It is the year 1977. My family just moved from New York City to Trenton, New Jersey because of my father’s new job with the New Jersey State Department of Education. Since we have only lived in the community one day, my parents are unfamiliar with the community and attend Sunday Mass at the closest, most visible Church. The name of the parish is St. Hedwig’s. The Church is filled with marble, statues, the faint smell of incense and the life sized crucifix that looks as if you can actually see Our Lord’s blood dripping down. The Church is also packed. While the Mass is clearly recognizable as the Mass, my parents are a bit embarressed about not responding because they did not realise the Mass would be said in Polish. After Mass I present my parents with a five dollar bill. My parents who are absolutely surprised ask where I got it from and I point to an elderly gentleman walking down the street who sat next to me in Church. They apologise to the man and try to return his five dollar bill. He refuses and states it was a present for me because I was such a sweet little girl. Even though St.Hedwig’s ministered to the Polish community of Trenton, there was no sense that being Polish took precedence over Catholicism here. On the contrary my father said he has not stepped foot in such a catholic Church since his childhood.
Fast forward to the year 1989. I am sixteen and ticked off because my parents whisked me half way around the world to the Fiji Islands in the South Pacific. The past few days have been eventful, flying from Newark, to Hawaii, to Fiji. Then driving three hours around a volcanic island (in other words-hilly) to have a breakfast of curried vegetables. That was two days ago. Now we we had to find Mass in the middle of a Fijian village of all places. When we found it, Mass was being said by an Irish missionary priest. The villagers were dressed in their Sunday best-meaning shoes and pocket sulus. But I take notice because they do the oddest thing before Communion, they genuflect. After Mass the priest who we never laid on eyes on ever before stops my mother and says “I saw you come in. I was wondering what an Anglican is doing in our midst?” What did he say? How could he possibly have known my mother was Episcopalian?
A few months and some crash catechism lessons involving Peter Kreeft books assigned by the Colomban Father, my mother would receive her first Communion in LoMary, the place where the first Columban missionaries would set foot on Fiji. The Mass would be in Fijian and my mother would reply “Amen” when the Irish priest offers her The Bula Modrai, or roughly translated “Bread of Life” pronounced mm-BOO-luh MON-dry.
Jump ahead again to 2001, Diocese of Albany. I am sitting in a parish council meeting. Tonight are to discuss social justice and reaching out to the community in a Christian manner. Laughter is just dying down because that witty pastor made a remark (again) “and the Italians here all know what stubborn is because they are all married to Irish people. Ha ha!” No we are not. My father is organising a baby shower at the Church for people to donate to Community Maternity Services. One lady states that even though she knows what the Church teaches about contraception, we really need to teach these black people about safe sex because they just keep having babies in poverty. Other topics addressed are how we will no longer kneel during the Consecration as “we are waiting for Rome to catch up with the rest of the Church…”, and reaching out to the Community. Sister states she wishes she knew Spanish so she could attract some of the Jamaican immigrants to the Food Pantry. Um, Jamiacans speak English. Someone else comes up with the great idea that we should publish the names of the families we help at the food pantry in the weekly bulletin.
The previous Sunday I am sitting downstairs with my neighbor. She is like me half black half white with a Puerto Rican significant other. Our children could be siblings. She is adopted though. Her mother is white and after she adopted her daughter, decided her mission in life would be to teach her about all things black. One of ways is to attend “The Black Catholic Apostolate” Sunday Service. It used to be called St. George’s. She shows me pictures of the procession where they blow horns and beat on drums. My neighbor rolls her eyes because even though she is not a practicing Catholic, there is nothing about this Church that “seems real” to her, so she does not go. Her mother tells me I should go because “it is better” there. They learn lessons about black history for Sunday school. I suppose my family would feel right at home there because since I am black, I raised to beat drums and blow horns to announce the daily rosary. Get real.
I have heard of this Church. I have also heard of the Spanish Church because it seems everytime I am introduced to someone, they usually say “you know there is a Spanish Church. They have Mass in Spanish there and everything, you should check it out.” I had to tell one priest four times “But I do not speak Spanish!!!” It would be so affectatious and pretentious to start fabricating ethnic customs that truly do not exist in my family in order to feel accepted in a parish on the other side of town.
My problem with ethnicty in a parish community is not when the community is simply of a certain ethnicity and that is reflected, as long as the focus of the Parish is to bring the Sacraments. My problem is when ethnicity overrides the Catholicism. In a diocese such as mine where formation is minimal and people really have no idea why they are at Church (or at least that is what someone said at an Parish Council meeting “I do not know why I am here, it is part of my culture or something I guess.”) many Churches start to become meeting areas for people of similar ethnicities. I can pull out more stories, such as one where people looked at my family and said “what are they doing here, don’t they know this is a private Mass?” Or the time I my family was sitting in the same Church, where I was on Parish Council and some middle aged women sat next to us and said to each other “oh look, a LA-TEEN-O family” and when we knelt during the Consecration they said “it’s because thay have a language barrier.” but I am hoping I illustrated the contrast and difference between the two.
