"HAIL MARY"
Irish, they were all Irish, the priests at the Catholic grammar school I attended as a child. They had names like Timmons, Crotty, Sullivan, Molloy, Hendricks (his mother was Irish), and Murphy. They were the children of the thousands of Irish immigrants who poured through Ellis Island in the early part of the century and settled in cities like Pittsburgh, Erie, Rochester, and my hometown, Buffalo.
Those brave souls brought with them the Celtic determination to offer at least one of their children to the service of Holy Mother, the Church. They also brought with them the primal Irish belief that mortal sin and sex go hand in hand. When it came to sex and sin the French and Italians were fairly indifferent. But not the Irish: where crimes against God and sins of the flesh were concerned they simply could not to be outdone
“Bless me father for I confess that I have sinned in thought, word, and deed. It has been one week since my last confession. I have used God’s name in vain several times, I have had impure thoughts, and was impure with myself, ahh, several times. I was angry with my brother. I ask forgiveness for these, and all the sins of my past life.”
It is 1942. I am 13 years old. I am in the confessional box at St. Margaret’s Holy Roman Catholic Church on Hertel Avenue in Buffalo, NY. I would rather be at Percy’s Restaurant eating a cheeseburger, hoping Mary Lou Scanlin (the current object of my impure thoughts) will walk through the door. I would rather be at the North Park Theatre watching Laurel and Hardy. I would rather be any where but putting my newly discovered sexual life on the line to Father Crotty, who sits behind the screen. (I wonder if he has impure thoughts about Mary Lou Scanlin’s mother.)
There is method in my confession. I always couch my “impurities” between the venial sins of profanity and anger in hopes that the priest will let me off easily. But he doesn’t. Oh no!!! It’s the usual sermon about my Heavenly Father and the Holy Mother of God and how they want me to keep my soul clean and pure. “When these impure thoughts come to your mind my son, say a Hail Mary and offer your sacrifice up to the holy souls in Purgatory. Now for your penance say five Hail Mary’s, make a good Act of Contrition and go and sin no more.” More often than not the priest’s holy words are spoken in a silken Irish brogue.
Each spring in the month of May (the lusty month of May) it was traditional for the school to hold what was called “A Retreat.” We dreaded them. All the boys and girls of the 6th, 7th and 8th grades were herded into the church for what constituted the Catholic view of sex education - sex as it related to mortal sin. Because of the nature of the subject the boys retreat was on Wednesday and the girls, seperatley, on Thursday. We, the boys, wondered early on why the girls had to be spoken to because as my friend Dutch said, “How can they sin? I seen pictures and there’s nothing down there.” However when I spoke to my older brother about this he assured me, “Oh yea, there’s something down there.”
The Retreat began with the service of Benediction where the priest invoked the presence of the Holy Spirit. There was a lot of Latin mumbling and song and plenty of incense. Then we got down to the business at hand (so to speak). This is where the Retreat Master was introduced. It was never the parish priest. Oh no, they brought in the heavy hitters. He was usually a Monsignor adorned in his purple robes and cap - think Monsignor Fulton J. Sheen - and you can bet he was Irish. He would begin by addressing us as, “Lads”, not boys, “Lads”. He would draw us in with some light humor and talk of sports, usually about “those wonderful lads from Notre Dame.”
Then he would warm to his subject. “Now lads, you have reached an age where your youthful bodies are going through dramatic changes. You are being physically prepared for that sacred domain of manhood when you will someday marry and become the instrument of God’s holy plan to create the miracle of birth and help propagate the world.” There are faintly audible snickers at the images his words create in our young and impressive minds.
“But, be warned lads. Those stainless bodies can now become the Devils playground. The Devil and all his evil spirits who roam the world seeking the ruin of your immortal souls will tempt you to perform unthinkable acts. Your idle hands become his tools for the destruction of your purity. You are to fight these temptations as if in constant battle and become members of God’s Army and soldier’s of Jesus Christ.” At this point the Monsignor pauses, his eyes search ours and as if he is speaking to each one of us personally he drops the bomb.
“For know this lads, hearken to my words. That part of your body that you taint with the evil of sin will burn in Hell for all ETERNITY.” There are no snickers. Instead there is thunderous roar of silence as he allows us to sit in frozen terror as we each, individually, contemplate the image of our member (our erected member) a bright red, blistered torch of flames for all ETERNITY.
He has our full attention. “Now lads, there is one more critical piece of knowledge you must cleave unto your very souls: ETERNITY. We cannot, in our feeble human mind, understand what God has in store for those who do not follow the path of purity. Let me give you just a glimpse of what ETERNITY is all about.”
“Close your eyes lads for a few moments and picture, if you will, a bird, a wee bird, a wee small bird perched on the steeple of this very sacred house of God. Now imagine that this wee, small bird has been given a sacred task. He is to leave his perch and fly east to the great Atlantic Ocean. He continues his journey and, over a very long period of time, crosses the rolling, mutinous waves of that vast sea until he reaches the shores of Africa. Once there he directs his flight until he arrives at the silent, raw, savage, splendor of the great and glorious Sahara Desert.”
