i had the misfortune of needing to attend a funeral this weekend. a beloved uncle whom i used to play batman with when i was a kid, tying towels on like capes, passed away after being riddled with cancer. i don’t have a great memory but i remember these batman episodes because there are pictures. we looked happy the two of us. later, when i was old enough to be a possession coveting little swine, i would slip small stacks of comics, chris claremont’s x-men, Sienkiewicz covered new mutants, miller’s daredevil, and of course g.i. joe, into some cheap magazine and essentially steal from him at his corner store. i remember this because i was later told he knew about it all along. my mother and brother and i stayed at pete’s for a stretch after the couple who lived above us in our apartment building set the place on fire while freebasing in their bed. they tried to put the fire out with glasses of water rather than call the fire department. my uncle and aunt kindly put us up, gave me a soft bed and secure environment to have my resulting nightmares in. that’s another story i guess.

this piece was not meant to be an obituary, but i wish pete guarino sr. well wherever he is now, wherever his atoms disperse to. he was a kind, quiet, hard working man who looked after my little family in scores of ways, big and small. i’m forever grateful for that. he was a catholic so perhaps a lifetime of belief has indeed ushered him past a winking st. peter into the heaven he hoped for. perhaps he even got a pat on the back on the way in, a “good job pete,” like a ballplayer returning to the bench after a grueling game. i certainly hope so. in any case, indirectly, it’s pete’s faith which spurred me on to post this. you see, as per his wishes, we attended a funeral mass before moving on to the internment. that’s really what this post is meant to be about.

first let me say that the particular church we attended for this funeral mass has a good deal of personal significance. it was not just some conveniently located, appropriately grand and weighty seeming space-  as it often feels to me when attending a wedding or funeral. you know: “oh, pretty, a church” then: forgotten before your even past the stationary fonts of holy water and down the steps. this just happened to be the church i attended for 6 years, from second to eighth grade, right across the street from my tiny catholic school. this is the place i went as part of a mumbling fidgeting herd, the place my young endurance was tested periodically for “stations of the cross,” the place my fear of public speaking first showed itself. this was the place where i confessed an endless string of youthful indiscretions and undoubtedly edited for priestly consumption “sins.” this was the place where my creative handiwork was first put before the masses on public display. this was the always full, looming large, satellite to the lonely planet that was grammar school.

the last time i had been there must have been for some consultations or classes for the confirmation i failed to attend. walking back into the place after roughly 15 years was somewhat astonishing. not for the reasons you might expect- that strange tide of memory washing over; the smell of the incense, the feeling of the kneeling stool’s padding against my knees, the acoustics of the sanctus bell or pipe organ reverberating under the vaulted ceiling, the odd modulations of the sung phrase “let-us-proclaim-the-mystery-of-faith.” none of that resonated with me in a way that induced time travel. what struck me was much simpler and much more obvious. the giant tiled mural, 20 feet high at least, depicting a haloed jesus with outstretched arms, sunbursts of light emanating outward, thorn wrapped / flaming heart visible, flanked by two kneeling saints, hovering huge above a crowd of monks and priests who themselves receded in two point perspective toward some impressive marble, domed, and columned buildings in the background. it was quite a shock because though i had utterly forgotten this mural’s existence i found that i remembered every single tile perfectly. i had stared at this huge image for 6 years, pouring over it’s every detail through all manner of obtuse, droning, ceremony. seeing it again, even in this context, as a pallbearer, a mourner, was somehow gratifying.

perhaps it was the pleasant surprise of this mural, perhaps it was strictly the context of my visit, but as the priest and alter boys made their way into the church from their hidden mysterious chambers in back, i found that i was, perhaps uncharacteristically, open to hearing what he’d have to say. i didn’t want to just sit there passively, staring at that mural, letting the words blur together into a single warbling but meaningless tone as i’d done a thousand times before (thinking maybe of the x-men, or daredevil.) i wanted rather to be as open and attentive as possible, to tune out the creaks and coughs and tears, and listen closely to this earthly representative of “the one true god.” i wanted to know, on this sad occasion, what wisdom a man of the cloth might be able to impart to his flock; what solace he might be able to offer to the grieving…

he was a young priest. had that humble, kindly manner which can be so attractive in a catholic priest for it’s comparative rarity in contrast to his flock. he performed the ceremonial aspects of the mass with grace. the blessings, the oil, the swinging incense censer, his recitation of scripture, all comforting in there familiarity. his eulogy, the moment i’d been most interested to hear, however… now that’s a different matter entirely. in front of a grieving family, on this, the day that faith is most relevant, perhaps most tested, when people need reassurance, when people are seeking answers to the greatest of all questions, the priest gave what amounted to a bald sales pitch for the catholic church and it’s c.e.o. jesus christ. i was astounded.

