#my grandparents are devout catholics but i never even did first communion

[keshetchai]

Haha yeah. I just reblogged and expanded on this in detail, but this guy represents a growing movement within Catholicism that is centered around rejecting the Second Vatican Council and therefore rejects a lot of the mainstream Catholic theological positions that you were probably taught as someone raised Catholic.

...Assuming you are under the age of 59!

Vatican II of course, includes the theological assertion that you learned, which is that all of humanity was collectively responsible for jesus's crucifixion, and not "all of the Jews, then or now." This also directly influenced the Catechism of the Catholic Church (1992) that has been used as the basis/structure/reference for like...basic Catholic study/teachings.

I heard that the football player Harrison Butker's commencement speech at Benedictine University went viral because it was wildly sexist and was like arguing women should just be wives and mothers. But as a Jewess BOY DID EVERYONE BURY THE LEDE ABOUT THE ANTISEMITIC DOGWHISTLES HE STARTED OFF WITH.....

[asocier]

          now we’re gonna talk about leah’s family life/dynamic bc :^) i never get to but it’s so pivotal to her character so i gotta put this out there:

          leah’s considered second-generation vietnamese, which means her parents were born in vietnam and immigrated over to the states. history lesson aside, they basically came over during the 80s and made a life for themselves in california. leah’s mom is a nail technician while her dad is uhh -- he’s kind of had a lot of different jobs over the years, his most current one being the manager of a convenience store. lowkey though, her dad works a lot of different kind of informal jobs for those in the community like being a handyman or cutting other people’s yards, so he’s always busy.

          leah’s family is pretty tight knit; she’s an only child, so she got a lot of attention from her elders growing up whenever they visited, but she’s didn’t grow up in an intergenerational household ( meaning her grandparents/other relatives didn’t live with her and her parents; this type of home situation is fairly common in asian households due to filial piety, where the children take care of their parents for life essentially ). i guess you could say circumstances worked out such that leah’s parents were allowed to have their own home, though they both continue to play active roles in providing for their parents ( leah’s grandparents ) when necessary. leah isn’t the only young adult in her family though, nor is she the youngest -- she has plenty of cousins, though not all of them are in america. 

         i could go into a lot of depth about leah’s grandparents and her other relatives, but she doesn’t really talk about them a lot in threads because, well, they’re not as big of a part in her life as her parents. HOWEVER -- despite them not being directly influential in leah’s life, most of her extended family members share a very strong belief in very traditional catholicism, so what goes for her parents sort of goes for most of the family too. but it’s important to note not everyone in her family is catholic; some adhere to buddism and others are agnostic or atheist. again, not super important, but it’s something to think about since it allows leah to have some outlets if she needs different perspectives from those in her family. anyway --

         catholicism is something leah was exposed to since before she understood what it was. she was baptized as an infant, had her first communion, has been confirmed, and of course, has attended those catechism classes as a kid. there’s plenty of religious imagery and symbols in her house, and her family has made it a routine to attend mass every sunday along with obligatory services during certain times of the year. all in all, her family is devout and do a lot of things they do because of their faith. 

       while faith plays a big role in why leah’s parents are on the conservative side, it’s not the only reason. they hold very traditional views partly from growing up in a different culture, partly because of generational differences. it’s also important to note that saving face drives leah’s family dynamic quite a bit, and it’s a big reason why leah’s parents placed very high demands on her while she was growing up. how she dressed, what she did in school, who she hung out with, her romantic life ( or rather, her lack thereof ) -- all of this was dictated in part by her parents one way or another. 

          it’s really important to note that this isn’t because leah was a slacker in school, dressed in a way that was too revealing, hung out with bad people, had too many failed relationships -- it could be argued that her parents were just trying to look out for her, and in a way, that might be the case. but leah was a straight a student, dressed moderately most of the time, and had good friends. she wasn’t like cedric who was actually going out doing things and rebelling. leah was a good kid, but her parents still found things to nitpick. 

         she couldn’t wear jeans with holes in them or crop tops, couldn’t hang out with friends ( don’t even think about hanging out with platonic male friends ), was criticized for partaking in seemingly frivolous extra-curricular activities, had a strict curfew, was ( and still is ) forbidden to date -- the list goes on. one thing i really want to emphasize is the fact that leah’s parents aren’t abusive: they’re oversolicitous. this all stems from a genuine concern about leah’s safety, about wanting her to have a good reputation and her well-being. but also, her parents want to maintain their reputation as well, so in a way, it’s also selfish. whatever the driving force really is, by the time leah was in high school ( and still now in her canon timeline ), she feels suffocated by the fact she lacks the independence that her peers have. it became incredibly apparent in high school when her friends were able to drive by themselves to parties or outings and were beginning to date and experiment with their sexuality. it’s safe to say that by age 18, when leah was a senior in high school, she was not considered an adult by her parents. 

        a big, big, big thing i really wanted to talk about in this post is how leah’s parents played a role in the development of her sexuality and, for those interested in shipping with her, how much anxiety leah has about moving a serious relationship forward due to her parents in a true canon timeline. 

