The Grace of Mystery

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church

I keep it, staying at Home

With a Bobolink for a Chorister

And an Orchard, for a Dome.

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice

I just wear my Wings

And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,

Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman

And the sermon is never long,

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last

I’m going, all along. 

(Emily Dickinson, c. 1858)

Going to church as a child was such a mystery to me.  A big part of the mystery was the quietude.  Children are so curious and enjoy any opportunity to explore – I was definitely a little explorer.  Once in church, however, I had to be quiet, fold my hands in my lap and be still.  I never had a problem being quiet and I didn’t have a problem being still either; but, when there was so much activity in church, my curiosity was easily caught up in the moment!

I will never forget one of those moments – I was in third grade and Miss Gordon was my teacher.  It was unusual to have a lay teacher in a Catholic school.  She was actually one of my favorites.  One morning, our class was sitting in church waiting for Mass to begin.  The eighth grade class was filing down the center aisle of the church.  I was so impressed with them – I thought they were totally grown up!  As I sat there in awe with my Missal on my lap and my hands holding it, my head must have veered to the right to get a better look at the “grown-ups” walking down the aisle.  Evidently Miss Gordon didn’t like that; because, without my knowledge, she entered my pew, got herself all the way over to me and tapped her strong index finger right on the cover of my Missal – she scared me half to death!  I’m sure I went white as a ghost!  “We keep our heads straight when we are in church,” she said firmly.  You can be sure I never did that again!

Attending Catholic schools meant you followed the rules – all of them.  You knew if you disobeyed, the nuns would tell your parents; and back then, parents believed the nuns, not you!  That was the 1950s!  So, I followed the rules – so much so that by the time I was in eighth grade, I had experienced a number of those moments.  Although, I didn’t understand it then, I later realized that the nuns knew they could count on my following the rules, so they began to put the meanest, most disruptive boys next to me in class.  Often, the boys poked their fountain pens or their pencils into my arms until I bled or scraped the metal edge of the ruler on my arm until my skin was raw or took my nicely lined spelling test, crumpled it into a ball and threw it away.  I didn’t say a word – I was not going to get into trouble again!

Later, at a Catholic high school, upon entering a classroom for my Freshman English class, I flipped the light switch on since I was the first to enter the room.  Immediately the lights went on, then off – so I flipped it on again.  Once again, the lights went on, then off!  This happened three times until I realized my friend, Janice, was at the front of the classroom flipping the light switch on.  Neither of us knew the other was there! This was one of those moments you couldn’t repeat if you tried!  We laughed!  But – the nun across the hall didn’t think it was funny at all!  She scurried across the hallway, which was filled with girls racing to their classes, spun me around and picked me up by my wool blazer and in a stern voice said: “What do you think you are doing?”  At that moment, my feet were off the ground - once again, I went white!  I couldn’t force the words out of my mouth that it was only a happenstance – we didn’t even know the other one was there!

Now, fast forward forty years – I move to the White Mountains of Arizona and begin to meet my neighbors.  As I met this one woman, a thought ran through my head – I know her and she used to be a nun!  As I walked back to my home, I thought - I must be crazy!  However, after getting to know her, I learned she had definitely been a nun at my Catholic high school.  I remembered her but she didn’t remember me.  Her comment was: “I get the feeling you were not one of those truant students or one who got into trouble.”  “No, that was not me,” I responded.  “Well, I was a counselor who dealt with girls who didn’t obey the rules.”  I never knew what her role at school had been; I had only recognized her face!  Phew!

After many experiences of trying to obey the rules, it’s no wonder why I enjoy going to a church when it’s empty; or more often, I find my church in the woods.  God meets us wherever we’re at.  And, that’s the greatest mystery of all!