RUDIMENTS, pt. 222
Making Cars
I'm going to try to level
with myself here and draw
out some ideas ostensibly
about my 'Catholic' education .
It's always bugged the hell out
of me, and frankly I detested(ed)
it. Usually, having that is much
like being one of those old,
wailing, Italian women -
those who emote and scream
things while hanging over
their Venice balconies, always
wailing on about something
while holding a dish towel.
My own family (as far from
Venice as could be) had a
lot of that - overly-emotive
aunts, strangely pious ladies,
believing in sightings of the
Virgin, whether at Fatima,
Medjugorje, or Perth Amboy.
Yes, in the modern day. And
whatever blowback all this
has - for hoax, ethics, religion,
truth, justice - and even the
American Way - was lost
on me. I have no clue what
these people are thinking.
They can't get the Immaculate
Conception straight - using it,
when they really mean the Virgin
Birth. Ridiculous terms both but,
sorry folks, those are two different
things based upon religious hilarity
around two different people. Look
it up. It used to make me almost
nauseous to see some of the stuff
Catholics - and any religious
people actually - would put up
with for doctrine. Nothing makes
any sense at all, and if you throw
that up to them they say, in false
retort, that nothing 'God' does
has to make sense for He is
all-knowing and sees all things.
Well that's a fine howdy-do in
this foul world - I can think of
about 10,000 things he's apparently
missed. He can't stop 6+million
getting butchered and gassed, but
He can send a shimmering apparition
down to six lying kids in Bosnia
to indirectly get a secret message
across - in the meantime his
church guys are caught left and
right, fingering boys and girls,
and worse, and then denying,
lying and getting re-assigned and
harbored by the Vatican. I saw
all that crap firsthand, and it still
amazes me that people refuse to
think for themselves. My time
in the seminary was like riding a
slide-rule to the illogic of magical
solutions to things. Which is all
religion is; contorted logics made
by people intent on magical solutions
for the things that discomfort them.
They want a solution to their dilemmas.
No, no people, you're supposed to
have that angst and that disquiet
within. It's what's there to bring
other things, real creative, individual
things up for us to live by. Our own
creations. Not whining church-group
clutchings. There IS no solution,
nor is their a WAY, and things
are better for that.
-
It always seemed to me that all
they were ever teaching, in the
seminary, was passive weakness -
a way to live by giving in. Before
that, at home and at St. Andrew's,
Avenel, all they'd ever taught
was comedy. I spent tons of time
there, as an altar boy, sacristy kid,
helper, early-morning 7 o'clock
mass server. All I ever saw were
outright forms of comedy. The
sexton guy was (2 in a row actually)
a loopy drunk - Irish guys always
rolling in and around to do their
tasks. And in those early morning
mass things (Summertimes) all it
ever was was like the same 7 or 8
ancient pious women. If ever a man
started showing up it was only
because he'd probably just been
told he had two weeks to live.
These morning daily mass things
were old-people paradises. In
addition, the local St. Andrew's
priests were crazy guys. The pastor,
Father Eagan (John J.), was a
high-voiced big round guy, half
in the bag mostly too. He had
this way of speed-talking through
a Mass. It was incredible. What
normally took probably 45 to 50
minutes, deliberately recited, and
each procedure gone through
carefully, this Father Eagan guy
managed to rip through, guaranteed,
in under twenty minutes. He ran
through that thing like he was a
speed-freak, slobbering through
everything, and guzzling the
communion brew too, with a
little too much enjoyment. In
addition, these morning masses
had no sermons, nor homilies, so
they had no interruptions. That
also shaved the time. He read, when
he did have to give a sermon, on
Sundays, with a magnifying glass.
He couldn't see for the readings
or the typewritten sermon sheet.
The other guy, for a period of time,
was Father Genecki (Chester). He was
from South River, where his family
was big in local politics and his
brother or uncle or something
was, for a time, Mayor too. He
was OK, but strangely creepy,
and he favored boys a wee-tad
too much. I can vouch. A little too
much of the touchy-feely stuff and
the car rides in the evenings, for
milk shakes and ice cream and
car-hops. He was of Polish lineage,
I think; not sure. Not a big guy,
just always swirling around in
his cassock and going on about
swell his little old Avenel was.
He died of pancreatic cancer
sometime around 1980, as
I recall. Church matters; but
church doesn't matter. As the
1960's blew in, late 60's anyway,
I'm not sure how St. Andrew's
grappled with all that, modernity,
hippies, and the rest. I was long
gone and well onto my own
ways, but I sort of never got
a bead on how they fared there.
They used to have these
occasional no-touch dances
and mixers, as if it was sinful
to even peek at Mary Lou's new
sweater with the bumps in it.
Let alone what Mary Lou may
have been thinking of Billy or
Ken. All I know is that, by
that time at the end of the
60's, priests and nuns were
dropping away like flies.
-
In the old days, meaning maybe
12 or 14th century France and
such (for a while there were two
warring Popes, one at Avignon, in
France, and the other hanging on
in Rome, or the Vatican State within
Rome - and this fierce quarrel went
on for a long time), there were lots
of weird and odd things underway.
People were formulating things
like the idea of 'nation-states' and
secular rule; the Inquisition was
slapping down the wayward, in
some harsh fashions; wars and
knights and knights errant. It was
tough everywhere - plagues, the
Black Death, etc. The world was
like a fierce volcano. For about
four centuries then, French Kings
were given two burials, and two
burial sites : one for the body, and
one elsewhere for the heart. (The
body was interred in St. Denis).
Twenty-two preserved Papal hearts
are in the church of Santi Vicenzo
e Anastasio a Trevi. The heart of
King James II of England was
transported to a convent at Chaillot,
near Paris. The practice was fairly
common, and the well-used phrase,
'My heart, go forth,' was a famous
hymn. That sort of reference, etc.,
never set right with me - I couldn't
grab onto the thinking; never will.
It still goes on today - there's a dead
TV Bishop, of NYC, Bishop Futon
J. Sheen - I used to see him some
on TV with his preaching shows -
and he's buried in the crypt below
St. Patrick's Cathedral. He died
a decade ago or more, and now
his remaining 90 year old sister,
in Minnesota - since he's been
declared Beatific and 'on his
way to Sainthood (as soon as
the Pope can certify two or three
'miracles' to his name) - wants
him disinterred and returned to
Minnesota, (his home), for the
faithful there, and re-buried. It's
a court battle - as the St. Patrick's
folks say it's against his last
request, etc. The court fight goes
on, (so far, they've been winning),
but his sister's new solution is to
'break up his body'! Leave a part
in NYC, let them bury a part
in Minnesota, and cut pieces
of him up for the rest of the
'faithful,' around the world,
as Christian relics for sale
and distribution to various
churches and holy sites. As
used to be done, in the Middle
Ages, with supposed bones
of saints and pieces of the
cross and nails from the
crucifixion and all that. Can
you, can anyone, believe this
stuff? Do you want to? It RUINS
religion, is what it does. The only
miracle would be how this poor
guy would get himself back
together for the Resurrection.
Anyway, that's the sort of stuff
I was once sunk into. Back then.
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