Having been raised and formally schooled as Catholic,
taught
and coerced by nuns and priests alike, I have said
in
public and privately more prayers than I would ever
attempt
to enumerate. I prayed to God the Father, God
the
Son and God the Holy Ghost. I prayed to Blessed
Mary,
Mother of God and to all the Saints. More rosary
beads
slipped through my fingers than have been strung
into
all necklaces ever worn by the privileged and roy-
alty.
I prayed, Oh good Lord, did I pray: Our Father, Hail
Mary
and Glory Be, prayed for the sick and afflicted to be
healed,
prayed for the poor and needy to find relief, pray-
for
sinners to see the Light and change their ways, prayed
at
the end of every Mass for the Conversion of Russia for
Christ’s
sake! Mostly I prayed, though, for forgiveness of
sins
and the salvation of my own wretched soul which was
preordained
with the Original Sin of Adam and Eve with
whom
I never had the pleasure of direct contact in the first
place.
But granted, I did have my own bad stuff to confess
from
shop-lifting candy bars at the A&P, to foul-mouth cur-
sing
of my enemies, the blatant disobeying of parents and
elders,
to the calling out of my brothers as “fools,” and all
the
other golden rules I had willfully and summarily broken.
Now
here’s the thing, I did pray for a sunny days, and some-
times
I got them, even though the weatherman had already
forecast
a 90% chance of clear skies. But I figured that The
Almighty
likely tipped the scales in my favor. I even ima-
gined
that had I been born 10-years earlier, who knows,
God
may have intervened and saved 6-million Jews from
extermination
during World War II. Oh, had I only been
alive
then to pray hard enough and long enough. And
growing
up, perhaps a quick sign of the cross before
stepping
up to the plate may have assured me of a win-
ning
home run against the opposing team. Good Lord,
I
pray, give me what I want and need. Back when I was
a
faithful lad of seven or so, I should have prayed to let
me
be pain-free when I grow old. At the time, I never
had
a clue as to how miserable old could be. I should have
never
slouched while kneeling in church after confession.
And
as I now recall, I did sort of cheat by saying only one
Hail
Mary instead of three which was the penance Father
O’Toole
had assigned me. Today, I am afflicted with chronic
arthritis
at age seventy-three. As my kid brother warned
me
years ago after pushing him around, “ You wait and see,
paybacks
are hell!” Wiser today, I now see retribution more
clearly.
For what it’s worth, I might as well fall down on
my
knees and pray to the Good Lord, save us from Donald
Trump.
Please transform him into a decent and loving, a
considerate
human being. Yeah right! Good luck with that.
In
these hobbled days of my old age, and with the all strength
I
can possibly muster, considering karma, the methodic and
impersonal
selection of science and nature, I now work at
being
the best non-believer of an Omnipotent Deity that I
can
be.* However, given that which I have been able to
ascertain
from legend and lecture along the way (and even
though
I haven’t heard a word from her personally), I can
see
Mother Mary as being a hip and good person. “Jesus,
put
down the remote,” she may likely say were she here to-
day.
“Son, It would be a miracle and blessing to me if you
would
get your butt off the couch and sweep the damn stoep!”
Let
us pray...
Hail,
Mary,
Full
of grace
The
Lord is with thee
Blessed
art thou
Amongst
women…
*To believers and non-believers alike, everyone is entitled
to
see things religiously and spirituality as they choose. But if
we
are truly made in the image of an Almighty Creator, He or
She
had better have a damned good sense of humor. Other-
wise,
as the history of humankind has thus far already implica-
ted,
we are royally screwed. And should the latter be the case,
I’ll
see you in hell, Mark Twain.
-30-
Chris
Hanch 1-31-2020
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