         leah, as mentioned earlier, isn’t allowed to date in her true canon. period. not until she has finished all of her schooling at least, whenever that may be. thus, anything romantic or sexual that has happened to her since her first relationship ( unless plotted otherwise ) is something she would keep to herself and a close group of friends. she doesn’t tell her parents anything about her love life let alone her sex life, so everything is bottled up tightly and kept under lock and key. sometimes i overlook this aspect of her character for the sake of ship development ( since it’s hard to really develop any kind of ship if leah is straight up just like “no, sorry, my mom said no” ), but to put it out there, this is how things would really be. 

        essentially, realistically, there would have to be a point in time in which leah gives your muse “the talk” about her parents, about how she keeps her relationships private and a tight secret. not because she’s ashamed, but because she doesn’t want her family to attack the relationship, nor does she want her family to consider her to be a disappointment for being disobedient. it’s an incredibly difficult subject for her to talk about, so by default, she never brings it up until she has to ( especially since it’s awkward af ). but yeah, dating is a risky game with leah in the long run. 

         also important is the fact that leah identifies herself to be pansexual, which, ( unsurprisingly ), would not fly with her parents. so any relationship that wasn’t heteronormative would cause a lot of tension between leah, her partner, and her parents. but i can tell you right away that when leah loves, she loves hard, and she’d be willing to drop everything for your muse. she doesn’t think the teachings of the catholic church is fair in that regard, so she’d fight her parents until the bitter end if your muse sticks beside her during it. 

       uh, uh, uh i think that’s all i wanted to talk about right now. i guess i really wanted to put out there that while leah is out here living her best life in the short run with interesting sexual encounters, lots of flirting and dating, and all that good ( and not so good ) college hook-up culture, in the long run, she’s incredibly anxious about letting her family in on her love life, so any serious ships would have to keep that in mind since i don’t think it’s realistic for things to be smooth sailing 100% of the times in ships. 

[les-eaux-d-eunoe-blog]

From Atheist to Pantheist to Catholic - My Conversion Story

These are only life events, and cover the Faith part of the Faith + Reason equation. I’ll need to dedicate another post to the philosophical and theological path that occurred in tandem with these events.

I hope you enjoy. :) It’s been a wild ride.

---

-  I am very young and at swimming lessons for the first time. I must be 3 or 4. I fall off the platforms designed to keep our heads above water. No one notices at first. But I am not afraid, just drifting towards a light before I am suddenly yanked out of the water and coughing profusely.

- I attend Sunday school at the insistence of my Grandma. My dad is annoyed. I come home and ask my papa about God. My dad tells me that God is made up. Later in life he tells me he rejected religion when I was born, because he couldn’t understand how a pure and beautiful child could be stained by sin. He devoted his life to science after that. 

This made perfect sense to me, and I carried this attitude with me throughout my life. I became a very critical observer, especially in regards to organized religion.

- My Catholic grandparents bring us to Christmas mass (and continue to do so every year.) My mom is preoccupied with keeping my sister and I quiet. My young brother causes scandal by slipping out of the pew and taking communion unbaptized. He can’t be more than 6, and just wants to participate. (He is now a Christian, for what it’s worth) 

- I backpack in the Wyoming wilderness with my family around age 10. I feel a sense of peace on the mountain rimmed shore of Tomahawk lake. I feel a pattern in the grandeur, a true and humbling sense of awe. I feel something Godlike.  I tell my pop, and he just smiles at me and ruffles my hair.

- I experience manipulation and physical trauma at the hands of peers I place trust in as a child and teen, which scar me deeply.

- I have several night terrors / hypnagogia as a teen where I experience ghosts, and once, a demon. I’m deeply disturbed by these experiences and don’t know how to integrate them into my beliefs as an atheist. 

- My mom tries to help my bad teen acne and irregular cycles by putting me on birth control.

- I’m an average student, and a decent athlete. School is just okay. I don’t excel at much and prefer listening to music and painting in my room. I become interested in boys.

- I graduate high school, start college, and then promptly drop out. My parents kick me out of the house. I spend two years living with a boyfriend and experimenting with weed and hallucinogens.

- My dad asks me to visit my devoutly Catholic great-grandmother Olive once a month in a nursing home at the height of my rebellion. She sees nothing but good in me, despite me feeling utterly fallen. She loves me immensely, and keeps poems I wrote as a young girl in with her collection of favorite prayers.

- My boyfriend becomes abusive and the economy collapses. I lose my job, and eventually break up with him. I ask my parents for forgiveness and move back home. I return to college.

- I discover pantheism, and feel like I’ve finally found a name for the Godlike awe I’ve been chasing since I was a girl on the lakeshore.

- Eventually, my great-grandma Olive succumbs to dementia. I receive a small inheritance from her, which I put towards the cost of completing a French study abroad at a university in Normandy.

- In Normandy, I feel close to the spirit of my great-grandma Olive. Our program includes visits to churches, monasteries, and reliquaries with weekly if not daily frequency. Everything is ancient. I feel sad and disconnected from my American peers, estranged from Norman locals by the language barrier, but form a tight bond with my host family. I spend a lot of time wandering the narrow streets and drinking wine and cidre in cafés trying to make sense of the world. I buy ranunculus and place them on my night stand.  I find solace in the Gothic architecture, and in the tiny orchard towns of the Old Country.

- The last week of my time in France, we visit Paris. My program director arranges for us to attend mass at Notre-Dame de Paris. There are incense and Gregorian chants. Part of the mass is in Latin, the rest is in French. I sketch the vaulted ceilings. I shake hands with a kind-eyed stranger behind me and wish him peace in English, knowing he may not understand my words but feels my intention. After mass, I walk between the arches, and I cry.