in the 20 or so minutes he spoke, what i heard was a short summation to the question “what is the catholic church, and why am i member?” and that’s it. every word was self referential in a way i could not fathom. the entire thing, from top to bottom, was about the ceremonial aspects of a church service and how they help to celebrate jesus. every point made might have been an answer to the question “why catholicism is right for you?” it was as if he were addressing a small group of hindu children at an indian grade school’s career day. the things i’d hoped to hear, a theologian’s wisdom on life, it’s passage in relation to a lifetime of faith, it’s trials, it’s triumphs and rewards, death, it’s implications, it’s impact on the living, grief, mourning, life after death, heaven, perhaps even some sort of historical context, and at very least some of

jesus’ actual ideas

on the subject, his teachings, were conspicuously absent. all we got was a lazy sales or public relations pitch seeded with two mentions of the deceased name in order to personalize it.

it was disappointing, and it left me wondering what passes for a life of catholic faith today. in an odd way it seemed to me to parallel the film “the passion.” it was all about jesus, the man, but totally avoided any attempt to convey even a single one of his actual ideas or teachings. weren’t his teachings what gained jesus disciples in the first place? isn’t that what separated him from the pharisees? isn’t that why a religion solidified in his wake? isn’t that what a religion is supposed to be about? ideas? it just left me wondering wether this kind of ingrown-hair mentality is what commonly passes for a religious ceremony today? for sermons and instruction? does every priest simply rehash endlessly the churches own doctrine, it’s own symbolisms, it’s own ceremonial practice? does the fact that catholicism is a religion of answers, of faith in what is passed down as absolute truth, preclude any further investigation or iteration of the ideals which that faith is put in?

i tell myself “can’t be.” their are so many churches and so many priests, monsignors, cardinals, bishops, theologians, that the actual content of any given parish’s services must vary widely. like anything else the entire spectrum must surely be represented. but, then again, can this small church in a poor, unremarkable community really be that peculiar, that unusual? if you look at it from a statistical standpoint, even a small percentage of churches offering such a self referential and shallow version of catholic ideals would, in a religion with a following so huge, result in literally millions of spiritually under serviced individuals. as stated, i attended many services in my time, at this church as well as many others, and it was my experience that a huge swath of those in attendance were bored, disinterested, put-upon, and in general simply not mentally present. this strikes me as real shame.

granted, i don’t believe in the personified god as put forth in any faith i’m aware of. but a church? a church can be such a very impressive place, the grandiosity, the quiet, the focus, the community. while sitting there it struck me what an opportunity a priest has each and every time he addresses his parishioners. to make people think, to challenge them, to teach them. i guess having returned to the very place where i had been introduced to catholicism, under such sad circumstances, when people are in the most need of guidance, when a religion can really make good on it’s promise of strength, answers, and deeper meaning to all that seems horrifying and senseless in life, i felt compelled to listen. if the short service i just attended reflects in any way the average experience of a church goer in 2004 then i feel sorry for the faithful. perhaps this kind of content is the reason why so many catholics groan at the prospect of church, because they are obliged to yet again go over the details of the catholicism’s own navel rather than to be taught and compelled to think? and perhaps this closed circuit, self congratulating, repetitious rehashing of accepted doctrine also contributes to the rigid and boundless moral arrogance of so many catholics? after all “amen” is the ultimate expression of agreement, and when you are obliged to do nothing but agree with what you already “know,” it truly does seem like a case of preaching to the choir. 

in any case i did not mean for this to all come off as so acerbic. not at all. in point of fact i have to say i was very touched by the role of the priest in general. to be there, constantly, for strangers in need is truly a noble thing. i could never in a thousand years manage it. to try and console people, however ineptly, deserves appreciation. it’s the thought that counts after all isn’t it? as mechanical and somewhat parasitic the funeral home employee’s presence feels at a funeral, the priest’s presence, in his disheveled inspector gadget raincoat, at the grave site on an overcast morning, well… it was touching. so, if by some “miracle” you happen to be reading this, please understand father, this is no indictment of you personally, i appreciate your efforts. i’m sure uncle pete would have been pleased overall. truly. it’s more of a note to myself, a reminder of how empty a church, even one full of personal history, family, and friends can feel when there is nothing in it but a gathering of confused, scared, sad, mortals.