Talking
Back
by Terry
Sanville
So
why should I have
to apologize for
being Catholic?
We sat in a spring
morning daze watching
Father Salvador
slowly inscribe
the title of our
class on the blackboard,
painfully stretching
his stocky frame
on tiptoes to
expose white sweat
socks and hairy
legs below a black
cassock.
“Apologetics:
the study of how
to defend our
religion using
reason,”
Fr. Sal intoned
in a gruff voice,
partially answering
my question.
Twenty-five boys
from the class
of ’65 stared
forward, the sound
of our yawns and
deep sighs punctuated
by distant shouts
from PE instructors,
calling out calisthenics
routines to the
girls. My mind
chose to contemplate
bouncing female
bodies and not
the tenets of
Catholicism –
which is probably
why Saint Xavier’s
taught the girls
separately from
the boys. But
Fr. Salvador was
annoyingly persistent.
“Gentlemen,
you will depart
high school in
less than three
months and enter
a world where
there are few
written tests
and no letter
grades. To prepare
you for this change,
the faculty believes
you are ready
to challenge your
faith and learn
how to defend
it.”
Loren Van Burton,
Stuart Wall and
a few of the other
“brains”
copied down the
class title and
definition, their
ball point pens
poised over dog-eared
notebooks. The
rest of us, destined
to attend State
college or work
in auto parts
stores, propped
our heads in hands
and waited for
the lecture to
begin.
“First,
I want all of
you to put your
notebooks under
your desks. Learning
to defend your
religion requires
active participation.
Your grade will
depend on speaking
out and nothing
else.”
A chorus of baritone
groans filled
the room until
Fr. Salvador pointedly
glared through
his rimless glasses
at Pete Sutleff,
the loudest perpetrator.
We quickly settled
down. Why couldn’t
O’Malley
have taught this
class? Now there
was a Jesuit who
knew how to lecture
– reading
verbatim from
the text and copying
salient passages
on the board,
which eliminated
the need to pay
attention to anything
he said.
“Those miscreants
who have a strong
dislike for class
participation
have the option
of submitting
a thirty-page
term paper covering
a religious topic
of my choosing.
See me after class
if you are interested.”
We settled back
to see how Father
Sal would proceed,
except of course
Van Burton who
sat in the row
next to me, poised
on the edge of
his seat with
an almost-girlish
right arm ready
to shoot into
the air at the
least provocation.
Loren was only
slightly more
of a spaz than
me, but with brains.
He’d help
me with trig homework
and I’d
coach him on how
to talk with Beverly
Knocksted, as
if I could help.
“This first
class I will let
you get familiar
with the reading
materials,”
Father Sal continued.
“However,
at the end of
each session I
will write three
questions on the
board. You are
expected to come
with answers the
following day
and debate all
sides of each
issue. Be advised
that rote Baltimore
Catechism responses
will not suffice.
To be successful
apologists, you
will need to know
the relevant scriptural
references, Church
doctrine and canon
law, and be persuasive
without expecting
others to believe
you as a matter
of faith. Are
there any questions?”
“The only
Bible we got at
home is one my
Pop kiped from
the Motel 6. Is
the Gideon version
okay?” Joe
Espanoza was oblivious
to disclosing
his father’s
eighth commandment
transgression.
We all laughed.
Father Sal slowly
shook his head.
“For those
without a proper
Catholic Bible,
there are three
copies in the
school library.
But I encourage
you to purchase
your own.”
“What if
I don’t
fully, ah –
understand the
basis for the
Church’s
beliefs? Can I
play devil’s
advocate?”
Van Burton’s
Aryan blue eyes
bulged behind
coke-bottle glasses.
“Yes, yes
of course you
may,” Salvador
said impatiently.
“But this
class is supposed
to make our faith
stronger, and
I won’t
tolerate disruptive
behavior.”
I could tell the
good padre expected
something like
that from Loren.