- After returning home, I spend a quick summer in my hometown, and pack to leave for Chicago to pursue a bacheor’s degree. I love Chicago and make friends. My first Easter there, I try to find a Catholic church and talk a new boyfriend into coming with me. I dress up and wear a new silk hat. He hates the service and asks if we can leave. I say no and am disappointed in him, despite neither of us being Catholic. I feel, for some reason, I should be there. Maybe because it makes me feel connected to my great-grandmother. We leave and eat strawberries in Millennium park.

- I move out of the dorms and into other neighborhoods. Subsequent years I begin to practice Lent, because I like the principle of it. It seems like a really positive challenge to me. I don’t make the mistake of dragging others with me to Easter mass anymore.

- I graduate college and struggle to find meaningful employment. My body is in tremendous amounts of pain. The doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with me though. I quit hormonal birth control to see if it helps. My body reels and tries to stabilize without the consistent dose of hormones I’ve been taking daily for the last decade. I fall into an inconsolable and deep depression for the next two years 

- An acquaintance asks me to join a band. As music has been the silver thread pulling me through the darkness, I agree wholeheartedly.

I learn to play bass, and duet vocals with him as he plays lush, reverby guitar and sings in a low timbre. Over the course of the year, we fall in love. He’s tall, serious, dark, with electric blue-green eyes. He’s fiercely intelligent. His smile makes my heart leap from my chest. His name is M.

- One weekend M. and I are spending the morning together, and he casually asks if I’d like to go to Easter mass with him the next day. I’m overcome with surprised joy and happily agree. I dress up once again, and I smile at him with this unexplained feeling of pride as he leaves my side to go take the Eucharist.

- I continue to struggle with my mental health. M. really loves me and encourages me to find a therapist. I do. We find out I have PMDD, and I begin, slowly, working on improving my health.

- My grandpapa is suddenly diagnosed with stomach cancer and is placed in hospice. I fly out immediately to be with him and my family. Within the week, he’s gone. My family grieves in the small hospice chapel. I find myself praying for the peace of his soul.

During this trip, my grandmother is diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s, which breaks my heart. I feel like, in a way, I’ve lost both of my grandparents twenty years too early. I return home.

- My relationship progresses with M. He is a cradle Catholic, but isn’t especially devout. It’s a somber year. The next Easter rolls around, and I once again practice lent. I give up alcohol. Despite still not feeling especially Catholic myself, I begin reading the Bible, starting with the gospels “as a cultural experience.” I think it’s some kind of effort to connect with my roots. I read them on the train as I ride to the record store that I work at.

- One morning on the train, I read the parable of the 10 Virgins. I’ve never heard it before, and I don’t quite understand it. I re-read it over and over again. When I get to work, one of my co-workers is playing Johnny Cash.

- The song playing is "When the Man Comes Around." I am shocked to hear the parable of the 10 virgins in the song.  And I start to wonder if what I’m reading maybe is actually trying to speak to me. So I don’t stop.

- Intrigued by my experience, I decide to fast deeply during lent. Out of curiosity, one evening in my room I try to talk to Jesus for the first time and introduce myself. Nothing spectacular happens, but the room seems to smell like sawdust and sweet wood, and I feel peaceful.

- That Easter, M.’s parents are visiting and invite us to the candlelit vigil service. It’s in a church that’s hundreds of years old called St. Michael’s. The choir is perfect and well practiced, and they sing a Capella. I watch the baptisms of the excited canidates and catechumens, dressed in their special outfits, with happy spouses looking on. I feel this sudden yearning to be one of them. I’m delirious from fasting and feel as if I’m floating. I silently cry again, and think about my grandma, great grandma, and grandpapa. We go out to dinner together and the food tastes incredible after the fast.

- In the weeks following, I keep reading the bible. It becomes my secret.

- M. and I decide to move to Arizona together, to find a better life. We are living paycheck to paycheck, and feel like we might find more gainful employment there.  When we arrive, I spend most mornings standing on the edge of desert landscape, trying to achieve deep meditation to help with my mental health. I memorize the “Our Father” prayer, and say it at the beginning of each session.

- M. and I talk about maybe having children someday. He says that he thinks he might want his kids to go to Catholic school, like he did.

- At this point, I’m already deeply fascinated with Catholicism. I read about saints as I commute around town. I read about the formation of the bible and the desert fathers, I decide that I might want to maybe be Catholic. Then I find out what’s involved. The lengthy process of RCIA keeps me away, and I worry about what my fallen-away father would think. So I keep reading in secret instead.

- I want to donate to a food drive, so M. helps me find a local church to take food to for thanksgiving. They have a prayer shawl ministry. I really want to learn how to knit, so I join, despite not being Catholic or belonging to the parish.

- Months later, I become fascinated with the rosary. I decide to pray a “virtual rosary.” During that experience, I see the Virgin Mary in my mind’s eye. I see her as the female form, then as my own body. I recognize that I’m holding a lot of insecurity and tension in my body as sexual shame. Suddenly, I see my female form as completely beautiful and natural. I feel freedom and peace from that shame I’ve been carrying since I was a child. I don’t know much about the Virgin Mary, but I know that I need to learn more.

