Easter

Yesterday was Easter, and I’ll admit I haven’t been to Easter mass in probably a decade. In the 37 years I have orbited the sun, I have never spent an Easter alone. So I woke up that day, found myself unable to stand being alone with nothing to do and nobody to see, and decided to go to Easter Mass at a parish a town away in Santa Fe. It was fitting, since the church’s name was “Our Lady of Lourdes” which was the name of my own parish that I was raised in, baptized in, and received communion in. So I got in my Sunday best, tried my best to make myself not look like a gay-divorced woman, and headed out.

I was anxious the whole time. I was afraid I wouldn’t remember all the prayers and chants, afraid someone would ask me why I was there and notice I was a middled aged woman with no ring on her finger and suspiciously masculine. I almost put on my old wedding ring (I forgot I still have it) just to hide even more.

But my family is all thousands of miles away spread out between Georgia, California, and Kentucky. Sometimes going to mass makes me feel connected to them from far away, even if I don’t know what I believe deep down.

I sat in the pew and looked around at this beautiful church that was located out in the middle of nowhere. Santa Fe is a small town, about the size of my home town, but far different. It’s known for a school shooting that happened in 2018, KKK rallies, and a (former) sundown town… in other words, a place hostile for African Americans after dark. Odd to find such a beautiful place of worship in an area surrounded with hate.

I felt many emotions sitting there… peace, familiarity, insecurity, hope, curiosity, frustration. I still envy those who can so freely believe.

In Catholic Mass, everything is very ritualistic. The prayers, the sequences, the bowing, and genuflecting. It’s a little borderline OCD at times, but those rituals are comforting to me. I’ve said the prayers so many times in my life that I don’t have to think about it… it just comes out like muscle memory (although they’ve since changed the phrases on a few things that have thrown me off… like I still can’t say “and with your spirit”). It made me self conscious to not know these changes, like everyone around me was going to think I was a fraud.

Pope Francis died today… the day after Easter, and as someone who had left the church a long time ago, I didn’t think it would move me as much as it did. I guess it’s because I was always at war with myself being gay but raised Catholic, and he was the very first Pope to bring acceptance to the LGBT+ community. He caught hell for it from people, but he stood his ground and showed courage. He was a champion for many things and a true humanist… and someone I consider as “Christ-like” as anyone… or at least what I was taught growing up what Christ emulated.

I little bit of hope that this world would be a better place died inside me the day he died too…