It had gotten
worse after Van
Burton’s
parents’
not-so-amicable
divorce during
junior year. There’d
been a lot of
chitchat in the
hallways about
who Loren would
live with: his
mother was a real
looker but his
dad controlled
the money. Through
all of it Loren
stayed at the
top of his scholastic
game. But he’d
spent a lot of
time in the vice
principal’s
office, being
reprimanded by
Fr. Sal for verbal
scrapes with the
priests and lay
instructors. He’d
even challenged
Coach Marelli’s
decision to teach
us soccer since,
according to Loren
“there are
no organized leagues
in America and
probably never
will be.”
A few minutes
before the period
ended, Salvador
scribbled three
questions on the
board. We barely
had time to copy
them before the
buzzer sounded
and we dashed
off to Father
Bernard’s
civics class.
The next morning
Fr. Salvador started
right in: “Why
do Catholics worship
the Virgin Mary?”
He repeated the
question and waited,
ignoring Stuart
Wall’s raised
and quietly flailing
hand.
“Come on,
gentlemen, no
need to raise
hands in this
class. If you
have something
to say, just say
it – like
in normal conversation.
When someone challenges
you on the street
or at a business
luncheon, they
won’t be
raising their
hand.”
“Well, maybe
we worship Mary
because she was
the last virgin
in Jerusalem,”
George Swank cracked.
A wave of snickering
filled the room
as the blood rose
in Fr. Salvador’s
rutted face, enlarging
the veins in his
bulbous nose.
He was easily
flustered and
our resident wise-asses
played him like
a hooked marlin,
actually more
like a trapped
capybara.
“The question
is wrong,”
Stuart Wall proclaimed
in his know-it-all
voice. “Catholics
don’t worship
Mary, they venerate
her. We only worship
God.”
“Yeah, right,”
Pete Sutleff muttered.
”Then why
does she always
have the best
statue in Church,
huh? If you kneel
before her and
pray, that’s
no different than
worship in my
book.”
“No, you
guys are missing
the point. Mary
has the ear of
her son and the
Big Guy. If you
want something
from them, you
gotta go through
the mother, right?
That’s how
it works in our
house.”
The class hooted
at Steve Hanson’s
“mama’s
boy” admission.
He turned crimson
and shut up.
“But why
not pray to Saint
Joseph?”
Joe Espanoza asked.
“I mean,
the guy is just
hanging around
while his wife
gets all the attention.”
“Are you
kidding? What
kind of a guy
could he be if
his wife has a
baby and then
claims she’s
a virgin! Talk
about being the
laughingstock
of the neighborhood.
I mean…”
“All right,
Mr. Swank, that’s
enough,”
Fr. Salvador finally
intervened. “Some
of your comments
are on point,
although not presented
very eloquently.
You need to learn
to be articulate,
to speak with
knowledge and
control. Only
then will your
views engender
the respect they
deserve.”
Van Burton squirmed
impatiently in
his seat. “I’m
not sure this
is eloquent,”
he cracked, “but
Canon Law 1255
instructs Catholics
to only worship
God. Church writings
also state that
Mary is worthy
of our veneration.
I looked up ‘venerate’
in my dictionary
and Webster’s
uses the word
‘adore’
to define it.
And adore is used
to define worship.
Isn’t the
Church playing
word games with
us? If we venerate
Mary, aren’t
we really worshiping
her?”
A tight-lipped
smile crept across
Loren’s
face. He stared
at Father Sal
whose own eyes
narrowed. The
priest scooted
forward on his
chair and opened
his mouth to speak,
but Pete Sutleff
cut him off.
“Yeah, that’s
what I was sayin’
– you got
it, Loren. And
the reason why
we venerate Mary
and not Joseph
is because he
wasn’t a
legit father while
Mary definitely
was a mother.”
“So we venerate
Mary so she will
intercede on our
behalf with Jesus
and God the Father.”
Father Salvador
hurriedly stood,
attempting to
draw the discussion
to a conclusion,
any conclusion!
I could tell our
combination of
wise-ass remarks
and pointed criticisms
pissed him off
because his voice
grew louder and
rose almost half
an octave.
“Who can
give me any Biblical
references for
Mary’s role
as interceder?”
The class fell
silent. I had
made only one
short remark the
whole time and
vowed this next
round I’d
need to jump into
the fray if I
wanted to maintain
my solid “C”
average.