- That very night, my boyfriend and I go to see The Smashing Pumpkins. The whole set is filled with imagery referring to the Virgin Mary. I find myself saying the Hail Mary prayer in my head, over and over again. It glitters in my mind like it’s made of gold.

- I read more and more about Our Lady. And I find a small coin necklace with her image. It glitters just like the prayer. I make a pact with myself that if I decide to buy the necklace, that I’ll join RCIA.

- A few days later, I decide to buy the necklace.

- That Sunday, I feel compelled to go to mass alone, even though I’ve never done that before. I walk there. At the end of the service, the church announces its new RCIA director, who I meet after the mass. And I begin the inquiry process within weeks.

[pamphletstoinspire]

A Padre Pio Inspirational Story

With Image:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/padre-pio-inspirational-story-harold-baines-6435857720028524544/?published=t

Father Pio Francesco Mandato, F.M.H.J., was born in Italy in 1956, and his parents and grandparents were from Pietrelcina, Padre Pio’s hometown. Father Mandato’s family members, including his great-grandfather, received many graces from their spiritual father, Padre Pio. His grandmother, Maria DeNunzio once asked a friend who was going to San Giovanni Rotondo to deliver a letter to Padre Pio. She fixed her friend a cup of espresso, and they had an enjoyable visit. Then he left for the monastery. He was able to talk with Padre Pio and when it was time to say good-bye, Padre Pio surprised him by saying, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” “Not that I can think of,” Maria’s friend replied. “Not only did you enjoy a cup of coffee and a visit with Maria, but you promised her that you would give me the letter that is in your back pocket!” At once he remembered and quickly placed the letter in Padre Pio’s hands.

In Pietrelcina, everyone called Padre Pio, Il Monaco Santo, the holy friar. The townspeople loved to exchange stories about their experiences with Padre Pio. Everyone felt very proud that the “holy friar” was a fellow citizen of Pietrelcina. The people from Pietrelcina were characteristically simple, devout, hard-working, and strong in their Catholic faith. Many people in the area were related or distantly related to each other. Pio Francesco’s mother was related to Padre Pio through her paternal grandmother.

Padre Pio never forgot the town from which he had come. He loved Pietrelcina and he loved the people who lived there. He said that he remembered Pietrelcina, “stone by stone.” In a letter to his brother Michael, who still resided there, Padre Pio wrote, “Pietrelcina is totally in my heart.” Regarding his spiritual life, Padre Pio once said, “Everything happened in Pietrelcina. Jesus was there.” It was in Pietrelcina that the Lord began to pour out his graces on the young Capuchin. Once Padre Pio made this prophetic statement, “During my life I have cherished San Giovanni Rotondo. After my death I will cherish and favor Pietrelcina.” How fitting that today he is known as St. Pio of Pietrelcina.

During World War II, the people of Pietrelcina were worried about their safety. “Do not worry,” Padre Pio said. “Pietrelcina will be protected.” History bears out the truth of his statement. Padre Pio was transferred to the Capuchin monastery of Our Lady of Grace in San Giovanni Rotondo in 1916 and remained there until his death in 1968. A number of the residents of Pietrelcina moved to San Giovanni Rotondo to be closer to their spiritual father.

Once Paris DeNunzio, Pio Francesco’s grandfather, made a trip to San Giovanni Rotondo from Pietrelcina to see Padre Pio. The road that led up to the monastery was steep and dangerous. Paris’ companion, who was driving, fell asleep at the wheel and the car swerved and veered off the road. Paris, who was very frightened, began praying, “Padre Pio, helps us!” At the last moment, the driver was able to gain control of the car. When they arrived at the monastery and went to Padre Pio’s cell, Paris told his spiritual father about the near accident. “And were you frightened, Paris?” Padre Pio asked. “Yes, I was frightened,” Paris replied. “Well, don’t you know who was driving?” Padre Pio asked. Paris asked him what he meant. “I was driving the car,” said Padre Pio, “and you all arrived safely!”

Paris used to pray daily to Padre Pio, recommending to him his wife, his daughter, his son and other family members. Once when he was talking to Padre Pio, he asked him to pray for his family and began to name them. Padre Pio said to him, “You do not need to tell me their names. I hear their names every day in your prayers.” Another time, Paris was experiencing pain in his chest and was worried that perhaps he had heart trouble. He told Padre Pio about it and Padre Pio replied that there was nothing wrong with his heart. “Of course there is something wrong,” Paris said. “If there wasn’t something wrong, I would not be in so much pain.” Padre Pio told him to stop talking about it. “If you don’t stop, I will give you a punch,” Padre Pio said. He then gave Paris a light punch on his chest. From that moment on, he never experienced another pain in his chest.

Pio Francesco’s mother, Graziella, first met Padre Pio when she was ten years old, when she traveled with her father, Paris DeNunzio, from Pietrelcina to San Giovanni Rotondo. They found Padre Pio inside the 16th century friary church of Our Lady of Grace, surrounded by a group of people. Being small, Graziella was unable to get close to him. She could only see the top of his head. When Padre Pio saw Graziella, he extended his arm over the people, and allowed her to kiss his hand. His eyes made a profound impression on her, an impression that she would not forget.

