Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? No excuses, but here are some anyway: Me needing and wanting to lend a hand to offspring at various stages of life. Summer? Synod? Maybe? Various other writing projects, most of them drifting at this point. So…here I am.
I have little recollection of the Saints from my Catholic school days. Mary, obviously, and St Joseph there in the shadows. I was always struck that, at Christmas, our parish removed St Joseph from his alcove in order to repurpose it for the nativity scene. Seemed a little unfair to me, but I’m sure Joseph didn’t mind.
At some point in second or third grade there was a “dress like a saint” day, which I only remember because I really wanted to bring a sword (to strike off the ear of the high priest’s servant), and being denied this privilege, made do by taking my father’s “pointer,” a telescoping metal tube used when presenting slides. This was confiscated before the end of the day, having been brandished more than once.
I don’t remember my confirmation saint, but there’s a good bet it was St John. There’s also good evidence for this in the overabundance of God’s love & mercy in my life. Maybe I should turn my author’s pen to apocalyptic revelations, in emulation of the Saint.
I don’t recall seeing prayer cards until funerals, and the first funeral that I remember is in the mid-80’s. That’s the thing about growing up in a nuclear family living an ocean away from my maternal relatives, and a cold void away from fraternal relatives - there were very few funerals to attend.
I suppose the last recollection is that of the little statues for sale in the church vestibule. Here in the Baptist south, the only place to buy rosaries, crucifixes, statues and the like was at the church. The little booth & glass display case are long gone, by the way, but I remember admiring the Joseph and Mary and Sacred Heart statues, and having little interest in Francis with his pastel animals. This was, perhaps, a portent. Funny that I don’t remember St Michael and his sword.
Such martial appeal is lost now, as even the Knights of Columbus have hidden away their swords, leaving modern Catholicism to be the dominion of the effeminate. Whether this is good or bad depends, I suppose, on if the Church will ever have need again of a Charles Martel.
But I digress away from the “story” purpose of this substack, and so close my comment and return to contemplation of an empty whiskey-glass.
Pre Vatican II and probably as long as they were published my family subscribed to the Treasure Box magazines. I remember the earliest ones contained the story of St. Therese of Liseux a few pages and lots of pictures per issue. Around the time of the opening of the Council we got Vision books about saints and another series more of adventures in a Catholic historical fiction style.
Since I attended a 2-room school in grades 1-6 I had a religion class on Church history in the 1964-5 year at the latest, and it mentioned St. Roche at least in connection with the plague. I don't remember most of the rest of it.
Confirmation was in 4th grade and I would have done much better to postpone it because I really didn't want to receive it and couldn't get out of it. I took St. Frances not connected to any saint because we were all required to take another saint's name of the same sex as ourselves. Luckily, a sacrament received under physical duress, which is what it took to get me there, isn't received, so I was able to actually receive it as an adult. Rather like when the Spanish mob told the Jews to be baptized or die and many agreed to be baptized. The Pope said the baptisms were invalid and many Jews who could afford to moved to the Papal States. The Spanish monarchs refused to accept the Pope's decision, eventually leading to the Spanish Inquisition. Please forgive the digression.
I grew up in the 1980s and 90s in the Midwest. I heard little about the saints, except for needing to choose a confirmation Saint. I chose Andrew, because he was a fisherman, and I like to fish.
In young adulthood, I watched a lot of ewtn (which wasn't then fox news 2.0 as it is today) which led me to St. Francis. I read the Little Flowers, and was blown away by his simplicity and Gospel poverty. I've since read more saint's writings and lives, but I think my favorites are Francis and Therese.
At my Catholic elementary school (early 80's in Ontario) I don't remember anything about saints either, except one statue and plaque in the entryway about the school's titular saint. Nobody suggested choosing a Confirmation saint when we were confirmed, though I and one other kid did, since his and my families were traditional enough to know about the practice. Our priest allowed it but treated it as rather weird.
We didn't learn to say the Rosary or ever do so at that school; in fact, insofar as it was mentioned, it was treated as a backward and outdated thing some old ladies still insisted on doing. BUT for some reason, the school fairly regularly gave us these ugly molded plastic and string, glow-in-the-dark rosaries - presumably somebody once bought or donated a boatload of them and they had to do something with them, even though they didn't really believe in the rosary any more? There are still a dozen or more of them kicking around my parents' house, probably.
