Happy Holidays
It was not uncommon for a heated discussion on religion or politics to erupt at Bloom family gatherings. After the heat dissipated, Jake Bloom often regretted something he had said, wishing he had been wiser, more parental. He felt thankful his family withstood these tussles. Daniel James, everyone called him DJ now, loved to argue and usually lit the fireworks. A problem student, he had surprised his parents by becoming a high school social studies teacher. His wife Julie, feeling more comfortable after two years in the Bloom clan, remained quiet as the temperature rose. Maggie, two and a half years at Indiana University under her belt, saw with increasing clarity the limitations of her parents’ Wonder Bread world.
Joy Bloom cooked wonderful homemade spaghetti for dinner on December 23rd. Maggie, a fussy vegetarian, ate the noodles but warmed up a meat-free Ragu in the microwave for sauce. Two bottles of Columbia Estates cabernet sauvignon stood on the cherry dining room table, one empty and the other half full. Everyone drank wine except Julie, a faithful Baptist.
Joy, who was settling more comfortably into middle age than her husband, said, “So let’s finish the menu for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.” She paused and looked at Jake, who was twirling, not very adeptly, the spaghetti on his fork. “And here’s the mass schedule, I have them for both St. Lawrence and Holy Spirit at Geist.” The elder Blooms were members of St. Lawrence but occasionally attended Holy Spirit at Geist with their children because the music and pastor appealed to a younger crowd.
“I’m not going to St. Lawrence,” DJ said.
“I’m not either,” added Maggie. The room was quiet. Jake’s gut tightened – he had spent thousands on Catholic schools for his children.
Joy paused and then read the Holy Spirit at Geist mass schedule.
“I’m not going there either,” DJ said sternly. Joy and Jake, sitting at opposite ends of the dining room table, looked at each other.
Julie said softly, “I’ll go.”
Maggie, feeling guilty about her overt rebellion, chimed in, “Me too.”
Joy relaxed and finished reading the mass schedule.
“How about the 4:30 on Christmas Eve?” Maggie suggested.
“That’ll work,” Joy replied. “Julie?”
“That’s fine.”
“I’ll work on dinner,” DJ added. Several years earlier the family had negotiated a Christmas cuisine truce: get beyond turkey and ham, try new entrees. They planned a Mexican food fiesta on Christmas Eve and turkey on Christmas Day. Maggie and Julie took charge of the fiesta meal, and Joy, Jake and DJ the turkey dinner. The ladies would shop with Joy on the 24th. DJ, who had worked in restaurants throughout his high school and college days, would help chef both meals.
The table was cleared and dessert served with decaf. Maggie sipped herbal tea she’d found at Trader Joe’s. Finishing his apple pie and ice cream, Bloom patted his lite beer belly. Two glasses of wine under his belt, he eyed the half-empty cab and inquired if anyone wanted more wine. He heard several “No’s” from the kitchen and looked at his son. “DJ?”
“I’ll split it with you, dad. Julie can drive home”.
Bloom sped through the yellow light of concern about setting a poor wine-drinking example for his children and poured a glass for DJ and one for himself, emptying the bottle. He toasted DJ. “Merry Christmas!”
“Happy Holidays!”
Setting his glass down on the table, Bloom eyed his son. “How about providing us an update on your religious views?” Sometimes, in talking with his son, Jake spoke like the church business manager he was.
DJ studied his father and spoke carefully, “It’s getting late.”
“Hey, we’re all here. I’d like to clear the air, get this out of the way before Christmas.”
Overcoming his hesitation, DJ dove headfirst into the treacherous currents of family religious waters. “We’ve talked about St. Lawrence before. I just have bad memories of the place. Getting into trouble at school, teachers down on me. Not having many friends. Boring masses, lousy music. I heard you complain about mass a few times.”
“That’s true,” Bloom responded and paused. He remembered DJ having a lot of friends at St. Lawrence. “I have complained about St. Lawrence. But I still go there. I get beyond the human limitations of the worship service. Besides, it’s better with Fr. Joe as homilist and Tony as musician. And the mass is not about human amusement, but holy worship of the living God.”