“Once there the wee small bird takes time to rest. Lads, have I properly conveyed to you the passage of time in this grand endeavor? Once the bird has nourished itself it prepares for the return journey, but not before it picks up one, single, shimmering, golden grain of sand in its tiny beak. With its precious cargo it flies westward back across the great Atlantic, struggling against the prevailing easterly winds, until it is directly over the waters of our own beautiful Lake Erie. Once there, it opens its tiny beak and drops the grain of sand.”
In the most poetic Celtic tones he continues to describe the “wee bird’s” sacred odyssey. Over millions and millions of years that poor bird flies back and forth, back and forth over the Atlantic until, one by one, it has taken every grain of sand from the Sahara. “Listen well lads. When that bird, that wee small bird, after millions of years of flights, finally deposits that last single grain of sand into our own Lake Erie, that lads will not even be the first moment of ETERNITY.” And that, of course, is how long that part of our bodies will be a genital mass of flames.
The Monsignor concludes his message with another reminder of the power of the Hail Mary. “When Satin tempts you lads invoke the blessing of Christ’s Blessed Mother and pray the Hail Mary.” He further suggests cold showers or long walks when the evil spirits are upon us. He then grants us, by the power vested in him from almighty God, full absolution from all the sins of our past life. We leave the church, awash in the cloying scent of incense, cleansed of all past sins, fortified in the knowledge that we are part of God’s Holy Army and soldier’s of Jesus Christ. Our very loins girded for battle with Satin and his evil spirits with the power of the Hail Mary.
Now in this, a new millennium, as I recall these events, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. What dreadful pictures they put into our young, innocent minds, all in the name of God. And yet, it is a testament to the awesome power of our human sexuality that very likely found me, my pal Dutch, and yes, Mary Lou Scanlin, in the confessional line the very next Saturday, just three days after the Retreat, to invoke that plea, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” And, as I waited in prayerful silence, I like to think I might have furtively glanced at Mary Lou in her soft, pink angora sweater and thought, “Jeez, will you look at those…Hail Mary full of grace…”.
***********
John Lee is the former Vice President and Public Relations Chairman of Compassion in Dying of Washington. He has taught courses in Conscious Living in colleges throughout the Pacific Northwest. His Estate Planning Sessions have been sponsored by the Boeing Company, the University of Washington and other business and professional organizations. He is retired and lives in Bellingham, Washington with his wife Camilla. He is now a freelance writer, teacher and lecturer.
Irish, they were all Irish, the priests at the Catholic grammar school I attended as a child. They had names like Timmons, Crotty, Sullivan, Molloy, Hendricks (his mother was Irish), and Murphy. They were the children of the thousands of Irish immigrants who poured through Ellis Island in the early part of the century and settled in cities like Pittsburgh, Erie, Rochester, and my hometown, Buffalo.
Those brave souls brought with them the Celtic determination to offer at least one of their children to the service of Holy Mother, the Church. They also brought with them the primal Irish belief that mortal sin and sex go hand in hand. When it came to sex and sin the French and Italians were fairly indifferent. But not the Irish: where crimes against God and sins of the flesh were concerned they simply could not to be outdone
“Bless me father for I confess that I have sinned in thought, word, and deed. It has been one week since my last confession. I have used God’s name in vain several times, I have had impure thoughts, and was impure with myself, ahh, several times. I was angry with my brother. I ask forgiveness for these, and all the sins of my past life.”
It is 1942. I am 13 years old. I am in the confessional box at St. Margaret’s Holy Roman Catholic Church on Hertel Avenue in Buffalo, NY. I would rather be at Percy’s Restaurant eating a cheeseburger, hoping Mary Lou Scanlin (the current object of my impure thoughts) will walk through the door. I would rather be at the North Park Theatre watching Laurel and Hardy. I would rather be any where but putting my newly discovered sexual life on the line to Father Crotty, who sits behind the screen. (I wonder if he has impure thoughts about Mary Lou Scanlin’s mother.)
There is method in my confession. I always couch my “impurities” between the venial sins of profanity and anger in hopes that the priest will let me off easily. But he doesn’t. Oh no!!! It’s the usual sermon about my Heavenly Father and the Holy Mother of God and how they want me to keep my soul clean and pure. “When these impure thoughts come to your mind my son, say a Hail Mary and offer your sacrifice up to the holy souls in Purgatory. Now for your penance say five Hail Mary’s, make a good Act of Contrition and go and sin no more.” More often than not the priest’s holy words are spoken in a silken Irish brogue.
Each spring in the month of May (the lusty month of May) it was traditional for the school to hold what was called “A Retreat.” We dreaded them. All the boys and girls of the 6th, 7th and 8th grades were herded into the church for what constituted the Catholic view of sex education - sex as it related to mortal sin. Because of the nature of the subject the boys retreat was on Wednesday and the girls, seperatley, on Thursday. We, the boys, wondered early on why the girls had to be spoken to because as my friend Dutch said, “How can they sin? I seen pictures and there’s nothing down there.” However when I spoke to my older brother about this he assured me, “Oh yea, there’s something down there.”
