This must be the place: ‘A little bit of mercy makes the world less cold and more just’
Snapped in Indianapolis. Garret K. Woodward photo
The quote used to title this column was stated by the late Pope Francis, who passed away last week at age 88. Rest easy, good sir.
Pope Francis was cool in my book, even though I can’t say the same for the Catholic Church, in general.
I’m an incredibly spiritual person, not religious. And, as someone who grew up surrounded by Catholicism, I’ve never been a fan of the church’s antics over the centuries and millennia (“antics” is a very, very diluted word to describe the dark history).
Regardless, Pope Francis was a good’un. Truly. His ethos was as close to that of Jesus as any pope before him. He believed in lending a hand to those suffering, to not shut the door behind you to those in need. And I do hope his legacy and message ripples out into our chaotic, uncertain world. Of which, I remain an eternal optimist.
Someone once asked me: “Do you believe in God?” I said that I don’t really think there’s some dude up there sitting on a cloud. But, I did believe that “God” is everything around us. It’s love. It’s friendship. It’s compassion. It’s mountains, forests and rivers. It’s energy. It’s whatever makes you smile and your heart skip a beat. I then added, “You know, I don’t think beauty in this world is coincidental.”
I see “God” every day. And you do, too, if you let your eyes and mind relax and focus in on that intrinsic splendor swirling around you. A conversation with an old friend not seen in years over coffee at a corner diner. Dipping your toes into a cold stream after a hot trail run. The sounds of a bird outside your window in the morning or a live jazz ensemble on an otherwise quiet Monday evening.
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To preface, I was raised in an Irish Catholic family, exactly one-mile from the Canadian Border, in the itsy-bitsy town of Rouses Point, New York, along the shoreline of the mighty Lake Champlain. Facing that shoreline on Lake Street was (and remains) St. Patrick’s Church. It was where I was baptized and where I went to mass pretty much every single Sunday when I was growing up in the 1980s and 1990s.
I never liked church. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m down with learning life lessons early on and aiming to be a human being of upstanding moral character. But, I always looked at going to mass as a chore. Mostly, I couldn’t ever sit still in those incredibly uncomfortable pews, the cold draft of the old church swirling around you (or it was too hot).
Those damn pews. Hard, cold wooden seating arrangements with no cushion and sharp angles in their construction. For a restless kid like myself, I was genuinely unable to sit there peacefully and quietly for the better part of an hour. That, and I was immediately bored and yawning with the monotone voice of our priest, this elderly man who made you feel guilty about everything you did in your daily existence.
Truth be told, I wanted to spend my Sunday mornings frolicking in the vast fields and deep woods behind my childhood home. Perhaps even ride my bicycle down to the lake, to our family’s summer camp and jump off the dock to cool off amid those hazy summer months — the soothing waters refreshing one’s soul after another long North Country winter of below-zero temperatures and unrelenting snowfall.
Whatever the case, it was double duty in my youth when it came to church. Sundays were the services at St. Patrick’s, not to mention Sunday School later that day. During the weekdays itself, it was Catholic school the next town over at St. Mary’s Academy, which included Thursday mass and confession. That was my existence from pre-school through sixth grade, only to be abruptly dumped off into the public-school system of heathens once I entered seventh grade.
I don’t have many fond memories of St. Mary’s. I was a scrawny, nerdy kid with thick glasses. No friends, really. I was picked on and bullied, mostly ignored and forgotten by my peers. I spent my time playing outside alone and diving deep into the history books, my biggest passion being music and listening to the radio endlessly in my childhood bedroom, dreaming of someday leaving my one-horse town.
I also don’t have fond memories of the school itself. Some of the old-school Catholic nuns were nice, but the principal (also a nun) was not. I vividly remember her telling me — when I was just 11 years old — that “I’d never amount to anything in my life.” That harsh statement was said when I was sent to her office because I couldn’t sit still in those uncomfortable all-in-one wooden desks. In the classroom, my gaze was constantly aimed outside at the unknown woods.
Skip ahead to the here and now. I recently turned 40 and started therapy following a tumultuous breakup with my former partner. So, it’s been interesting to wander down Memory Lane with purpose and a keener focus on what people/events molded the eventual trajectory of your life. Whether it be old-school Catholic guilt or your father’s demanding work ethic, those thick fibers of your emotional and social skillset are hardwired in your body and mind.
Thus, when I heard about the passing of Pope Francis, I started to peel back the layers of my past relationship with the Catholic Church, what fingerprints from those days remain visible on my heart and soul, and how “it all” affected/affects my current relationships, either personal or professional. There’s a lot to unpack. And I’m ready.
The heaviness of approaching that religious pillar of my existence growing up doesn’t bother me. What does (I guess?) bother me is that I should’ve done so years ago. No time like the present, eh? That’s how I feel, at least. I’m leaning in, this deep dive into the furthest corners of my mind, dusting off the pictures hanging up on the walls of my memory and, ultimately, looking to tidy up the house within.
The journey continues, and as it should. That’s the essence of life — curiosity, exploration, discovery, and evolution of self. It’s like this clip I came across today, this monk who was speaking at length about life. He goes, “Life is just one day. Yesterday is already dead, too late. Tomorrow is not born, too early. Today is the only life.”
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