DJ glanced at his dad, studied his wine, and replied, “Right.” They sipped their wine from his deceased dad’s crystal wine glasses that were not dishwasher safe. The dining room light was dimmed, and the two red Christmas candles in the silver candlestick holders on the table shone brightly. Bloom surveyed the white tablecloth in front of him, relieved at the absence of spaghetti sauce spots.
“Last year you went to Holy Spirit with us,” Bloom said.
“I did. But that was just to placate you.” DJ glanced at his father. “Look at it as part of my Christmas gift. But now, now, I’m so done with the Catholic Church. I’m done placating my parents. I don’t want to pretend any more. I’ve moved beyond the church. It’s just a relic of my past. I don’t look back at it fondly.”
The ladies returned to the dining room from the kitchen. “So, are you two solving the world’s problems?” Joy asked as they sat down.
“Daniel is updating me on his religious views,” Bloom answered, finishing his wine. “He’s done with the Catholic Church.”
Julie looked down and Maggie smirked. “Daniel?” Joy asked, worry spreading across her face.
“It’s true, mom. I’m done, finished.”
“He comes to Castleton Baptist with me sometimes,” Julie offered.
“I’ve got some problems with your church too, honey,” DJ said. To soften his words he leaned over and kissed Julie on the cheek.
Joy sat slumped in her chair with her hands folded.
DJ continued, “Jesus is a great religious teacher and all. No one ever spoke like he did. And the miracles. None of the other great religious leaders – Moses, Buddha, Mohammad or Krishna – can hold a candle to him. None of them is in his league. Hey,” he said enthusiastically, smiling, “I still consider myself a follower of Jesus. I just don’t like churches, any church.”
“You just don’t like his followers,” Bloom interrupted.
“Yea, I don’t like his followers. Or at least, most of them,” he qualified, looking at his family gathered around the table. “His disciples just take what he said and twist it and ruin it. I don’t like the liturgies and the stupid rules and all the ignorant Christians. They form themselves into churches and cliques and just corrupt things. There’s so much hypocrisy. They’re no better than anyone else. How many of them seriously follow what he said?”
“We’re all sinners,” Jake responded.
“Oh, come on dad,” Maggie interjected. She wanted in on this conversation.
Bloom turned to her and said, “It sounds like someone else wants to provide a religious update.”
“I ditto what DJ said,” Maggie began.
“You always did imitate your wise older brother,” DJ said.
“Hey, if you’re right, I’ll agree with you,” she replied. “But I have a few other comments about the Catholic Church.”
“I’m all ears,” Bloom said. Joy wished there were more dishes to clean or food to serve.
“First, you’ve got a bunch of old men, celibate old men, who know nothing about real life, who are telling the rest of us how to live. They don’t know any more about Jesus or his ways than the rest of us. And then,” Maggie, rather like an orchestra conductor, was gesturing with her hands as she spoke, “you’ve got the whole homosexuality thing. The church is so homophobic. My God, they’re the chief homophobe. Talk about discrimination. What right does the church have to condemn what gays do – Jesus never did?”
Bloom started to object but Maggie did not provide an opening. “Oh my God, in Bloomington, people look at the church as the enemy, it’s like the anti-Christ.”
“Hey,” DJ interjected, “are we fining people for clichés like we did last year?” An “oh my God” had cost a quarter and the misuse of “like” fifteen cents.
“We haven’t agreed to it,” Maggie snapped.
“Just checking,” DJ replied.
“Back to the anti-Christ,” Bloom said.
“I hate to say it but I’m embarrassed to tell my friends my father is a big-time Catholic and church leader. People just don’t like the church, what it stands for,” Maggie continued.
Bloom prepared to launch a heated attack on the close-mindedness of American universities, open to everything but the truth. But, seeing the look on Joy’s face, he chose a more prudent tack. “So do they condemn the church for helping the sick and poor?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” Maggie answered.
“Do they condemn the church for building hospitals and schools?”
“No.”
“Do they condemn the church for preaching mercy and love and giving hope?”
“No.”
“Do they condemn the church for being pro-life?”
“Some do, some don’t,” Maggie hedged.
Bloom paused and decided to let that go, a subject for a future discussion. Then he continued, “Do they condemn the church for building strong marriages and families?”
