I’m about to break my own rule of blogging here. I never write about controversial things, I usually take a very very soft touch here, because I find as a rule that if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. That usually works really well, and since I rarely have an axe to grind (this one in particular is a notable exception, and look where that got me) things on the blog are rarely all that busy.
So, here’s me breaking this rule by stating that the Catholic Church is doing a lousy job of running itself. I definitely don’t consider myself a “believer” in any way, but it seems to me that if we consider the church as any business they are doing a fine job of alienating their customers. The church wants butts in the seats on Sunday, that’s their measure of success. The more butts in seats they get, the healthier the bottom line is and the more likely the church will be around next year, same as any other business. These days it seems to me that churches are not doing so well, so in any market downturn a business would be wise to keep its existing customers happy, ride out the downturn and hopefully be ready for the next upswing in fortunes. That doesn’t seem to be the case, or at least at my community church. In recent years the church decided to take over the preparations for the first communion rite, which used to be largely done by the schools. The biggest change is the amount of pressure placed on parents to participate in this process. We experienced this for Quinn two years ago, multiple weeknights logging attendance at parent-only sessions, in addition to a couple of weekend afternoons that (at least) included the children receiving the rite. The sessions were long, had little to do with the actual rite of communion, and in fact were mandatory. The extra special sauce was the sessions are run by volunteers from the community who make Dolores Umbridge look downright relaxed. I understand the need to have the process as clear as possible, but come on people, when you are talking to a room full of adults perhaps you could avoid using your teacher voice? If you miss attending a session you risk having your child denied the rite of communion. Wait, what?
This whole process is a strange thing to ask of parents in my mind. I would think that the church would make receiving these rites as painless as possible for everyone involved. The church itself needs people to attend services, I would think that making sure everyone experienced the full service would be a priority. Instead, they have chosen to make this (almost) free, voluntary act as PAINFUL as it can possibly be. They are making it more difficult to become a full member of the church, which is a crazy business plan for a struggling business.
Now we are starting the whole process over again for our third child, and it seems that the sessions contain EXACTLY the same information as they contained two years ago. Right down to the videos made 20 years ago. As any busy parent will tell you, sitting through the same pointless information not once, but TWICE makes a fella kinda stabby. Forget that the parent sessions are held on weeknights, at exactly the best time of the day for snuggling and reading together. So attending these things is actually reducing the amount of quality time I have with my kids. I love that.
The questions that followed the first session cemented what I already suspected: that attendance is mandatory, even for parents of multiple children, and even though parents HAVE NOTHING TO DO with the rite in question. Essentially our job is to make sure our kids colour the book we pay for. Yes, it’s exactly this kind of rigid pointless inflexibility that really endears a business to its customers. Why on earth would they require us to sit through these sessions once, let alone twice? The best part is they essentially hold the actual rite as a sort of hostage so that you will attend. If you don’t show, your kid doesn’t have communion. Yep, that’s how I want to be treated as a customer.
If they make it hard, people won’t come, fewer kids get communion. You can bet that a large percentage of kids that don’t have first communion in grade two will never bother to go back and get it later. Add to that disillusioned parents that just stop going to church because of crap like this, and they are working themselves right out of business. In a few generations they are in really big trouble.
Some footnotes on this: I know nothing about churches, and know nothing about the Catholic church even though my kids are baptized and attend Catholic school. My comments are based on my own observations, and are meant as a helpful critique from what the church should see as a potential customer. If they don’t listen to their customers, my feeling is that in the free market of many other churches and many other religions, they will lose.
Sigh, ok now I have that off my chest. I feel better. Like a confession. Oops.
Oh Courtney. My heart goes out to you. I am no longer a patron of their services but I have so many painful sacrament and Catholic-Church-related memories. I’m told that First Communion and Confirmation are now rolled into one. Is that true? If so, I have to say it seems like a good idea: Only one dress, one super-long Mass, one round of preparations. Everyone wins (although your description of the whole repetitive process sounds quite unpleasant). I’m not sure where that leaves First Confession. That was my least favourite of the whole bunch: I couldn’t even figure out what constituted a sin, I just knew that surely I had done it. First Confession is a terrifying reality with which to be confronted: You are forced to actually speak to the priest about your most secret and depraved thoughts and deeds. Your face is thinly veiled behind a sort of mesh screen but, of course, you know your voice will betray you. At some point you realize that voice recognition enables your priest to pin specific sins on specific smiling faces in the congregation. It’s a violation of privacy and more than a little creepy.
