I got about as heavy a shot of Roman Catholicism as any Protestant kid ever gets, I reckon. I went to Catholic school.
It was only for three years—fifth through seventh grade—but that’s plenty enough to get “the plot,” as George Costanza once put it. Middle school kids don’t have much to keep up with, so I quickly noticed the things about the ways Catholics worshiped that were different from what I’d grown up with. They caused me no particular consternation. Mostly there was just a lot more ritual. They were as much my brothers and sisters in Christ as any other Christian children I’d ever been around.
Father Jones and Father Donnelly were the two priests I met and got to know a bit during my time at Sacred Heart. Occasionally they would speak to us in our classrooms, but mostly we heard from them at Mass every Friday morning. Several of my male classmates (and friends) regularly served as altar boys. That I could see, they carried things in, lit candles, rang bells, handed the priest things, and such. That I could not see, they spent a bit of time with either Father Jones or Father Donnelly in private, mostly going over how they were going to carry things in, light candles, ring bells, hand him things, and such.
I am extremely confident no one was being molested at the Catholic school I attended, or at the church with which it was associated. I am also extremely confident that no one is being molested at the substantial majority of Catholic schools and churches worldwide. Unsurprisingly, the thought is thoroughly abhorrent to every Catholic with whom I’ve ever discussed it, as is the current abuse scandal in the church.
Pope Francis is going to speak to the bishops about “the protection of minors”—in five more months.
What’s wrong with Monday?
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