For almost 2 decades , my family went to
St. Mary’s church in Beverly every Sunday. All 7 of the kids, excited to sing, repeat things back to the Priest, and possibly eat a holy wafer, and 2 parents, exhausted yet determined to instill either a fear or love of God, even if that meant wrangling us to sit as still and quietly as possible for an hour and a half.
I got baptized there, had first communion and confirmation,
got married at St. Mary’s. More recently, I decided I’d do yoga on Sundays, because I figured God doesn’t mind if instead of sitting, kneeling, and standing, I had the same thoughts about the universe while I get in a nice stretch.
My family would all would pile in a tiny yellow Honda. We would usually show up 10 or so minutes late, all 9 of us, pour in through the special Ciampa side door. Back then, it was the kind of church that said, “That’s okay, they’re kids, we understand. They won’t be silent and still the whole time,” We were never disruptive, but we were definitely not completely silent and completely attentive. And when my whole family goes to church together today, we’re the same way. It’s who we are. Never rude, never disrespectful, but frequently sidetracked. Who can resist laughing at how the lady in the huge pink hat in the pew over sings hymns all opera-style and vibrato? No one in my family.
My whole family reunited at St. Mary’s church yesterday for my twin nieces’ baptism, and it was just like old times, until after the mass when Father Barnes, a brand new priest just a few years older than me, went batshit crazy. Lost his priestly marbles.
The Priest on a Better Day. Now imagine steam coming out of his ears, spit flying out of his mouth, and angry lazerbeams shooting out of his eyeballs!I’ll admit: I don’t love church. Historically, it’s the sitting still that I dislike, but more recently it’s the
bullshit they are covering up, the church’s view that women’s bodies are not entirely their own. I also disagree on how certain churches decide to spend money (i.e.
huge Jesus statues built with flammable materials,) But this is for a baptism, so I decided I would go.
When I got there, I looked around and noticed how different the church was since I’d been last. The congregation was a bunch of zombies, repeating words back to the altar in monotone, singing absolutely joylessly. They might as well have been saying “We have to repeat things, God is good, later we’ll get donuts, we wish we slept in....” Just joyless.
And in my family we’re different. We’re more like “Yeah the Lord is risen! Woooo!” We’re a little more, “Hooray for God! And for our family! Where are we in this book - where’s the hymn? Page whaaaa? Oh, I like those shoes, are they new? Right! Right...shhhh....we’re in church! Hooray for God!”
So we stood out, as a family, to the priest. In fact, halfway through the mass, the assistant, or the VP Priest, I don’t know what you call him....the JV priest was coming toward us down the aisle. He walked toward us, and sat directly in the pew behind my family, and more specifically directly behind me.
He then started praying very loudly, right in my ear, just shouting prayers, “IT IS RIGHT TO GIVE THANKS AND PRAISE.” Almost a rude volume to pray in, really. God was probably replying soothingly to him, “Hey now, you. Hey there. I hear you, I can hear you - no need to yell. Okay, okay, there now.”
I figured it out. The Head priest on the altar sent JV priest our way to keep us in order, to chaperon us! Which was amusing, because we were by no means loud, we were just “Oh look at the babies foot, so tiny, I’m reaching over the pew now, because I cannot resist grabbing that baby foot!”
Maybe we exchanged looks at during certain church songs we have our own parodies for. But we were keeping up with the ritual - kneel stand sit, kneel stand sit. We paid attention, in our way.
During the part of the mass called the gifts, the head priest stopped and looked right at our family, and said, to a congregation of about 400, “This is the most holy part of the mass, so please refrain from joking and fooling around I see over there.”
That is right everybody. The Ciampas were all called out on being expressive and reacting to life in church. Meanwhile, no change in the rest of the congregation: “We’re still zooooombies. We love God. And braaaaains.”
Here's the best part:
After the mass ends, my family is getting ready for the baptism. I stand with my Mom and husband, and a few of my sisters are off getting the babies ready to get ready for the holy dunking.
I see the head priest, whom I had never met, come toward us, (not the JV-loud-prayer, but the Head Coach.) He comes down the aisle toward me and stops, and stands right in front of me. And he goes “Um, have you ever been to church before?”
I reply with a smile, “Yes. I was baptized here. My family’s been going here since the early 1970s-”
I want to explain how I was married there 7 years earlier, but alas, that Priest cut me off.
“Okay,” he says, and I noticed some snippiness here, “Because just so you know, you are the most rude, disruptive, loud, inappropriate person I have ever seen!”
I say nothing. The priest is getting mad. This man of God starts shooting fire and brimstone out of his ears. I know better than to cut him off. This is gold.
He continues, in a louder voice, even more angry, “People come here to pray! You’ve been disrespectful to the lord, to the people here, TO ME!”
