{"id":268,"date":"2018-03-02T19:34:59","date_gmt":"2018-03-02T19:34:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/y0r.68e.myftpupload.com\/?p=268"},"modified":"2020-03-19T21:59:29","modified_gmt":"2020-03-19T21:59:29","slug":"all-aboard","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whatwereyouthinking.ca\/?p=268","title":{"rendered":"All Aboard!"},"content":{"rendered":"

I saw a piece on television featuring an Anglican priest standing outside a train Station on Ash Wednesday in Toronto. \u00a0Several people aware that it was the start of lent, approached him as he was holding ashes. \u00a0He was stunned by the traffic that came his way as he applied the grey dust on those that requested it. I later discovered it is known as \u201cAshes to Go.” \u00a0The fast food ritual for the soul. What an excellent idea, I thought, that this priest left the church and went to where the people were. With declining attendance in parishes, and people sourcing out alternative ways to satisfy that spiritual hunger, this was a progressive act.<\/span><\/p>\n

Having been raised in a strict Catholic home, I have an unconventional take on faith. My dad didn\u2019t practice religion. He had immunity by having my mom carry that load for the both of them. A miracle I could not summon. She had all the accessories and accoutrements. Rosaries scapulars, prayer books, crucifixes and religious iconology. \u00a0Going to bed at night required the same observance as going to mass. Nothing like instilling holy fear in a kid before bed followed by “sleep well.” \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I attended what use to be St. Peter\u2019s school in the early sixties. \u00a0It had an army of nuns and schoolyards segregated by gender. True to the faith, even in junior grades, fun was considered a sin.<\/span><\/p>\n

The nuns were something else with a skill set that you might find in a martial arts film rather than a school. They used their rosaries like they were some form of ninja warrior beads. \u00a0You could be standing in the furthest corner of the classroom, and they would whip those beads across the room with such skilled precision and force it was like they were auditioning for a Chuck Norris film. \u00a0Next thing you know you’re flat on the ground semi-conscious wondering what happened. \u00a0When what looks like a black spinnaker hovers over you. \u00a0A pointer aimed at your heart like a sawed-off shotgun, in the shadow of a religious Cornette. Leather biker jackets with skulls on the back was more fitting attire and better aligned to their actions.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sister Bernadette (not her real name) was my nemesis. \u00a0Linda Blair in full out demonic possession was kinder and gentler than Sister Bernadette\u00a0and had more neck flexibility. \u00a0 She was ridiculously mean, hardened and looked like Charles Bronson on a bad day. I’ll bet money underneath her religious Cornette, and black dress was combat gear. She was the perfect James Bond adversary. \u00a0So strict and still was her classroom you could hear a fly fart. \u00a0She put the fear of God in all of us. \u00a0I\u2019m sure she put the fear of God in God. \u00a0She often spoke about the pledge the sisters made to be wed to God and the church. \u00a0Familiar with all of them, I wasn’t keen on meeting the rest of the family. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She seated her favourite kids at the front of the class and those she openly despised at the back. Common practice in those days. It pleased me that I sat in the furthest back corner. \u00a0The vantage point provided at least a minuscule opportunity for horseplay. \u00a0Our entire back row was filled with miniature delinquents better suited to be cast in the Disney version of \u2018To Sir, With Love.\u2019 \u00a0We were every bit as tough as the seniors who attended the innercity tech institute across the street even though we were only seven years old.<\/span><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know what the school budget was back then, but they had to be flush with cash because we went through pointers every other day as Sister Bernadette, smashed the shit out them. \u00a0Each room was equipped with one as well as a yardstick, strap, which I knew too well, and an abundance of soap to wash out our mouths. \u00a0Not to mention the handheld school bell the nuns rang to signify the end of recess and occasionally deployed as a weapon upside one’s head. \u00a0 How they missed the waterboarding, I\u2019ll never know. The strap was as pedestrian as the chalk. \u00a0The entire environment was counter-intuitive to raising\u00a0compassionate and loving children. Surrounded by taboos and everything desirable being off limits, unbeknownst to us, we were being groomed for sex, drugs and rock\u2019n roll. \u00a0It was a religious war zone given birth in faith and rooted in shame, guilt, and fear. I\u2019m sure they operated with a different version of the Bible than the rest of us. Fortunately, our resilience transcended the negatives. \u00a0We became masterful in laughter and comedy. \u00a0There was way too much fodder to indulge in as we became adept in the art of puncturing sacred cows. Our detachment from the sisters necessary to discover who we were.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Masterful in dodging corporal punishment, it gave us ‘game.’ \u00a0We also questioned our faith despite the fact that we stared each day at a crucifix so large that only a construction crew with a crane could have hung it up.<\/span><\/p>\n

