ON SEEKING SANITY

(sometimes I need a refresher course)

Feast of Mary, Mother of God

by Kelly Clark — the lady in the pew — January 1, 2003

Throughout 2002, I’ve looked sin right smack dab in the face, hundreds upon hundreds of times, and I’m happy to report that I still only recognize one sinner: the one in the mirror. Well, “happy,” isn’t probably the right word, but you know what I mean. So all in all, it was a good year.

Okay, I’ll admit to succumbing to “numb mode” after learning that, on Friday, December 13, my Cardinal Archbishop became “Bishop Emeritus of the Archdiocese of Boston.” The decision, frankly, hurt me like hell.

Ah, well, enough about that (for now.) What I really wanted to tell you about was an utterly profound revelation I received while shivering in our church’s not-particularly-well-insulated chapel this past Sunday at Holy Family Vespers.

But first: let me tell you about the night I found myself in the back seat of a car, wearing my pajamas, with Dobie Gillis!!!

“Uh, Kelly? I thought you were going to write about `sanity’?”

Indeed I am! Okay, it wasn’t really Dobie Gillis. It was the guy who played Dobie Gillis. What was his name again? You can see him on either “Nick at Nite” or on “TV Land.”

Anyway, I was about six or seven, I guess. And my parents took my two sisters and I to a drive-in to see some beach movie. “Beach Blanket Bimbos,” something like that.

Now, when I was little, I would invariable fall asleep during these cultural excursions, so, sensibly enough, my folks dressed me in my nightclothes so that, upon our return home, they could just plop me into bed.

On this particular evening, there was a rather festive air at the drive-in.

We interrupt this story for a parenthetical comment:

(For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of the “drive-in movie theater,” here’s how it works, or used to work, anyway. A bunch of people — like a family — all hopped into a car and drove to this huge parking lot, over which a giant movie screen towered. Each parking space sported a gizmo that somebody in the front seat — like a dad or a mom — pulled in through the window. Then that person fiddled around with the gizmo, usually muttering, until the gizmo squawked into life with some rather crackly music. After a few minutes, the crackling sound turned into the soundtrack for the movie which began showing on the screen.

When the movie was half over, the screen suddenly started showing improbable images of dancing hot dogs, acrobatic ice cream cones, and twirling boxes of popcorn. The sound gizmo urged everybody to get out of their cars, stretch their legs, and head over to the conveniently located “Snack Bar.” My parents used this opportunity to stretch their legs, and trundle us kids over to the rest rooms, generally eschewing the Snack Bar on the grounds that my mom always brought home-popped popcorn with her, and never mind wheedling for an ice cream cone.

While our parents availed themselves of the facilities, my sisters and I would wander around the parking lot, looking for steamy windows: a sure sign that some “Serious Necking” was going on, according to our parents. It sounded pretty fascinating to us, even though we weren’t exactly sure what “necking” was, serious or otherwise. This entire exercise was called “Intermission.” After Intermission, we’d all hop back into the car and finish watching the movie. Or, in my case, go to sleep. Got the picture, so to speak? Okay, let’s continue.)

“What about Dobie Gillis?”

I’m getting to that. See, right after my dad got the sound gizmo working, a voice announced that the guy who played Dobie Gillis (who was that guy???) was actually Live and In Person at the drive-in! Yes! Why? Because he was starring in the “Beach Blanket Whatever” movie! And during Intermission, he would be waiting for all admirers at — where else? — the Snack Bar!

Suddenly, meeting Dobie Gillis became the most important thing in my life! Impatiently, I watched the movie — lots of girls and a few guys hanging out at the beach, singing, dancing, and doing everything short of actually going into the water — waiting for Intermission. Finally — finally! — the dancing hot dogs made their blessed appearance on the screen and I knew I was one my way to my first brush with honest-to-goodness stardom!

Except my dad said the lines were too long.

Oh, my parents were patient enough, at first. And my sisters each offered to hold my place in line while my mother took me to the restroom. But, alas, the movie was about to start up again and my dad decided that seeing the rest of the movie he’d paid Good Money for was more important than me meeting somebody he’d never heard of. We had to go back to the car. But first, my parents wanted to grab a cup of coffee from the Snack Bar. While they were waiting at the counter, I saw Dobie Gillis (I know, I know, but I can’t remember his real name right now and what difference does it make to the story anyway?) leave by a side entrance. Quick as my little bunny slippers would allow, I followed him. He walked with two large men, past the dumpsters behind the snack bar, past a few big trucks, and finally stopped at the longest car I’d ever seen in my life. One of the big men opened the back door, he slid inside, and I joined him!

My parents, as it turned out, were pretty frantic.

‘Course now that I’m a mature adult (never mind the snickering) I can understand that. But then, it was all about me, and Dobie Gillis, and the autographed picture he gave me, and his questions about my school, my family, my favorite toys, my last name, what sort of car my parents drove. Thrilled beyond words, I didn’t notice one of the big men leaving the car.

But I sure as heck noticed when he returned — with my mom and dad and sisters in tow.

After that, things got kind of blurry, but I found out later what happened. Seems that the big guy, having learned my last name, somehow got the guy who ran the soundtrack gizmo to ask everybody in the drive-in to please, if they were missing a little girl, to go directly to the Snack Bar. You can figure out the rest, probably, including the fact that my mom and dad weren’t exactly pleased with their little, pajama-clad darling.

