As we got to know each other, my friend, her family, and her grandmother and aunt, I saw that they were very devout in their own faith. They went to the Church of Christ church. Sometimes my friend and I would exchange taunts: "I'm a Christian," she said. "I'm a Catholic," I said. They had Vacation Bible School at her church. We had nothing like that. Her parents and my Mom decided that it would be good for me, and I wanted to, to go to this summer program. It wasn't a sleepover program. You went every day. And it was fun.
In the meantime, I had gotten to know her grandmother, and what a good and helpful, giving woman she was. She struck me with awe at what she would do for people in need. I watched her, and I respected her.
After my first summer at Vacation Bible School and getting to know some of the adults as well as the children there, my friend asked me to go to church with her. Now, ooossshhhhh. In catholic school they told us never to go to another church. It was a sin. But, knowing my friend's grandmother and her family, it didn't feel like a sin, so I went.
I remember the first time. It was so different than a mass. We listened and prayed and sang. Then communion, which was broken crackers and grape juice in little cups was sent around. How different this was than standing at the altar waiting for the priest to put a wafer on our tongues. The tray that held these sacred items was passed from person to person down the line and to the next row. I thought it was beautiful. I had already had my First Communion. This was so different, and forbidden, but it didn't feel wrong in any way.
I continued going to Vacation Bible School with my friend in the summers. We had hay rides, which I'd never been on before. The adults were gentle and caring. We ate well, we played games. We were children in a safe place in the woods, with people who cared about us, our feelings, and our souls.
In fifth grade, they were getting us ready for Confirmation. A Bishop or some such came to our school, and the Priest, main priest, the pastor of our church came to classses with him.
"No one who is not Catholic will get into Heaven," one of them said. I had studied my cathechism. I knew the right answers, but this didn't feel right. And this tiny child spoke out.
"But Mrs. Cooper (my friend's grandmother) is such a good person. She collects clothes for the poor. She cooks for people who don't have enough food. Her and her daughter go and visit people to take them food and visit them when they're sick."
The priest and bishop glared at my tiny me. I don't remember what they said, they reminded me of cathechism, I think. They confirmed that Mrs. Cooper would go to hell. But I didn't believe them. And boy, did I get in trouble after they left. How dare you question a bishop and the pastor of this church? I don't know.
I really wanted to leave Catholic school in fifth grade, but my mother had taken me to school before we started and a nun, Mother somebody had shamed and talked me out of it. In our area the bishop came only once a years. The year he did confirmations and he talked to upcoming (next year) participants. I was not in anyone's good graces.
That year when I went to church with my friend and her famly and they passed the communion tray around, I took communion. I ate the wafer, I drank and grape juice, then waited. The building didn't fall down, I didn't go up in flames. Nothing happened. And It felt good participating in the kind and loving pracitce at my friend's church. I just wasn't allowed to tell anybody at my school or church. I may have told my mother.