In 1946, a few days before Christmas, Graziella and her brother visited the monastery and Padre Pio blessed Graziella by placing his hands on her head. Then, in his paternal way, he gave her a fatherly embrace. At once, she became aware of the beautiful scent of roses. She believed that the fragrance was coming from the wound in his side.

One time Graziella told Padre Pio that she had met a man she was thinking of marrying. “Don’t do it. He is not for you. You don’t know what kind of coat he wears,” Padre Pio said to her. She and her father did a little research and found out that the man was a communist. When she inquired about a second suitor, the answer was again a firm “no.” When she finally named a third man, Andre Mandato, Padre Pio said, “The angel of God has passed. Do it with the blessing of God.” She married Andre in 1955.

Because of the popularity of Padre Pio’s confessional, a booking system had to be put in place at the monastery. People would take a ticket and wait for their number to be called. It sometimes required a wait of eight days or more. Once Graziella had a tremendous desire to speak to Padre Pio. The way to speak to him was through the vehicle of the confessional but Graziella did not want to wait that long. She somehow had the courage to approach the confessional without a ticket. The woman at the front of the line told her she could go ahead of her.

Just as she stepped into the confessional, Padre Pellegrino, Padre Pio’s assistant, whose job it was to check tickets, told Padre Pio that Graziella had just entered without a reservation. Padre Pio said to him, “And when she did, who were you watching?”

Graziella was permitted to make her confession regardless and she told her spiritual father that she and her husband were expecting their first child. “You will have a son,” he said. “Name him Pio Francesco.” When her baby boy arrived on July 6, 1956, she was delighted that he shared not only Padre Pio’s baptismal name, Francesco, but also his name in religion, Pio. Padre Pio sent his blessing as well as a medal with the Blessed Virgin on one side and St. Michael the Archangel on the other.

Pio Francesco Mandato was four years old when his grandfather, Paris, took him for the first time to see Padre Pio in his cell. Padre Pio blessed little Pio Francesco and embraced him. Little Pio came just up to the middle of Padre Pio’s waist. Afterward, he told his mother, “Padre Pio has perfume on his tummy.” Graziella told her son that he did not wear perfume. He had perceived the characteristic fragrance of Padre Pio, wholly supernatural in origin and most frequently a sign of grace.

Paris took little Pio Francesco with him a number of times to the monastery to visit Padre Pio. The men were allowed to go into a gathering area and converse with Padre Pio. Women were not allowed. Pio Francesco remembers what joyful occasions they were for all concerned. In the presence of a number of Capuchins and laymen, Padre Pio enjoyed the fellowship and he loved to tell jokes and to make his friends laugh.

Seven year old Pio Francesco and his younger brother Vincent received their first Holy Communion from Padre Pio on October 3, 1964, on the feast of the Transitus of St. Francis of Assisi (the celebration of the death of St. Francis of Assisi). Afterward Padre Pio said to the young boys, “I pray that your last Holy Communion will be even more beautiful than your first.” Pio Francesco remembers the solemnity and the great devotion with which Padre Pio celebrated Mass. Although his Mass was long, the time seemed to pass very quickly. Another remarkable aspect of Padre Pio’s Mass was that although it was always very crowded, a profound silence pervaded the church.

The Mandato family emigrated to the United States in 1964 and settled in New Jersey. Naturally, they missed Padre Pio immensely. Father Alessio Parente, Padre Pio’s secretary, relayed a message to Graziella from Padre Pio. He said, “Tell Graziella that I always have her present in my prayers and I am united to her whole family.”

On September 22, 1968, Graziella had a vivid dream of Padre Pio. “I come to say goodby to you,” he said. She said to him, “Don’t leave,” and he replied, “The Lord is calling me.” The next day Graziella learned that he had passed away in the early morning hours.

Following in the footsteps of his spiritual father, Pio Francesco Mandato was ordained to the priesthood in Hoboken, New Jersey in 1985. He and his family made a trip to Italy so that he could celebrate his first Mass in Pietrelcina at the Madonna Della Libera altar (Our Lady of Liberty), at Our Lady of the Angels parish. It was the very same church and altar where Padre Pio had celebrated his first Mass on August 14, 1910.

Today, fifty year old Father Pio Francesco Mandato, F.M.H.J., belongs to the Franciscan Missionary Hermits of St. Joseph and lives in Eastern Pennsylvania. He continues to live out his priestly vocation in the spirit of St. Francis of Assisi. He feels that Padre Pio is still guiding him and helping him on his spiritual journey. “More than anything else, I remember Padre Pio as a very loving man, like a loving father,” Father Pio Francesco said. The words that Padre Pio said to his mother so many years before remain a consolation to him, “Tell Graziella that I always have her present in my prayers and I am united to her whole family.” Father Pio Francesco Mandato continues to carry on the work of the Lord.

[deadlydagger]

HOW MY RELATIONSHIP WITH CATHOLICISM HAS AFFECTED MY LIFE.

This may be an extensive story but I will try to do the best to sort it out in a meaningful way. 