“How could you worry your father and me like this?” my mother asked, after both she and my dad hugged me to pieces.

“How could you worry your mother like this?” seconded my dad.

“Did he let ya kiss him?” wondered my sisters.

See, my mom assumed I was with my dad, and he assumed I was with her and by the time they got back to the car, they realized I was missing and things got a little crazy.

Which brings me to the Fifth Joyful Mystery.

You know what I mean. What happened to my parents happened to Mary and Joseph. And, until last Sunday at Vespers, I always had a weird feeling about that story. I mean, gee. Here was Jesus worrying his folks, just like I worried my folks so long ago. How could he have done that? How could he have chosen to hang out at the temple, worrying his folks sick? Because, undoubtedly, they were worried sick. Any parents would be.

During Holy Family Sunday Vespers, Mary’s worried question was sung by the cantor:

“Son, why have you done this to us? Your father and I have been looking for you with great anxiety.”

And Jesus’ answer was also sung:

“Why were you looking f or me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

Are you like me? Do you, or did you ever, find this story sort of — I don’t know — somehow at odds with the fact that Jesus was an obedient child?

Even as we stood and sang the “Canticle of Mary,” I wondered again about that strange story. What did it all mean?

It all came together during the intercessions.

After the Canticle, Father Roche led us in specific prayers. One blew me away.

“Christ, after three days your anxious parents found you in your Father’s House. Teach all to seek first the Kingdom of God.”

Teach all to seek first the Kingdom of God!

There you have it friends. Jesus was showing us — and shows us still today — to put God’s Kingdom ‘way above anything this temporal world has to offer! And it’s worth any anxiety that may sometimes cause! Whoo-hoo!

“Uh, Kelly? You’re calling `seeking the Kingdom of God’ a `revelation’?”

Yes I am! Oh, sure, I know the notion’s all over the place in scripture. And I know that hymnals are filled with it. But I’m telling you, this particular story — the one about Mary and Joseph finding Jesus in the temple — along with this particular prayer —helped me get my sanity back!!!!!

“Why?”

Well, gee, try and look at it from my perspective. Since my last column, I’ve seen, for example:

About 250 “Faithful ™” people protesting the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, vying for camera attention, and, in between, singing the (inevitable) “We Shall Overcome”;

Fifty-eight priests sign a letter to my Cardinal Archbishop, with less common courtesy (never mind any offer of prayer!) than anything I’d send to the dog catcher — and then self-righteously taking their bows in the secular media for sending it;

At least one priest explaining that, while he really didn’t want to sign it, he also didn’t want to lose the popularity of his parishioners;

The “yippee-we-won” yelps of the beautiful and self-defined “Faithful ™” the day the Cardinal announced his resignation. It was quite something seeing these aging hippie-types whooping it up around my parish church that day, gaily a’waving their victory signs in between their rather pitiful attempts to get any news guys to take their pictures and please-please-please ask my opinion, pretty, pretty, puleezzeee!!!!!!!!);

Smug demonstrators mugging for the cameras outside my parish church during Bishop Richard Lennon’s first Mass, accepting kudos from the media while issuing dire warnings that they weren’t “done with the church” yet;

Press conferences whereby the self-anointed “Voice of the Faithful ™” presented a $58,000 check to the so-called “Archdiocesan” organization ironically known as “Catholic Charities,” just in time for that “Catholic” organization to Make a Real Difference in demonstrating the True Meaning of Christmas to Our Children: buying toys, kids shouldn’t think Santa didn’t like them, after all.

I tell ya: for a while I thought I was going bonkers!

But then, at Holy Family Vespers, I heard the prayer:

Teach all to seek first the Kingdom of God!

And all my marbles started to fall into place again. I began to realize what sanity was all about. Or at least, what it isn’t about.

It’s not about courting the kudos of the Fourth Estate. It’s not about wooing misguided parishioners in the hopes of — just maybe — earning a “Priest of Integrity” award next year.

It’s certainly not positioning one’s self strategically to get the best possible camera angle!

Sanity — or even better, holiness — might cause some anxiety. It might get people a little annoyed with you, or even very annoyed with you.

But seeking holiness is really the sanest act anybody can perform.

Because you know what?

Everything else is just chasing after Dobie Gillis.

And now for the fine print:

Kelly Clark is your basic nobody. She serves on no parish councils, belongs to none of the myriad of designer-chic "Catholic" groups, or any Catholic group, for that matter, other than the Roman Catholic Church. Holding no theology degrees, she has no desire so see herself or any of her sex wearing a clerical collar. She figures Jesus knew what He was doing when He established His Church, and also figures that it’s His Church, not hers, and not yours. She’s an ordinary parishioner of Cathedral of the Holy Cross, Boston. Use the links on the left to e-mail Kelly, to visit her parish, read past columns, and check out other cool stuff.

Copyright: Kelly Clark, 2003. I don’t care if you share this stuff with others. In fact, I hope you do! Only I’d appreciate it if you’d link me, or print it off as it is. In other words, don’t change anything. Thanks.

“The Lady in the Pew” column is updated weekly, God willing. To be notified of updates, please e-mail me. The link’s on the left.

“Mary, Mother of God, pray for us. Mary, Mother of the Church, pray for us.”