Jesus, Mary and Josephina

By Melissa Hoffman

It's a big responsibility, playing the Blessed Virgin Mary in the school's annual can drive. Had Sister Theresa looked into her crystal ball at how my future would unfold, she may very well have cast me as a camel. Luckily for me, she had no such telepathy, seeing only an extremely shy girl with innocent brown eyes.

Every year before Christmas, my grade school collected canned goods for the needy, re-enacting the nativity scene with a live, silent cast. The entire school would parade past this holy shrine, depositing two cans of Heinz green beans or whatever leftover canned goods their mother had in her cupboard (and it was always mothers at that time). The cast of characters was selected from the small pool of second graders. The entire school, from first through eighth grade, was comprised of a little over 200 kids; therefore, being chosen to play Mary out of 30 second graders, 15 if you factor boys to girls at an even ratio, was no big accomplishment.

I took my role seriously, wrapped in a blue throw from my parents' couch and assuming the pious stance I believed a saint would take, holding it for an uncomfortable couple of hours. My classmates had a more casual response, tossing their cans into empty trash bins as they sped by without so much as a glance toward my baby, Jesus. No matter, this was between me and my God. And I came through brilliantly that day.

Catholicism may be the only religion where, when someone is asked what religion they are, they answer, "I was raised Catholic." Ever hear a Jew say, "I was raised Jewish?" A lapsed Episcopalian might tell you she used to attend an Episcopal church, but Catholics have a monopoly on the phrase, "I was raised Catholic" when it comes to religious affiliation.

I was raised Catholic (see?) growing up in the Midwest, and certain aspects of both remain part of my nature. You can't attend church every day through eight school years without permanent impressions — or scarring.

Midwesterners are unfailingly polite and friendly with a wonderful sense of community. This isn't meant to disrespect other areas of the country, but it's safe to say that Midwesterners are a paragon of modesty, unlike, say, New Yorkers and their "we're number one!" bravado.

I grew up in a neighborhood created for World War II veterans like my dad: one-level affordable housing that looked exceedingly similar, as if one home standing out would compromise the morality of the entire neighborhood. Not only did I have lots of kids to play with during summer vacations, but we also knew our family doctor, dentist, grocer and the guy who delivered our milk. No one's religious denomination mattered; only the joys of winter sledding and summer softball, traveling carnivals and Mr. Softee.

My brother, sister and I attended church every day (excluding Saturdays) throughout grade schoo,l but once my brother got to high school and got his driver's license, we enjoyed the secret thrill of driving to the local Frisch's Big Boy, indulging in fish sandwiches and fries instead of the holy Eucharist.

Once that excitement wore off, my sister boldly explained to our parents that she'd taken a vote and, in a unanimous decision, we would no longer attend or pretend to attend mass on Sundays. Our parents, who'd lost their own faith somewhere in the mid '60s, shrugged their shoulders, knowing full well the damage the church had already inflicted on us all.

Let's face it, Catholicism is one downer religion, what with its brimstone and fire, life is hell on earth, it's long list of "don'ts." Don't get baptized, its limbo for you, baby, and not the kind done with a pole, a pina colada and Don Ho. Nearly everything is a sin, and it's graded on a sliding scale. Murder = Mortal sin; Eating meat on Fridays up until Vatican II = Venal sin. Sex — in the missionary position only — is for procreation, and God forbid you should enjoy it! Guilt, guilt and more guilt. Oy vey!

They say history (and religion) is written by the victorious. In Neolithic times (well into the Bronze Age) people worshiped the female as Goddess with its powerful reverence for peace and creativity. During the Iron Age, Constantine, in an effort to cement his power, chose Christianity with its dominance of the male as God the father, his son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost. I have to admit I've never really understood the role of the Holy Ghost. I believe he's the product of Casper and a Camp Fire Girl, but I can't be certain.

It's pretty shocking to witness the gathering storm of religious intolerance over the last twenty years in America. Many Christians are suddenly acting very unchristian — from preachers to family values proponents — evangelical mega-church leader Ted Haggard, Idaho Senator Larry Craig, Christian Coalition founder Ralph Reed, Frank Houston, Pentecostal Christian pastor in the Assemblies of God Church, former House Representative Mark Foley — just to cite a few recent, high profile hypocrites.