“No, but,” Maggie replied and Bloom started to interrupt.
“Let her finish,” Joy said.
“I’ll tell you what they do condemn the church for. Of course for her homophobia, but also for making women second class citizens,” Maggie said, pausing.
“For the sex abuse scandal,” DJ added.
“Oh my God, don’t get me started on that,” Maggie said. “It’s so disgusting, beyond belief, what these so-called holy men of God did to children, to children for Christ’s sake,” Maggie said passionately.
“Maggie, watch your language,” Joy said.
“Sorry, mom.”
“And let’s not forget the great bishops who protected the abusers and moved them from parish to parish,” DJ pointed out.
“I’m not going to defend the church’s actions here. But the church has been working hard to address the problem and ensure it doesn’t happen again. The archdiocese runs regular background checks on everyone.” As he spoke Bloom felt the weakness of his argument.
“It’s too late,” DJ said, “the damage has been done. The horse is out of the barn.”
“Other organizations and churches have sex abuse problems but we get all the press,” Joy observed.
“Mom,” Maggie said, making the word two syllables.
The house was quiet after Julie and DJ had gone. Maggie and Joy went to bed. Bloom grabbed his Martin guitar – his college buddy – and went out to the addition, a 500 square foot room with rows of windows on three sides, a Ping-Pong table, a 40-inch LCD television, and a couch along with other furniture. It had served as a teen hangout, and Jake used it as a place to play guitar and watch TV late at night and not disturb anyone. The room was cold, and he turned up the electric baseboard heaters.
The sex abuse scandal. Those words tore at the hearts of all who loved the church. It was a nightmare, a negative evangelizer. He tried not to think about it. Catholicism had so many positives, so many points of light, throughout its long history, yet Satan had wormed his way into the hearts of a few priests with devastating results. The church had been such a force for good, a storehouse of hope and distributor of sacramental graces unavailable in other churches. Only the Lord knew how many people it had led to eternal salvation. But now this, this burning garbage dump, this Gehenna, whose foul-smelling smoke distracted believers and non-believers alike. DJ and Maggie had not been wrong to zero in on the church’s weakness, its failings. The church itself had thrown a bushel basket over its light, the true light of the world.
He pulled his songbook from the bookshelf and began playing. He ran through some scales and several chord progressions. He opened the three-ring binder to the faded song pages, many from the 60’s and the 70’s. He worked his way through a few Beatles’ songs – “In My Life,” “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” “Norwegian Wood,” and “I’ll Follow the Sun.” He played well and sang softly, not wanting his D+ voice to ruin his good guitar playing. He flipped the songbook to Dylan and started playing “The Times They Are a Changing.” This had been one of his anthems in the 60’s, a song of protest against the Vietnam War, segregation, parents, and society in general. Now he was on the other end of the song, the wrong end of the song according to his children. They saw him as needing change, as resisting change, as clinging to obsolete ways and an outdated, broken church.
“Come mother and fathers throughout the land,/ don’t criticize what you can’t understand;/ you sons and your daughters are beyond your command, / your old road is rapidly agin’ / please get out of the new one If you can’t lend a hand,/ for the times they are a-changing.”
Yes, the times were a-changing. But as a middle-aged committed Catholic man Bloom was not convinced all change was good. The decline of Christianity was not good. He saw a different church than his children. For him, the Church, though riddled with human failings, remained a beacon of light, a shining city on a hill. His children saw it as a citadel of darkness.
Since joining the St. Lawrence music group a few years ago, he had accumulated a collection of Christian sheet music. The sheets were not as faded and torn as his 60’s and 70’s folk and pop music. He began playing a few Christian songs. He came to “How Can I Keep from Singing,” one of the rare 19th century organ-based songs that translated well into 21st century contemporary Christian rock. Old wine into new wineskins. His mother had loved that song. He remembered her singing it in her alto voice at Bloom family gatherings, standing around the piano with her siblings, Lil at piano.
“No storm can shake my inmost calm while to that refuge clinging, / Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth how can I keep from singing?”
Tonight his children had shaken his inmost calm but he felt it would return. He hoped it would return. He began singing.