Before Matthew was born, my wife and I decided that we were going to raise him Catholic. Though I would like to tell you that we chose that religion for him because we believe it to be the only true religion, the real reason is that we're both Catholics. We haven't exactly been keeping up on the Koran or the Qu'ran or its various other spellings, and by not keeping up, we mean we have never read it. We also aren't familiar with whatever text the Buddhists and the rest of all those other religions study and whatnot. Hell, we're not even that familiar with the Bible. We don’t have to be – we’re Catholics.
That's beside the point. As good Catholics, it is our sworn duty to raise Matthew right, and by right, we mean raise him so that he knows he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants, but if he goes to church once a week then all his sins will be forgiven at confession. Except Catholics don't really go to confession regularly anymore anyway. So I guess our philosophy with Matthew should be that he can do whatever he wants, and as long as he eats an unleavened wafer every Sunday, it's all good. If it's yeasty at all, though, forget it.
I tease, and I shouldn't, because Christianity is often a punching bag for the media. Our intention is to raise Matthew to be good and charitable, and despite the many failings of the Catholic Church, it has done a lot of good in this world.
So how do you raise a child into the religion you've chosen for him? Well, right now I don't really know. All I know is that when we go to church (which is about twice a year), Matthew enjoys looking around at all the people and smiling at them because he's a nosy little kid. And it's kind of funny to see him grinning and swaying back and forth as if he's dancing while we're all singing songs and trying to be solemn and holy.
It's important if you have a young child to arrive early enough so you can secure a coveted seat on the end of the aisle. That way, when Matthew decides he's going to have a fit of laughing or crying or just plain yelling for no reason whatsoever, we can sweep him away outside. This is a job I choose. You see, normally Matthew starts getting bored about a half-hour into the Mass, which is just after the Bible readings and the homily, which are my favorite parts anyway.
Shortly after this, the Catholic Mass proceeds into a variety of rituals, of which only the Pope and three Italian nuns know the historical significance. It includes a lot of monk-like chants such as the Profession of Faith (which should just be one line: "Dear Lord, I'm here in church, so obviously I have faith."), the Our Father, and other songs based off the Letters of St. Paul to the Crustaceans (thanks Dad). This is when Matthew loses his patience. Sometimes he’ll cry out in boredom. Sometimes he’ll let out an inadvertent burp. Sometimes I just pretend he made the noise, or anticipate that he’s about to. This is when I leap into action, scooping Matthew in my arms and whispering to my wife, "He's being way too disturbing," to which my wife smiles and nods. She knows what's up.
And what’s up is a nice, lazy stroll for Matthew and me around the church grounds for the rest of Mass. Maybe we hang out in a grassy area of the church property or take a nap under an oak tree. Maybe we have a snack, and maybe that snack is leavened bread. Will the Lord forgive us? I think probably.
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