After a slight crisis of faith in 1961 in the 4th Grade (see post from October 2012), I might have been able to move on through teen years with a gradual regaining of spiritual momentum. But unfortunately, that was not to be. Like many Catholic casualties of the 60's, I, too, was to wade through a sea of catechesis that was lacking, poking small pinholes in my already-rickety faith vessel.
If only the likes of Sister Mary Calasanctious would have been part of my teen years, perhaps I could have fared much better. Well-meaning teachers who took Vatican II as license to teach 'Catechism Light' were to be my only instruction, as my family left that job to the Church. Church teaching on things like Contraception, not to mention more serious subjects like the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, never reached my ears.
By the time of my early teens, I was a perfect example of a surface believer. I went to Church (as long as my family got me there), went to Confession (though not often enough), and received Communion (but only in the meager way I understood it). By the time I completed my Confirmation Class, I should have been solidly schooled in all I needed in order to be a fully devoted follower of Jesus Christ...but, alas, I systematically and robotically moved through my Confirmation, memorizing a series of meaningless answers to questions I didn't fully understand, fearing only the slight tap upon the cheek offered by the Bishop in those days.
Couple this with the fact the my Nana, my Spiritual Compass for my early life, had slowly been dying from Cancer. She was the unmoving Faith Barometer, and when she died I felt alone and abandoned.
All of this is simply to say that by High School the next year, with hormones in full swing and the late 60's with its Thumb-Your-Nose-at the Establishment, Free-Love Mantra ringing in my ears, I was a prime target for the demonic tug that pulled me completely away from the God of my youth...the God who once whispered a call to Holy Vocation. By Sophomore Year, I was completely disconnected to the Church...and drifting far from God.
Junior Year brought what would be the complete undoing of my life as a Catholic. You guessed it: a boy. He was bright, funny, and somewhat popular. We became friends very quickly, though not in a romantic sense. That took several months. But as that progressed, his lack of connection to God coupled with my own faith-crisis, made it very easy to gravitate toward the morals of the culture of our time, adopting his world-view. We talked of marriage, which for reasons you can guess, got moved up quickly right after High School.
Since he was not Catholic, we attended pre-Cana Conference, where he agreed to at least baptize and raise any children Catholic. What was interesting is that in this post-Vatican II climate, no one counseled us as to the idea that the circumstances of our wedding were shaky. Also, no one counseled us as to the Church teaching on birth control, etc. These are the kinds of failures that were common in the Church at that time.
So, on with the wedding, a marriage, and two children. Yes, I baptized the children. But my insecurities became stronger as the marriage went on. As a stay-at-home-mom, my sphere of contacts were limited. I was privy mainly to my husband's view, which over time revealed he was an atheist, or at the very least an agnostic. Due to observations in his demeanor and reaction to opposite views in other areas of discussion, I was not willing to confront him on following through in raising our children Catholic. With no driver's license, few friends, and not even any work experience, I felt completely trapped in an impossible situation.
It wasn't until he was taking a college psychology course, where the textbook was Open Marriage, that things began to unravel. He insisted that seeing others of the opposite sex was the way to be sure your marriage would have 'everything it needed' in order to succeed...HA! Isn't that ironic? Dating, while married. At first I tried to argue against it, but he insisted. So off he went, while I dug in my heels...for a while. Immature and not knowing what to do, at some point I decided that if I did likewise, he would become jealous and stop this crazy experiment.
On the night of my tonsillectomy, I found out how wrong I was. During the evening while I was recovering, he called me and said he couldn't come to visit me at the hospital because the current girl he was seeing had cooked a Roast Beef, and he didn't want to be rude (of course, it was ok to be rude to his recovering wife after surgery). Right after that call, my father arrived with a rose in a vase. I sobbed like a baby, and blurted out the terrible secret. He told me to figure out what I wanted to do, and he and Mom would help me completely.
The next day when I got home, it all broke loose. In the end, my husband stood his ground with a phrase I will NEVER forget..."Well, I like what I'm doing."
The next day, Dad picked me and my things up, and took me to live at the home of my childhood with my own kids in tow.
I don't want to totally blame Vatican II for how my life turned out. But rationalization and misunderstanding of Vatican II's document by so many Catechism teachers at that time watered down the faith to the point of it becoming irrelevant in many ways. Without deeper understanding of the meaning and richness of the Catholic Faith, it was easy for Baby Boomers to walk away...and for many of us, to walk into darkness.
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