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You sure worry about this a lot. Why do you care a straw what ignorant people say or think? Catholics aren’t perfect anywhere, and never will be – why pay attention to it? (BTW, I really don’t think anyone is trying to annoy you by telling you about the Spanish Mass, especially if you’re introduced to them as Mrs. [Hispanic Surname]. The likeliest thing is that they’re only telling you something you might be glad to know, and have no reason to suppose you’ll be offended by it.) Don’t take these things so much to heart – you’re going to give yourself an ulcer, honey.
No, they are not trying to be offensive and I never thought they were trying. On the contrary they are trying to be enlightened and PC. But by virtue of the fact that I have a Spanish surname, there is no reason to assume that I am incapable of assimilating into normal English speaking society like a person of any other ethnicity.
Mark Shea thought I sounded pretty “sensible” on the subject.
But honestly, when someone sees me at their parish and directs me to another one on the basis of ethnicity, I do not think they are trying to be helpful to me, but to themselves. In East Trenton, their is a parish that is predominately Hispanic because it is right smack in the middle of a Hispanic neighborhood. Josh and I attended Mass there on occasion because it was around the corner from his mother’s and the priest was wonderfully orthodox with some great homilies. I could never imagine in a million years, if the tables were turned and a white person walked in to single them out because they were white and say “gee Mr [insert Insert Irish Surname], you know there is a white parish down the street.” I would also be appalled if I ever heard anyone do that.
Yes, but consider whether you aren’t doing harm to your peace of mind by getting wound up about it. Even consider if they’re passing along the information because they think you can’t grapple with English, or just for your use if you should happen to want to go to a Spanish Mass. (Lots of people do, and how is Joe Blow from the welcome committee supposed to divine just by looking at you that you aren’t one of them?) In my experience, casual acquaintances aren’t analyzing one’s situation and coming up with an opinion about it, they’re just making conversation. “Fellowship” in the parish after Mass will be fraught with even more horrors than it is at present if light and offhanded (and very likely well-meant) conversation with near-strangers is to be taken as direct criticism and bitterly resented. It would be enough to send me racing for the car; the world is stressful enough as it is.
(Lots of people do, and how is Joe Blow from the welcome committee supposed to divine just by looking at you that you aren’t one of them?)
Because maybe I am where I am because I simply chose to be there?
I do not think it is too much to ask that when
someone from the welcoming committee or whatever would look at me and see “Pansy” and not Mrs [enter Spanish Surname].It is what we need to work towards.
I think it is possible to understand that people who make such comments are usually benevolent and well-intentioned, while at the same time lamenting the political correctness that inspires people to such ridiculous condescension.
Multiculturalism. That’s the enemy here. In a blind and stupid reaction to the “melting pot” ideal, which may have been a tad unrealistic, multiculturalism has decided that race and culture are the same thing, and that someone descended from Jamaican immigrants couldn’t possibly be comfortable in an Anglo-American cultural context. Hence, in the name of cultural accomodation, it ends up being just another means of artificially imposed racial exclusion.
I remember seeing what was described as a tour of “Asian-American” high school students of the local university library. Yet it was clear to me that many of the students were mixed-race with one white parent. Who decided that they got to be “Asian-Americans” for a day? Were they asked? I see multiculturalism heading fast toward the “one drop” rule for inclusion/exclusion from whatever the favored/unfavored race happens to be.
Piggybacking on Jeff’s “Asian-American” comment.
Also, I rarely give people my name, so to this person I literally “Mrs. Spanish Surname” because they decided I am-even though I AM NOT HISPANIC!
I am black, Scottish, Scotch Irish, Italian, German, Chinese American and Catholic. Maybe they can find a Church with other people like that to ship me off to.
OK, sarcasm aside, whenever we attended Mass at a truly Orthodox Parish or at our TLM Parish, people’s reaction to us has always simply been “Welcome!” and other things like “what a beautiful family!” On an ethnic level we were clearly lost at St. Hedwig’s and the only reaction my family received was that they had a beautiful daughter. It is only at the liberal parishes in my experience that ethnicity seems to be an issue on the forefront.
Besides my whole post wasn’t on that one incident…
Sure! Fine! Everybody is supposed to be able to read your mind, and you’re entirely justified in getting snippy when they DARE to tell you something THEY SHOULD HAVE KNOWN by looking at you that you didn’t want to hear! Never mind that the information was meant kindly – Pansy is never to be spoken to about any subject that appears on her somewhat lengthy list of forbidden topics. All right, now we know where we stand. As I said, and it’s quite true, that’s the way people give themselves ulcers and chest pains. It wouldn’t be my idea of a peaceful life, but if you like to get angry with total strangers who are trying to be polite and helpful, I can’t stop you. Sheesh.