The Retreat began with the service of Benediction where the priest invoked the presence of the Holy Spirit. There was a lot of Latin mumbling and song and plenty of incense. Then we got down to the business at hand (so to speak). This is where the Retreat Master was introduced. It was never the parish priest. Oh no, they brought in the heavy hitters. He was usually a Monsignor adorned in his purple robes and cap - think Monsignor Fulton J. Sheen - and you can bet he was Irish. He would begin by addressing us as, “Lads”, not boys, “Lads”. He would draw us in with some light humor and talk of sports, usually about “those wonderful lads from Notre Dame.”
Then he would warm to his subject. “Now lads, you have reached an age where your youthful bodies are going through dramatic changes. You are being physically prepared for that sacred domain of manhood when you will someday marry and become the instrument of God’s holy plan to create the miracle of birth and help propagate the world.” There are faintly audible snickers at the images his words create in our young and impressive minds.
“But, be warned lads. Those stainless bodies can now become the Devils playground. The Devil and all his evil spirits who roam the world seeking the ruin of your immortal souls will tempt you to perform unthinkable acts. Your idle hands become his tools for the destruction of your purity. You are to fight these temptations as if in constant battle and become members of God’s Army and soldier’s of Jesus Christ.” At this point the Monsignor pauses, his eyes search ours and as if he is speaking to each one of us personally he drops the bomb.
“For know this lads, hearken to my words. That part of your body that you taint with the evil of sin will burn in Hell for all ETERNITY.” There are no snickers. Instead there is thunderous roar of silence as he allows us to sit in frozen terror as we each, individually, contemplate the image of our member (our erected member) a bright red, blistered torch of flames for all ETERNITY.
He has our full attention. “Now lads, there is one more critical piece of knowledge you must cleave unto your very souls: ETERNITY. We cannot, in our feeble human mind, understand what God has in store for those who do not follow the path of purity. Let me give you just a glimpse of what ETERNITY is all about.”
“Close your eyes lads for a few moments and picture, if you will, a bird, a wee bird, a wee small bird perched on the steeple of this very sacred house of God. Now imagine that this wee, small bird has been given a sacred task. He is to leave his perch and fly east to the great Atlantic Ocean. He continues his journey and, over a very long period of time, crosses the rolling, mutinous waves of that vast sea until he reaches the shores of Africa. Once there he directs his flight until he arrives at the silent, raw, savage, splendor of the great and glorious Sahara Desert.”
“Once there the wee small bird takes time to rest. Lads, have I properly conveyed to you the passage of time in this grand endeavor? Once the bird has nourished itself it prepares for the return journey, but not before it picks up one, single, shimmering, golden grain of sand in its tiny beak. With its precious cargo it flies westward back across the great Atlantic, struggling against the prevailing easterly winds, until it is directly over the waters of our own beautiful Lake Erie. Once there, it opens its tiny beak and drops the grain of sand.”
In the most poetic Celtic tones he continues to describe the “wee bird’s” sacred odyssey. Over millions and millions of years that poor bird flies back and forth, back and forth over the Atlantic until, one by one, it has taken every grain of sand from the Sahara. “Listen well lads. When that bird, that wee small bird, after millions of years of flights, finally deposits that last single grain of sand into our own Lake Erie, that lads will not even be the first moment of ETERNITY.” And that, of course, is how long that part of our bodies will be a genital mass of flames.
The Monsignor concludes his message with another reminder of the power of the Hail Mary. “When Satin tempts you lads invoke the blessing of Christ’s Blessed Mother and pray the Hail Mary.” He further suggests cold showers or long walks when the evil spirits are upon us. He then grants us, by the power vested in him from almighty God, full absolution from all the sins of our past life. We leave the church, awash in the cloying scent of incense, cleansed of all past sins, fortified in the knowledge that we are part of God’s Holy Army and soldier’s of Jesus Christ. Our very loins girded for battle with Satin and his evil spirits with the power of the Hail Mary.
Now in this, a new millennium, as I recall these events, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. What dreadful pictures they put into our young, innocent minds, all in the name of God. And yet, it is a testament to the awesome power of our human sexuality that very likely found me, my pal Dutch, and yes, Mary Lou Scanlin, in the confessional line the very next Saturday, just three days after the Retreat, to invoke that plea, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” And, as I waited in prayerful silence, I like to think I might have furtively glanced at Mary Lou in her soft, pink angora sweater and thought, “Jeez, will you look at those…Hail Mary full of grace…”.
***********
John Lee is the former Vice President and Public Relations Chairman of Compassion in Dying of Washington. He has taught courses in Conscious Living in colleges throughout the Pacific Northwest. His Estate Planning Sessions have been sponsored by the Boeing Company, the University of Washington and other business and professional organizations. He is retired and lives in Bellingham, Washington with his wife Camilla. He is now a freelance writer, teacher and lecturer.
