“A picture is worth a thousand words.

”
Not that many moons ago I was visiting
the small town where I attended
Catholic school, and I took a photo
along with several others. It was a
beautiful day, and I was feeling happy.
I was noticing how the “Twin Towers”
of my childhood church stood so
stately against the blue sky, pointing
upward to the heavens.

I no longer attend Mass. My transition

out of Catholicism was long and
painful. Recently, I was thinking of
posting my photo as a “good memory”
given I attended Mass there five days a
week for twelve years and more. But, I
hesitated. Was it a good memory, or
not? Do I want to promote these
“Towers of Babel” that we humans
build, in particular, Catholic ones?
That day, I decided not to post it.

Ironically, that evening a friend invited me over to watch the movie, Spotlight. I
thought I knew what it was about, but I didn’t, really, until I watched it. The movie
finalized my decision that I shouldn’t post my photo without at least a thousand
words to go with it. I don’t want to promote Catholicism or any other Towers of
Babel as described in Genesis 11:1-9. The movie doesn’t just shine a spotlight on the
sexual misconduct of the Church, but, more so, the extent to which so many “good”
Catholics colluded in covering up the damage done to the victims and attempting to
brush it off as inconsequential.

There is one small step that we Catholic women can take for womankind, for all of
humankind. I know for women like me who have been branded, brainwashed, soul
soaked in Catholic doctrine, it is not an easy choice. In fact, it is a huge step. And yet,
as women, we do not have to live in an atmosphere where we are not acknowledged
as whole human beings. We may have to tolerate Trumpism (hostile sexism) for
now, but we do not have to put up with Popism (benevolent sexism). We don’t have
to live in a culture where little girls are told every day all day that they are not as
divine as little boys. That they must be controlled by little boys (because little boys
can’t control themselves?), who will grow up to protect them, take care of them, be
their voice to God. Girls can have no voice to God except through boys when they
grow up to be “Men of God.”

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There was a time when I was attending a conference between Episcopalians,
Lutherans, and Catholics. As I recall, there was an effort to get these three churches
to unite under the papacy because they were all losing membership. They thought if
they joined together maybe they could save their dwindling parishes. I guess it
didn’t work because they surely were not united under the Papacy! I think one
obvious reason for that was the woman problem. As soon as we arrived, you could
see the Catholic priests all there huddled together, but the Episcopalian ministers
were there with their wives and the Lutheran ministers were there with their wives.
It was a strange sight to behold. The “priests” were there with each other, or, maybe,
their out-of-sight housekeepers.

At one point the topic was about social democracy, and the speaker was promoting
the importance of questioning traditional beliefs. I asked about the Immaculate
Conception. He said, well, that’s one doctrine you can’t question. I thought, “Huh?
That just didn’t fit with his whole presentation.” Later on, in an informal discussion,
I commented to this group of black clad men, “What if God called me to tell you that
you are wrong?” They all jumped around me, encircling me, raising their voices,
“That would be the sin of Pride! That would be egotistical! You can’t do that!”

Then there was that time that I was enjoying a family swim in the pool at my oldest
brother’s house. From his perch on the sidelines, he said, “I heard you are getting
divorced.” And I said, “Yes, I am.” And he said, “You can’t do that.” I just laughed,
nervously. He didn’t know that my husband had already tried that. When I told him
I wanted a divorce, my husband said, “You can’t do that. The Bible says you can’t.” I
was shocked because my husband was not a reader of the Bible, I was!

Another time that comes to mind is when I ran for WV State Delegate and my Dad
didn’t vote for me because, he said, “You can’t do that. Women can’t do that.”

And, there was that time that I volunteered to help my husband with Little League,
be his assistant coach. That way I could at least be a part of what all my family was
into even though I didn’t believe little children should be in competitive sports. And
my husband said, “You can’t do that.” I said, “Oh, I know, I don’t know that much
about sports, but I know a lot about children, and I could help you manage the
children. Teach them how to handle their emotions in competitive sports, not be a
sore loser and all that.” He said, “You can’t do that.” Hoping to persuade, I attempted
to continue, “Well…” and he interrupted me with, “It’s not me, it’s against the rules of
Little League, for women to be coaches.”