Jeff, I agree with you that we seem to be headed back to the “one-drop” mentality. I have heard of a growing trend for people (especially multiracial people) to refuse to identify with any race or ethnicity when they’re asked to check the box. I hope it continues.
Someone can “mean well”, but that won’t stop poorly-considered words from coming across like a slap across the face. And yes, it’s helpful to have a skin thick as a rhino’s, but even a rhino feels pain when he takes enough tiny little darts. When my family moved from Virginia to Texas, a few youth ministers in our (heterdox) parish thought it was terribly, terribly funny to call me “Yankee girl” all the time instead of “Peony.” The joke wore thin after about two weeks (especially on a shy, lonely teenager) but I kept hearing it till I left, three years later. I’m sure they were just trying to be funny and friendly, but the unspoken assumption behind the joke, the message I was hearing week after week, year after year, was “we are the real members of the parish and you are an outsider.”
My friends who are of Asian descent tell me how sick they are of people “trying to be friendly” asking them where they’re really from (as in, “I’m from California.” “But where are you really from?”) Or my black friends at college, who wearied quickly of well-meaning parents of prospective students walking up and cheerfully asking them which “special program” they were admitted under.
Won’t assuming that black Catholics (whose ancestors came to the Western Hemisphere 150 years ago) need a Mass with drums, kente cloth, and whatnot to “feel included” be awfully exclusive to all those black Catholics who were doing just fine at the “regular” Mass?
The downside of this meticulous attention to “multiculturalism” and trying to anticipate what different ethic and cultural groups “really need” is that it obscures the unique stories of each individual. The sensitivity police, in their effort to be sensitive, insensitively forget that not all members of racial minorities are poor, oppressed people who need special treatment. For example, although there are many new Spanish speaking immigrants who benefit from Spanish-language Masses and other ministries, there are also plenty of people of Hispanic descent whose families have lived in the USA for a long, long time, who speak English and may not even speak Spanish, and who are culturally American. It also strikes me as being condescending –“oh, I know you’ll feel excluded here, maybe you’d like it better over there.”
The “we’re so sensitive and socially aware” stuff becomes especially hard to take when it’s served up with an undertone of self congratulation (“we’re soooo progressive and committed to social justice”) and a double side of heterodoxy.
I know for myself I’d feel a lot more welcomed if Joe Blow from the welcoming committee welcomed me to the mass I was actually attending instead of immediately suggesting that I’d like someplace else better (and basing his suggestion on the way I look.) If Mr. Blow had reason to believe I’d be interested in a Spanish Mass, perhaps he could be a little more tactful and just include it in his list (“We have Masses at 8, 10, 12, and a Mass in Spanish at 4.”)
Off-topic — I have to admit that jokes about the Irish, Italian, et cetera completely fail to reach my funnybone. Maybe it’s a generational thing — I wasn’t raised in ethnic communities, and neither were most of my age-mates.
It’s like hearing a homilist begin, “We alllll remember what Sister Ferocious said, back when the Mass was still in Latin….” Sorry, Father, we don’t. Not all of us were educated in Catholic schools, not all of us were taught by nuns, not all of us are cradle Catholics, and not all of us remember the Latin Mass….
If we don’t keep in mind that it’s the Mystical Body of Christ that unites us, then we fall back on the other things that unite us, and that’s always going to be trivial, worldly things like shared experiences (including social and cultural experiences — the “I’m Catholic because I’m X, for example)
I was having lunch yesterday in our best local mexican restaurant (the one my patients work at and go to). One of the people at the table was a local translator. We talked for a while about the stupid assumptions some people make about language, culture and ethnicity. There are, what 20 some countries where Spanish is the main language? Each of these countries has its own culture, customs, and habits. The idioms are different, too. My Spanish is understandable to most Mexicans but my Dominican patients have a heck of a time understanding what I am saying. Our Venezualan translator uses idioms that I have to translate (spanish to spanish) to the Puerto Rican patients. I find it very insulting that anyone thinks they can lump a few customs together with a non-english idiom and call it culturally appropriate.
Can’t we just be Catholic? Does not that word mean universal?
Can’t we just be Catholic? Does not that word mean universal?