I have little recollection of the Saints from my Catholic school days. Mary, obviously, and St Joseph there in the shadows. I was always struck that, at Christmas, our parish removed St Joseph from his alcove in order to repurpose it for the nativity scene. Seemed a little unfair to me, but I’m sure Joseph didn’t mind.
At some point in second or third grade there was a “dress like a saint” day, which I only remember because I really wanted to bring a sword (to strike off the ear of the high priest’s servant), and being denied this privilege, made do by taking my father’s “pointer,” a telescoping metal tube used when presenting slides. This was confiscated before the end of the day, having been brandished more than once.
I don’t remember my confirmation saint, but there’s a good bet it was St John. There’s also good evidence for this in the overabundance of God’s love & mercy in my life. Maybe I should turn my author’s pen to apocalyptic revelations, in emulation of the Saint.
I don’t recall seeing prayer cards until funerals, and the first funeral that I remember is in the mid-80’s. That’s the thing about growing up in a nuclear family living an ocean away from my maternal relatives, and a cold void away from fraternal relatives - there were very few funerals to attend.
I suppose the last recollection is that of the little statues for sale in the church vestibule. Here in the Baptist south, the only place to buy rosaries, crucifixes, statues and the like was at the church. The little booth & glass display case are long gone, by the way, but I remember admiring the Joseph and Mary and Sacred Heart statues, and having little interest in Francis with his pastel animals. This was, perhaps, a portent. Funny that I don’t remember St Michael and his sword.
Such martial appeal is lost now, as even the Knights of Columbus have hidden away their swords, leaving modern Catholicism to be the dominion of the effeminate. Whether this is good or bad depends, I suppose, on if the Church will ever have need again of a Charles Martel.
But I digress away from the “story” purpose of this substack, and so close my comment and return to contemplation of an empty whiskey-glass.
Pre Vatican II and probably as long as they were published my family subscribed to the Treasure Box magazines. I remember the earliest ones contained the story of St. Therese of Liseux a few pages and lots of pictures per issue. Around the time of the opening of the Council we got Vision books about saints and another series more of adventures in a Catholic historical fiction style.
Since I attended a 2-room school in grades 1-6 I had a religion class on Church history in the 1964-5 year at the latest, and it mentioned St. Roche at least in connection with the plague. I don't remember most of the rest of it.
Confirmation was in 4th grade and I would have done much better to postpone it because I really didn't want to receive it and couldn't get out of it. I took St. Frances not connected to any saint because we were all required to take another saint's name of the same sex as ourselves. Luckily, a sacrament received under physical duress, which is what it took to get me there, isn't received, so I was able to actually receive it as an adult. Rather like when the Spanish mob told the Jews to be baptized or die and many agreed to be baptized. The Pope said the baptisms were invalid and many Jews who could afford to moved to the Papal States. The Spanish monarchs refused to accept the Pope's decision, eventually leading to the Spanish Inquisition. Please forgive the digression.
I grew up in the 1980s and 90s in the Midwest. I heard little about the saints, except for needing to choose a confirmation Saint. I chose Andrew, because he was a fisherman, and I like to fish.
In young adulthood, I watched a lot of ewtn (which wasn't then fox news 2.0 as it is today) which led me to St. Francis. I read the Little Flowers, and was blown away by his simplicity and Gospel poverty. I've since read more saint's writings and lives, but I think my favorites are Francis and Therese.
At my Catholic elementary school (early 80's in Ontario) I don't remember anything about saints either, except one statue and plaque in the entryway about the school's titular saint. Nobody suggested choosing a Confirmation saint when we were confirmed, though I and one other kid did, since his and my families were traditional enough to know about the practice. Our priest allowed it but treated it as rather weird.
We didn't learn to say the Rosary or ever do so at that school; in fact, insofar as it was mentioned, it was treated as a backward and outdated thing some old ladies still insisted on doing. BUT for some reason, the school fairly regularly gave us these ugly molded plastic and string, glow-in-the-dark rosaries - presumably somebody once bought or donated a boatload of them and they had to do something with them, even though they didn't really believe in the rosary any more? There are still a dozen or more of them kicking around my parents' house, probably.