My relationship with Catholicism began in 1945 when I was six years old. I was in first grade at Immaculate Conception school on East North Broadway in Clintonville, a Columbus Ohio neighborhood. A playground separated the school and the church, which was about 100 feet wide. My father would drop me off on Oakland Park St., which was the first street north of East North Broadway. I would walk through the yards of the houses on Oakland Park, which took me to the playground. There was a side door to the church, which I went through and then attended Mass in person. After Mass, I left through the same door, walked across the playground into Immaculate Conception school. The same routine occurred when I was seven years old in second grade. During my second grade year, I received my first communion, which was quite a big deal. In those days, you had to fast after midnight if you were going to receive communion the next day. I received stern warning from my parents that I should not even swallow the water or the toothpaste while I brushed my teeth because that would break my fast and I could not receive my first Holy Communion.

In third grade, when I was eight years old, Our Lady of Peace became our parish about five blocks away from our house.  I also went to school at Our Lady of Peace. Mass was said at 8:00 AM during the week which I attended daily as did many of my classmates. My father had a beautiful Irish tenor voice and he sang at mass every day at 8 o'clock. Since we could not eat anything after midnight, I either did not receive Holy Communion because I would have eaten breakfast before Mass or I would receive Holy Communion or then have breakfast of some sort at the school after Mass. I do not remember which of these occurred.

This routine was in place throughout my grade school days at Our Lady of Peace. Of course, my whole family went to Mass on Sunday. When I started carrying newspapers, which was when I was around 10 or 11 years old, my Dad would help me with the Sunday newspapers because they were quite voluminous. So he and I got up very early on Sunday mornings, we delivered all of the newspapers, finishing about just before 8 o'clock and then we went to 8 o'clock Mass, having breakfast at home afterwards. Meanwhile, my mother was at home watching my brother and sister who were younger. My Mother went to Mass later in the day. Sometimes my mother would go with me to deliver the newspapers. I always rather would have my dad do it because he would fold the papers up nice and tight with rubber bands and all I had to do was pick up the paper from the car and deliver it to the various customers. When my mother took me, she spent most of the time reading the newspaper in the car while I had to fold the newspapers up myself and then deliver them. Needless to say, it went quicker when Dad helped me then when Mom did it.

By the time I got to high school, our parish had grown enough so that Father Foley, our pastor, had an assistant pastor assigned to our parish as well. So they began having daily Mass at 6:30 in the morning and an 8 o'clock Mass as well. I was well on my way to school at St. Charles before the 8 o'clock Mass even started. Nevertheless, one of my parents and I went to the 6:30 Mass virtually every day before I traveled 13 miles to my high school.

My grandparents and my parents were great examples of practicing the Catholic faith by attending Mass and receiving Holy Communion daily and definitely on Sunday as well. Typically, mothers were the driving force concerning religion but, in our family, our Dad was the one who had an unfettered commitment to our faith. So it went without saying that I followed all of their footsteps.

My first two years in college, I went to a Catholic school, the University of Dayton in Dayton Ohio. I continued my same routine daily. There was a chapel right next to my dormitory and I went to 8 o'clock Mass there every day. Sometimes, I would have an 8 o'clock class and, in that case, I would go down the street to Holy Angels Catholic Church where they had a Mass at 12:10 PM daily. The pastor at Holy Angels was named Father McFarland. He and Holy Angels are a story in themselves.

As you can probably tell by previous paragraphs, I was a pretty devout Catholic. I had my own missal, which had all of the readings for every day of the year. I would usually get to Mass early and stay afterwards to have some quiet time to pray. So I was kind of surprised at the way Father McFarland did things. He started right on time at 12:10 PM and finished, without fail, at 12:22 PM, a 12 minute Mass. Now usually, Masses on Sundays were an hour or more including all of the Scripture and the sermon by the priest after the gospel. During the week, the Mass would usually take around 30 minutes, which comprised of the daily Scripture but there was no sermon by the priest. Father McFarland deviated significantly from that regimen.

In those days of course, everything was in Latin. The way my missal was set up, the left-hand page had the Scripture in Latin and the right-hand page had it in English. So the priest would say the words in Latin that appeared on the left-hand page and you could follow if you liked but the English translation was on the right-hand page so you could always refer to that as well. Father McFarland said the Latin mass so quickly that I could not read the words in English as fast as he said them in Latin. I always wondered why he persisted in saying a Mass that would normally take at least 30 minutes and say it in only 12 minutes. Finally, it dawned on me. National Cash Register was a major employer and was right across the street. Their lunch hour started at noon and ended at 12:30 PM. By starting the Mass at 12:10 PM, those employees could get to Mass in the 10 minutes between lunch started and the time that the Mass commenced. Then, in the 12 minutes that Father McFarland said the Mass, the employees could go to Mass and get back to their jobs by 12:30 PM. While this was nice and convenient for the National Cash Register employees, I thought it was pretty close to a sacrilege the way Father McFarlane said the Mass.

I recently had dinner with a friend of mine who went to Holy Angel’s grade school in Dayton and knew Father McFarland very well. He claimed that when it was time for communion, Eucharistic ministers distributed communion to the congregation while Father McFarland completed the Mass and then left the altar. I do not recall it that way but, of course, Vatican II allowed the Eucharistic ministers to pass out communion instead of requiring the priest do it himself. But when I was in Dayton in college, Vatican II was still several years away. So Father McFarland distributed the communion himself and still finished in 12 minutes.