Perhaps I could have avoided all those paragraphs and just said that. 😉
Sure! Fine! Everybody is supposed to be able to read your mind, and you’re entirely justified in getting snippy when they DARE to tell you something THEY SHOULD HAVE KNOWN by looking at you that you didn’t want to hear! Never mind that the information was meant kindly – Pansy is never to be spoken to about any subject that appears on her somewhat lengthy list of forbidden topics. All right, now we know where we stand. As I said, and it’s quite true, that’s the way people give themselves ulcers and chest pains. It wouldn’t be my idea of a peaceful life, but if you like to get angry with total strangers who are trying to be polite and helpful, I can’t stop you. Sheesh.
I was going to let this go because I think Peony replied in a much more charitable manner than I
felt I could, but there is an aspect of this I need to address.
Sure! Fine! Everybody is supposed to be able to read your mind, and you’re entirely justified
in getting snippy …
The few times people pointed this [other Churches that might accomodate us better ethnically] out, I did not get snippy. I simply smile and say “thank you” and inside I roll my eyes. I am not a confrontational person and this blog is more straightforward than I have ever been. That is neither here nor there I suppose except that this blog is my outlet and it is hard to judge how stressed I get about things, how snippy I get, or how unpeaceful my life is simply because I contemplate these subjects enough to write about them here. The things in my life that are causing my chest pains, I actually do not write about here.
What I really want to address is the fact that out of that whole post the only thing you could comment on was the times when people attempted to redirect to another parish of the ethnicity of their choosing. It is because it reinforces the notion that racism is really something “perceived” by minorities, nothing more than intentions misread by people minorities who are obsessed and are fishing for any excuse to find racism. In some cases that may be true, in many cases what looks like a snake, acts like a snake is a snake. If you spend your whole life as a minority, you become adept at reading people. It is a survival (“survival” in the sense as how not to keep putting yourself into stressful situtions as to avoid ulcers and chest pains) skill. For the most part racism is not always subtle. Many people think they are being subtle simply because they are not using the “N” word or because they push good racism.
If you were to walk in my shoes for a week, you would see that “worrying about this a lot” is not what I do, but it is a fact of life that contributes to certain decisions. It is not something I look for, or wish for. It is a side effect of Original Sin and I realise no one is perfect, but I think in the very least, within the Church and as Catholics, we should strive to follow Church teaching on the subject. We should strive to be better. There is not a day that goes by when someone does not see us walking down the street and they don’t grab their purse, grab their children, cut in front of us in a line in a store, tell my husband when he delivers through the window to leave the package outside, have store employees follow us around a store, hostesses refusing to seat us at restaurants. These are things that literally happen daily and no, I do not mean all those things happen each day, but one of those or something similar. For the most part we take them in stride and my husband and I roll our eyes. Every once in a blue moon I have shushed my husband because he will exclaim “Damn Lady, I don’t want your purse!” or “you could have said ‘excuse me'”after you practically knocked my kid down with your shopping cart!” For people who do not live peacefully, those few outbursts and an occasional blog about my frustrations when these attitudes creep up in Church, I think my track record is pretty good.Frankly, these events do not
consume my everyday thoughts at all, things like “now why hasn’t that plumber called back do”,on an idealogical level, they do concern me.
Sure! Fine! Everybody is supposed to be able to read your mind, and you’re entirely justified in getting snippy
And you know what my list of forbidden topics is or is not? The list I would think is the same as everyone else’s. I was taught certain things are just bad manners, for example addressing someone with “why do you have so many kids?” the first time you meet, IMO is bad manners, yet in this PC day of age people think it is OK to address. I was taught it is bad manners to make assumptions about a person based soley on their physical appearance. We used to call that “prejudice”. I had a “Childbirth Educator” ask me once if I knew how to read based again on nothing more but my appearance, not my mannerisms or how I dressed or carried myself, just my genetic features. She meant well also, she was trying to get me into her Childbirth Class because she just knew that since I was black I never researched the subject on my own. Again, I did not get “snippy” with her but simply allowed her to wallow in her own self-congratulatory ignorance.
Racism
This is not a topic I am fond of discussing. My #5 child used to joke (through the pain) that her 6th grade public school classmates thought she was stupid because she didn’t speak Spanish. We lived in los barrios…
Not exactly on topic but…
Being a convert who was raised Baptist, every single time a “protestant convert” or a “charismatic speaker” (not as in psuedo-pentacostal, but just fire-breathing) is giving a talk on some subject anywhere in our Archdiocese, this one particular usher corners me after High Mass to “let (me) know in case (I’m) interested.”
I’ve explained muliple times to this kind, well-meaning gentleman that I did two long stints as a devout agnostic and an (almost converted) observant jew between Anabatistry and Catholicism. I even told him the second time that “if I wanted to hear fire-and-brimstone religion I’d go back to a Baptist church. As it is, its that approach that led me to a decade of doubting Christ’s divinity.”
Needless to say, it did no good. Now I smile and say “thanks, sounds interesting.”