A weekly confession was mandatory as a child. \u00a0You had to learn to commit a crime, so you had creative ammunition for forgiveness. The irony slays me to this day. \u00a0Petty theft was common for some but profanity always won for me. \u00a0With a litany of words that would make George Carlin blush, it covered me for at least a couple of months for dispensation until I had to repeat the entire oratorio once again. With English as a second language, for so many kids in our downtown neighbourhood, the priest was particularly accommodating. It was the most consistent violation with the least amount of penance, so we used it.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sundays had me in my best. \u00a0White gloves, a hat with a pinching elastic chin band and a dress with a starched lace collar that was itchier than the fleas of a thousand camels. I was resentful my dad was at home enjoying his coffee and newspaper. \u00a0I had a little purse filled with a hanky, a prayer book, a rosary, and coins to buy candles to light for dead people I didn\u2019t even know. \u00a0Anything left over went towards the collection basket. \u00a0Unique round hampers overflowing with money that I imagined could have been better spent on Lola’s, candy and chips. I sat through high masses at Easter and Christmas entirely recited in Latin. Kill me now. I will never get that time back. \u00a0Over fifty years later and I still recall those ceremonies feeling like they lasted the entire week of creation. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

What have I learned after my stern religious upbringing? \u00a0That I\u2019m a C&E church goer – Christmas and Easter. Religious institutions do not have the monopoly on love, or own, what Led Zeppelin calls the “Stairway to Heaven.” No one does. \u00a0If someone wants to have a meditative practice outside the church that brings them joy, peace, and love, go for it. I\u2019ll get my blessings anywhere I can. If I happened to have been at the station where the priest was handing out ashes, and he ran out with only a black sharpie in hand, I\u2019d take it. I\u2019ll be the first to admit that I find comfort in rituals because it brings people together and for me, that is the meaning of life. \u00a0My belief system is rooted in love and laughter. That\u2019s pure joy for me, and no one is adverse to either. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We\u2019re currently running a massive deficit of peace on this planet. \u00a0Meditation and prayers far exceed what some religious organizations provide, and certainly exceed what big pharma might be peddling to ease one’s pain. \u00a0People want the real deal, not the illusion. They are looking for something that resonates, inspires and provides skills to endure the difficult times. Sitting in nature, meditating, praying, painting and being in gratitude, all have aspects of introspection in them. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Organized religion for me has missed the train on what I believe they are supposed to be about, especially at this time in our existence. Out-of-date belief systems, enveloped in judgment created during antiquated times that encourage separation are not in line with serving the journeys that exist today for so many of us. We need to create a practice for the greater good of humanity. \u00a0This Anglican priest was spot on to be where he was. \u00a0He and his ashes were on the right train. \u00a0Time for the others in faith-based organizations to get on board.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I saw a piece on television featuring an Anglican priest standing outside a train Station on Ash Wednesday in Toronto. \u00a0Several people aware that it was the start of lent, approached him as he was holding ashes. \u00a0He was stunned by the traffic that came his way as he applied the grey dust on those […]\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":406,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-268","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t