Hmmmm....I feel like I've seen something like this before. A white dude with a microphone in front of hundreds of people getting angry when people didn’t give him their full and undivided attention....where have I seen this?
I say nothing, deciding to let him continue digging his hole, knowing it must be getting hot down there.
When a priest is yelling at you in public are you’re a comedian, it’s Fucking Awesome. It’s something that you don’t specifically wish for, but you just live your life, wishing for something LIKE it. But when it happens, and while it’s happening, all you can think is “Wow. This priest is so angry, and he’s directing all that anger at ME. I can’t wait to get onstage later and tell everyone. This. Is. Great.” It’s absolutely, and wonderfully, and cosmically, a gift from God.
Of course, that’s the opposite reaction Mr. Very Important Man with a Microphone wants. His goal is to intimidate, incite shame for not acting the way he perceives is the “right” way to act in church, but all he gets from me is a wide authentic smile. That just makes him more angry. He continues his holy rant.
“How dare you condescend to me! How dare you stand there with that smug look!” These are all verbatim. I have never been called "smug", I never thought of myself as "smug", but why not? Sure. I'm smug.
And the JV priest is standing at the ready, probably thinking, “Uh oh, Coach is real mad...reeeaaaal mad. I might have to hold him back...”
I think, “Holy shit! This priest might just hit me in the face - I might get a priestly punch! How awesome would that be?!”
He then asks, furiously, spit flying, “Do you apologize for your behavior?”
My mother and sister apologize on my behalf countless times, “Yes, Father! Sorry Father! Oh, we’re so sorry Father!”
I, however, keep quiet. I recognize all his anger is not for me; he so obviously wants an apology from elsewhere - maybe his parents, maybe God, maybe the people at Dunks who made his coffee that morning. So I just keep smiling and keep my mouth shut.
Which prompted further puffy-red-face-spit-flying-eyes-crossed fuming, “You better not be planning on staying for the baptism!! You are disrespectful, smug, condescending...blah! blah!”
After a while, all I heard was, “I'm not sure of my emotions at any given moment! I don’t feel attractive in my robe today! I need to get laid- after all, I am only human! I have gas!”
In my head, I was thinking, “You’d be treating me a little differently, perhaps I’d get a little more respect, if I was a 7 year old boy.” I didn’t say that, although hilarious, because, really, why dredge up something so horrible? Also, I wanted to make sure he said all he needed to say. He seemed quite chock full of words.
The whole interaction between me and Priesty is eyes-locked. He is working just so hard to use his meanest priest stare to make me feel something other than the overall amusement at being yelled at by a man about my age throwing a tantrum because not everyone in the congregation listened to 100% of what he had to say that day.
It became a staring match.
Me, as I perceive myself: A lady at church with her family for a Baptism.
VERSUS
Him, as he perceives himself - A very important man (A man who won “
Priest of the year award”) with a lot of important responsibilities, more important than anyone else there, honestly.
He walked slowly away from me, not taking his eyes off mine, trying with all his holy might to intimidate. I couldn’t get my smile to fade if I tried. I couldn't wait to get on stage later that night.
So now the family gets ready for the baptism, even though we have established that the priest hates me, has singled me out for some reason, in a whole family of mildly expressive Italians.
A few minutes pass, and the baptism begins.
“And now, can the godparents come forward to the front pew?” Mean Priest asked.
I step forward, because he didn’t know this, but:
I’m a Godmother.
He sees me step forward. His face falls. I continue smiling.
I take an oath promising to do all the things a Godmother must do, help teach the baby certain things - there are lots of words the church uses*, but overall, here is what I hear: “Be a good person, be kind, spread peace, communicate with others with respect.” And I agree to do that. A man in a robe who has made the ultimate show of disrespect just moments earlier asks me if I will do this, and I agree to it.
The babies are baptized, and they are adorable children of God now. Phew! No risk of burning in hell for them anymore.
My family and I take pictures in various combination in front of the altar, in front of the Madonna, holding the babies, enjoying our time together.
I look around, wondering if maybe Mr. MeanPriest would like a photo opp with us. I see him scurrying out, away from me and my family, tail between his legs.
I feel bad I didn’t get a chance to say, “I forgive you for your anger, your rude communication style, your attempt at ruining an beautiful momentous day in the lives of my sister, my two baby nieces, everyone else in the church who was there to see your childish tantrum. Hey! To quote from something we both know! - ‘I forgive you for your trespasses!’”
I'll write it in my letter to the Archdiosese of Boston and to the Pope. I forgive that mean dude, and I don't care that he directed his anger about his life toward me, but I'm sure that future recipients of his poor attitude may not fare so well.
So I'll work on learning more about why this angry award-winning priest man is in a position of power, and I'll keep you updated...
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