One Friday during Lent I was feeling especially holy and went to Mass three times during the day. My roommate and I decided to go to Holy Angels on Friday evening for Stations of the Cross. However, when we got to the church, it looked strangely like the altar servers were setting up for Mass instead of Stations of the Cross. Father McFarland was going to do the service one way or the other so I went back to the sacristy and inquired of him whether he was saying Mass or Stations of the Cross. He said it was going to be Mass and so I told him that my roommate and I would go back up to the college for Stations of the Cross because we had already been to Mass that day.

Astonishingly, Father McFarland made a short but impassioned statement to me about the tremendous value Mass was, it being the greatest prayer ever in the history of mankind; one should never pass up the opportunity to participate in such a holy prayer. He said this so fervently that I had no choice but to stay for the Mass, however short he would make it. He took much more time than the 12 minutes that he usually spent at Mass during the week and that solidified my evaluation of why he did it so fast during the noon hour just so he could accommodate the employees at National Cash Register.

I did not receive a very worthwhile education at the University of Dayton but my religious fervor increased day by day. I went to Mass every day without fail, either at the chapel at the University or at Holy Angels. I also attended other religious services that were provided by the priests at the University of Dayton. As it turned out, things did not go well for me at Dayton but I definitely maintained my commitment to my Catholic faith.

While attending Ohio State, in addition to attending daily Mass, I spent a lot of time praying on my own, typically the rosary or just being in a meditative state. I received a jolt and an inspiration from an unusual source. While Ohio State and other state universities were considered to be secular, nonreligious institutions, my football coach, Woody Hayes, in addition to all of the other things that he did to change my life, taught me how to pray. You would think that after 14 years of Catholic education, I would be pretty good at praying but Woody change my attitude on that. Before and after every game, he would say a short prayer, maybe two or three minutes. He did not pray that we would win the game nor afterwards, he did not thank God for our victory. It was just the opposite. He acknowledged that we were responsible for our own destiny; but he prayed that we would use our talents to the best and to make the Good Lord proud that we had carried out our mission. He prayed that we would play without injury, that we would play by the rules, that we would make those proud who were supporting us. Strangely, he also prayed for the other team. He prayed that they would play by the rules, that they would play without injury and that they would play their best so that when we beat them, we would know that we were not just lucky but beat them even though they were at their best. These words truly inspired me and changed my relationship with the Good Lord. My coach let me know that it was my responsibility to be thankful for the talents that I had received and it was my responsibility to use them to the best of my ability. So instead of praying that I would make a good block or a good tackle or to catch a pass, I no longer would place that responsibility on God. I realized that I am on my own to do my best and, if I did, the outcome would be a result of my own effort, not because God made the block or the tackle or the catch. This was a lesson that I carried through the rest of my life. A few months before my coach died, I went to see him and told him that after all of my religious education, he and he alone was the person who taught me how to pray. This tough old codger had tears streaming down his face as I told this to him.

I spent 3 1/2 years in the Navy after I got out of college. This involved a highly intensive activity because I had very significant responsibilities both at sea and in port. Of course, at sea we had no capability of going to Mass but I was able to pray to some extent, although even that was limited. Between our two cruises overseas in the Western Pacific, in 1964, we were in San Diego for about seven months. During this period of time, I joined a parish there and participated in reading the Scriptures during Sunday Masses and helped out in other small things that I was capable of doing. But all in all, my religious fervor while in the Navy was pretty scant.

In August 1965, I was discharged from the Navy and, one month later, I began law school. During much of the time in law school, when I was at the law school late in the day due to either classes or study periods, I went to Mass at the Newman Center at 5:00 PM before coming home for dinner. This was a new experience for me as Vatican II had occurred several years earlier and the Mass and other aspects of Catholicism had been modified. This also occurred on Sundays as my family got a big kick out of me going to Mass with them carrying my old style missal when everything had changed. I gradually got into the new way of doing things but continued to attend Mass from time to time as well as I could. As an adult, things were a little more difficult in practicing my faith than they had been as a child and young adult where I had a pretty well regimented schedule.

After graduating from law school, in September 1968 I got married in a Catholic church. Susan and I lived in the Northland area and I returned going to daily Mass as much as I could. However, as children began to arrive, schedules got to be more complicated. I guess I would say that I could not practice my faith as well but the fact was that I probably could have maintained the same level of commitment to my faith that I had always had but I just did not get it done. I would say that I was exhausted a good portion of the time when the children were first born.

As the children entered their educational experience, they did not go to Catholic school and they were not all that happy about going to the weekly instructions about Catholicism. It is easy to understand that after they had spent all day in school they did not want to go to another school when they would like to have some free time with their friends. There was heated discussion about this at the dinner table and their mother was opposed to them going to these religious instructions as well. I have to accept full responsibility for caving in on this issue and my family at large stopped having any commitment to any faith whatsoever, including me. As a result, I failed to perpetuate in my children the great Catholic faith that had been passed down to me from at least two earlier generations.

I have kind of lost track as the years have gone by. All I can say is that, down through the years, I attempted to attend Mass from day to day and, strangely enough, never went to Mass on Sunday, having the convoluted idea that I went to Mass during the week and only the dumb people went to Mass on Sundays. These are the types of things that go through your mind to justify misconduct and I was certainly guilty of that.