But back to the men at the Catholic Conference who said that I was committing the
sin of Pride. Who are these men who think they can second-guess God, I wondered?
--their own God that they believe in as all-knowing, omniscient. They seem to think
that they know better than their God. That they know what God will allow and not
allow, whom God calls on and whom God does not call on. I still can’t believe that! It
is a particular kind of arrogance, a true Sin of Pride. I wondered where they got

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their exaggerated egos. I said then, and I repeat, “Everyone is called, and many are
chosen, and it’s not for a self-appointed group of men to decide.”

So, I’m calling on all Catholic women to just say no to male dominance. To just so no
to the abuse of little girls’ spiritual health, which is, in essence, their mental health.
To just say no to the abuse of little boys who adopt the values of the most outdated,
inane, patriarchal system in existence. We can tout the progressiveness of Pope
Francis all we want, but just this month, on the news, he had the audacity to
continue to say that women will not be priests and he doesn’t see that changing!
This from the Pope who told us, “All dogs can go to heaven!”

Leave this male cult. It can be done. It is long. It is arduous. But it can be done. It is
painful, but there are many bridges waiting to help you cross over.

For example, there are many churches, like Unitarian Universalism, that have long
ordained women to be priests, otherwise known as ministers. If there’s not a
spiritual community near you that honors women as equals you can start your own!
These days, you can join one online! How lucky is that?

You can put the Catholic Church into historical perspective – in a museum
somewhere. You can be thankful for the good things that it taught you and it gave
you and you can move away from the bad. You can move out from under it right
now. You don’t have to indoctrinate your boys and girls with its abusive teachings.
You can save them the pain of undoing it. Free your children from that bondage.
Benevolent sexism is not better and maybe worse than hostile sexism because it’s
devious, because it’s deep and wide, because it’s “soul stuff.” Sticks and stones may
break your bones, but words can harm your psyche.

My mother once said to me, “Angela, do you think you know more than the Bishop?”
And I said, “Yes, Mom, I do, and you do, too.” She grew very silent. I have a vision in
my head, a picture of a moment I once witnessed of the Bishop coming to our school.
He wore a big flashy ring with his coal black suit and pure white collar. As he came
briskly through the hall, shoulders back, chest out, ego glowing brighter than his
bald head, one of the nuns suddenly dropped to her knees before him and kissed his
ring, him smiling down upon her. I was in grade school. I can still feel the icky
feeling I felt then. I can’t believe that happened. That is what benevolent sexism
does. It teaches women to cower to ignorant men.

I went once to a Catholic retreat hoping to redeem my belief system in my own mind.
Attending were all the priests of my life. They looked like a bunch of boys. The
bishop had on all western wear~ blue jean jacket and jeans and cowboy boots. For
some reason he reminded me of Elmer Fudd. Maybe a Stetson hat on his baldhead
would have helped his credibility. There was Father L, moving about in his gay way,
looking stylish in his big, dark rimmed glasses. Father H was there--another one of
our alcoholics who served time in the hinterlands where my little country church

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served the farming families like mine. So as not to be an embarrassment to the
Church, these ailing priests were tucked away out of sight of larger, richer
congregations with more of a “voice.” I asked him, “Why does the church want all of
you to be alienated from women?” His face, red with the ravages of alcohol, he said
he didn’t know.

I feel so bad for these men who are so abused by the system they have felt “called”
to. How does it happen? My Mother said that my uncle got his calling on a day when
he was sweating it out behind the plow in the garden under the hot sun. Left the
farm work to his little brother, my Dad.

