a friendly spirit, and I was appreciative of his good-natured solicitude about my spiritual welfare.
At the service for my friend's father, a young priest bid the Catholics to come up for Communion, and then said, "To our non-Catholic friends, please fold your arms upwards with hands extended," or some such gesture that I was uncomfortable with and didn't do. I guess it was supposed to symbolize unity and solidarity, but I thought it was ridiculous. It didn't at all make me feel like part of a community of family and friends mourning the passing of a loved one and bidding farewell, and I think the priest flashed me a grim, judgmental look, although I guess that could be my imagination.
This time? The service was for my friend's (since high school) brother-in-law, also a friend of mine for decades. Joe was one of the nicest guys you could meet. An older priest officiated (thankfully), and there was no need to twist my arms about like a pretzel to show solidarity while highlighting my heathenism, my being "outside the circle" (being an adopted kid, I always felt "outside the circle" anyway). It was a solemn, sad and, conversely, uplifting service. I got teary eyed more than once. The priest spoke of God's "kindness and mercy" and said that when we all reach the end of this mortal coil, the dead that we loved will be waiting to greet us. Not sure I'm any more believing of that now than I was before the service, but it is a nice vision.
A lovely service in a beautiful, historic church. If nothing else, my friend is at peace. God bless, Joe.