During this period of time, from about the middle of the 1980s when I was in my mid-40s, I continued to pray about life and the role I was playing in the universe. There were significant times though that did occur that stick out in my mind. One time around 1987, I proudly stood in my bedroom on Goldenrod, bragging to myself at how perfectly I was living my life and, no matter what happened, I could conquer any adversity and not even God could do anything to hurt me. How crazy was that!

Well, I learned my lesson. Within the next three years, my divorce became final, fracturing my family structure, a painful experience; one of my employees attempted to steal my entire business and was one third successful in doing that; all three of my children got in one difficulty or another; I developed a neurological condition that was very painful which caused physical dysfunction; and I became distraught at how difficult my life had become. One day, in August 1990, I was on the point of blasphemy. I was yelling at God saying that He had a grudge against me, that He was doing everything He could to hurt me, that He was doing everything He could to destroy my life, and I had had it with Him. So just go ahead and hurt me as much as you can today; I know you are going to destroy everything that I'm trying to accomplish and just go ahead and let me have it. So there. Well, he granted my wish. My stepbrother, David Crader, was killed in an accident at his army base. Well, that sure gave me a reason to shape up.

I prayed very fervently to God saying that I now recognized that He was in charge. That I was helpless in guiding my own life. That I was flat on my stomach with my face in the dirt and His heavy foot was on my neck holding me down. I said that I had no ability whatsoever to accomplish anything unless He would at least let me lift my head up, gradually rise from the mud and help me by guiding me through the rest of my life. After that, things started to improve in my life dramatically.

My spiritual development between the middle 1980s and the late 1990s is the subject of another essay entitled "Mother." After I spent two weeks with the Missionaries of Charity, my full-fledged fervor about my faith dramatically improved. I continued to go to the Missionary of Charities’ missions in New York City to work at the soup kitchens among the homeless. I also went on a pilgrimage to Europe to visit both Fatima and Lourdes where the Blessed Mother had appeared to children, Bernadette in 1858 and Lucy and her two cousins in 1917. As a result of that pilgrimage, my soul was transformed and was on fire. That pilgrimage took place in April 1999. During the summer of 1999, every morning at Mass for two weeks all I could think about was Lourdes. I started thinking that I was receiving a message that I was supposed to go there. I did go there for one week in October 1999.

After a grueling trip, upon arrival in Lourdes, I was very hungry and very tired. It was late afternoon or early evening. My hotel room was very small, containing a bed and a bathroom. I lay on my bed looking at the ceiling saying to myself: "How stupid can one person be. I can't speak the language, I have never been here, don’t know anything about this town, I don't know anyone here, I have no idea why I would do this to myself!” I was hungry, actually almost starving, and went to a little café down the street. I could not read the menu, even one word, the waiters knew no English, and all I could do was point to a picture on the menu. The Lourdes' experience is one that deserves an essay all by itself but, suffice it to say, it was a wonderful, inspiring experience which enhanced my spiritual life to a great extent. I returned every year for eight years working with and supporting the sick and injured pilgrims, and learned so much about how to assist people that are less fortunate than we.

Six million people per year come to Lourdes for prayer and healing. Some are desperately ill, crippled, either physically or mentally. Most are accompanied by family or close friends or sometimes are simply escorted by volunteers from their homes to Lourdes, when we take over for their care. In the 160 years since Bernadette experienced the appearance of the Blessed Mother, thousands or even millions of pilgrims claim to have been cured in one way or another. However, only 66 cures have been certified by the Catholic Church to be valid miracles. This requires a rigorous examination by medical experts, theological experts, and atheists who examine all of the evidence before proclaiming that a particular cure was in fact a miracle.

Reviewing what I have written above, I have to question whether I have really provided the information that was requested. An objective observer would have to inquire as to what role has the Catholic faith played out in the life of Dan Connor. Like all lives, there are starts and stops, ups and downs, and sometimes we even get sideways without intending to. While my commitment to the faith was sometimes more intense than at other times, however, throughout my life, I have always felt that I was Catholic, I prayed almost daily for almost 80 years and I acted out my faith by going to church and receiving the sacraments when I could. I also feel that I had been the recipient of certain spiritual directives that kept me on a reasonably correct track. From time to time I received what I believe was spiritual guidance. Sometimes I was a little slow to pick up on it but usually, if the messages pounded hard enough on my little brain, I finally figured it out. Also, throughout my life I have experienced what appeared to be negative or even disastrous situations but, in actuality, most everything turned out for the better.

At St. Patrick's, I attended 7 o'clock Mass daily for decades of my life. There was a family, a mother, father, and nine children who were there each and every day at 7:00 AM. The children ranged from high school down to pre-kindergarten but they were always there praying fervently. Can you imagine the effort required of those parents to get that entire family to Mass each and every day for many years? There is no doubt in my mind that those children will live out a strong Catholic faith. If I have one major failing in my life, is that I have not taken the time or the effort to infuse in my children the faith that was handed down to me by my parents and grandparents. That obligation, I guess, required more commitment and/or more effort than I was willing to give. If there is one significant thing that will need to be explained when I face the Good Lord, it will be that particular failure.

Every day of my life, I have thanked the Good Lord for my life and for the great things He has done for me. I have begged Him to infuse in me the grace to understand the mission that He has designed for me and the strength to carry it out to His satisfaction. I have much to be grateful for, especially being blessed by three first class children who, in spite of my failures, have achieved five star successes. Without my great Catholic faith, none of that would have been achieved.