I remember when my big brother told me that my favorite priest had been arrested
for assaulting a police officer that was breaking up a “gay ring” in a park outside of
my college town. My brother seemed to be amused. I wasn’t. I tracked Father W
down. We went for a walk in the arboretum, and he told me his story. Sad. For one
thing, he didn’t “assault an officer.” Someone came up behind him in the dark and
scared him, and he reacted in self-defense. The Church tucked him away into
counseling and then made him a counselor for other priests who could not tow the
Catholic line. He seemed grateful.

My own son most recently had taken it upon himself to help create a “church” in
which all of the so-called “Elders” (not that old!) are male. No females are allowed to
be “elders.” Just once when I was about to attempt to open a dialogue with him
about the troubling path he was on, before I could open my mouth, he grabbed the
moment to say to me, “Mom, what do you think the truth is?” I was startled, but
waded right it, “Well, in my experience, the truth changes as we grow and learn more
about ourselves and our world.” He turned on me, hostile, “Mom! Your experience
doesn’t count! Jesus is the only truth!” I was astounded! And, unfortunately,
cowered by his male dominance. He was taller, louder, in the driver’s seat, my grown
son denouncing my life experience as irrelevant to him. Unbelievable! How does
this happen? Where do we go astray? What holes are we filling in our troubled
psyches?

So, now, I have my own son saying to me, the same thing that my father, my brother,
my husband, my school, my church, said to me. You don’t count. You have no right to
a voice. Your experience has been erased, by “Jesus.” The Jesus that has been my
friend since I was very small and went to sleep each night reciting, “I love you Jesus
my love. I grieve of having offended thee. Grant that I may love thee always and
than do with me what thou wilt.”

My way out of Catholicism came in a very strange way. While I was using a daily
Catholic meditation book, I had an epiphany to go back to college, and finish the
degree I started before marriage and babies interrupted, and thus began my long
journey of seeking more truth. In fact, the motto for my Pi Gamma Mu Social

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Sciences Honor Society was “Seek the truth and the truth shall set you free.” (John
8:32)

I recall two times that my dedicated Catholic convert Mother refused to cower.
The first was during Father M’s reign at our small country church. He was drunk
more often than sober, and she would not go to confession to him. That was one
time that she stood up for herself knowing that it did not make sense for her to
confess her sins to a drunken person.

And then there was the time when she was dying. All the priests came running.
There were three crowded in that little nursing home room at once, and they were
demanding that mother take the host, communion, part of the “last rights.” At that
point she had pretty much been choking on her own mucous for over a year, and she
wasn’t taking anything into her body but water. With the help of Hospice she was
able to let go in her own way. But, these men, they insisted that she swallow Jesus’
Body and Blood. She vehemently shook her head no, having lost her voice many
moons back. She knew that a host would induce an exhausting coughing and gagging
fit, maybe even choke her to death right there on the spot in her weak condition. So
they finished their hocus pocus and left. I sat there exhausted, too, from having to
watch such a sight. I thought, “Way to go Mom. Way to stand your ground. What
inflated egos these men have. What a sin of Pride they have all committed for
centuries.”

How much emotional abuse is the Catholic Church responsible for? My Dad died
believing that his three amazing daughters were headed for hell. Not because of any
thing evil they did, but because we didn’t kowtow to Catholicism! My mother was
the convert Catholic, but more educated than my father, and I think she knew better.
While she was disappointed at not being able to “give the Church a nun,” I think she
had a broader perspective than my father, and thus suffered somewhat less from the
Catholic Church’s anti-intellectualism.

Again, I am calling on all Catholic women, to follow in my footsteps, hard as it is,

painful as I understand it can be. Being Catholic was a huge part of my identity. In
my senior yearbook, I was dubbed the “most Catholic minded.” The loss of one’s
belief system can be overwhelming, but the gain, it can be, too, in a good way. Just do
it! Just walk out. Right now you have to live in Trump land, but you do not have to
live in Pope land. You can just say no to benevolent sexism. Just say no to the
abomination of male domination. We can either slow down the evolution of human
love and understanding, or we can speed it up. The choice is ours. I’ve just gifted
you 2,615 courageous words to inspire you! Soul strength be with you!

WE CAN DO THIS!