In preparation for First Communion I did a bit of research; I turned to the Commandments. I ruled out coveting my neighbour’s wife and murder — for obvious reasons. Worshipping false gods seemed a bit far-fetched. Ditto for stealing. I settled on taking the Lord’s name in vain and lying. There isn’t a commandment about lying but it seemed logical and believable. This is the definition of irony: Lying in the act of confessing your sins. I made up a plausible lie and a situation involving swearing and I wrote an official confession script. Then I rehearsed my lines every night, like an actress preparing for that career-making audition. I was quite pleased with myself.
Then disaster struck. On that ill-fated Sunday there were more first-time confessing children than the confessors were able to serve. In the midst of the chaos they called in an additional priest. But there were only so many confessionals so this priest gathered up a couple of stacking chairs and perched himself in the pulpit. I must have really pissed off god that day because, of course, I found myself in the line that fed into this half-heartedly erected confessional. My heart pounded. My palm sweated. I searched the crowd for my mother’s face – normally a source of comfort and reassurance. But even she couldn’t save me from this most harrowing ordeal.
I froze. I panicked. I struggled to remember my lines but nothing came to me. I could recall only fragments of the original screenplay. I would have to improvise. I searched my recent memory for possibilities and quickly located the perfect incident: I had eaten the ears off my sister’s chocolate Easter bunny. It wasn’t Oscar-worthy, but it was true and it was something. But when I sat down and looked at Father Millar’s smiling face my brain evaporated. I opened my mouth and the most embarrassing and nonsensical thing escaped: “I stole a chunk of something that wasn’t mine.†I died a thousand deaths. I could feel red spreading over my face like ink across a piece of paper. I resolved that I would never look him in the eye again; I would be relegated to the very last pew. Perhaps I would even wear a black veil to obscure my shamed face.
I rarely went to confession after that day – only when it was mandated by some sadistic teacher. And, always, my confessions were fabrications and borrowed sins. And I had enough guilt to invent my own religion. I had a shrine to Jesus in my bedroom and I fell asleep praying for forgiveness for things I assumed I had done or not done. The result is that I now believe in nothing. Wait, that’s not true: I believe in things that make sense.
Oh wow Paula. I’m sure that MANY a priest has had to listen to confessions that started more or less EXACTLY like “I stole a chunk of something that wasn’t mine”, so you needn’t feel like it was all that unusual. I can’t understand why they take the approach that everybody has something to confess, that’s another thing that confuses me.
“I felt pretty good about myself until I came in here and you told me I suck, so why exactly do I come here again?”
It makes no sense. And with little kids too? I’m just guessing here, but I would say that the whole “god fearing” thing doesn’t play so well with today’s kids. I know it sounds like absolute crap to me.
Good for you for seeing the light. 🙂 Along this vein, I highly recommend having a boo at this take on this kind of thing regarding gay marriage. I LOVE Patton Oswalt, and while he can be crude, he’s the smartest comedian I have heard.
http://www.rawstory.com/rawreplay/2011/09/patton-oswalt-stop-using-religion-to-hide-homophobia/
That’s funny stuff. I love George Carlin, too (although he’s with god now . . .). Wow, all these churchy memories are flooding back. I was just now remembering my First Communion – it was totally accidental. I was only in Kindergarten (long before one is normally sanctioned to eat those — apparently holy — really bland wafers). I was so caught up in singing some hymn during school mass that I hadn’t noticed my class leaving the gym. When I looked behind me and saw only empty space on the gym floor I freaked out. This kid from the fourth grade caught my eye; he asked what was wrong and I told him my class had left without me. He asked, “did you get communion yet?†Then he kinda shoved me toward the communion line. This boy was a known bully so I was afraid of disappointing him; he might have punched my lights out. Once again it was Father Dan Millar’s smiling face that greeted me. He placed the little round wafer on my tongue and off I went. I never did ‘confess’ this act. And I’ve seen no evidence for heaven or hell so I think I’m okay with my folly. If there is a hell I totally want to go; all the fun people will be there. I suspect you’ll be there, Mr. Vallentyne. Let the drinking games begin.