“All right,
then let’s
move on to the
second challenge:
Why do Catholics
believe in Purgatory?”
“I’ve
got something
to say about this,”
I quickly put
in. “Why
do Protestants
and Jews only
get two options
– going
to Heaven or Hell
– while
Catholics get
Purgatory as a
third option?”
“Hey, don’t
knock Purgatory,”
Pete Sutleff said.
“I plan
on spending a
few years there
before moving
on to Heaven.
And it beats going
straight to Hell.”
“Yes, but
you never know
how long you hafta
spend there. It’s
like going to
jail without being
given a definite
sentence.”
George Swank looked
worried and I
wondered what
he actually knew
about jail.
“Why do
all that praying
for forgiveness
that might buy
you a year or
two out of Purgatory
when you might
be there for a
few million years?”
Steve continued.
“You could
spend your whole
life in church
and not get much
of anything done.”
“Well, maybe
if you did, you
wouldn’t
be committing
those venial sins
that got you into
Purgatory in the
first place.”
“Are you
kidding? When
I’m sitting
in a quiet church,
I’m thinking
all sorts of nasty
stuff and racking
up the venial
sins – I
need to go to
confession before
I can get outta
there.”
“I’m
quite sure you
do, Mr. Sutleff,”
Father Salvador
said sternly.
“But let’s
get back on track.
Why do Catholics
believe in Purgatory?”
We sat there feeling
stupid, trying
to think of something
to say. Steve
Hanson paged through
his Bible, hoping
to look studious
but not fooling
anybody. Finally,
Loren bailed us
out – sort
of.
“I couldn’t
find anything
in the Bible that
mentions Purgatory
or venial sins.
I believe the
Church created
Purgatory to cover
situations when
we’ve done
some objectionable
things that don’t
deserve eternal
damnation in Hell.
Purgatory’s
not a bad idea,
but I wouldn’t
count on it being
there.”
“Well, this
Protestant kid
who lives next
door to me says
you’ve gotta
be really bad
to go to Hell.
His father told
him God doesn’t
sweat the small
stuff. So while
we’re burning
in Purgatory for
talking back or
swiping some beers
from the corner
market, he’ll
be in Heaven floating
on a cool cloud.”
Father Salvador
had kept quiet
during most of
the discussion,
pacing the front
of the classroom,
occasionally shaking
his head, and
raking arthritic
hands down his
bearded cheeks.
“We pretty
much pulverized
that one,”
he announced.
“Unfortunately
none of you could
convince anybody
why Catholics
believe in Purgatory.
You’ll need
to try harder
on the next one.
How would you
explain to your
Protestant and
Jewish friends
why the Pope is
infallible?”
Salvador took
his seat and waited.
“You’re
asking why the
Pope is inflatable?”
George Swank cracked,
drawing another
glare from Salvador
as the rest of
us laughed.
“You know
very well what
I mean, Mr. Swank.
And I am infallible
in my pronouncement.”
“Yeah, George,
and the Pope thinks,
no, he knows you’re
ugly, too,”
Steve butted in,
followed by more
chuckling. Father
Sal’s face
turned purple
and he was about
to launch into
a more thorough
rebuff when Loren
cut him off.
“Actually,
I think it’s
in the Book of
Matthew where
Jesus told Peter
he was the head
of God’s
church and that
whatever Peter
bound on earth
would be bound
in Heaven and
whatever was loosened
on earth was loosened
in heaven.”
Father Sal leaned
back in his chair
wearing the closest
thing to a smile
since the class
began. Loren knew
how to kiss up
when he needed
to – but
alas, it didn’t
last.
“Yeah, but
how does that
mean that the
Pope can’t
be wrong about
something?”
Steve Sutleff
griped. “I
mean Pope Pius
is an old Italian
guy. So he gets
outta bed one
morning and says
his prayers wrong.
Is he still infallible?”
Van Burton took
a deep breath
– he was
on a roll. “Simple
worldly issues
would pose too
easy a challenge
to the concept
of infallibility.
Besides, everybody
knows this particular
Pope is not the
fastest runner
out of the blocks.”
“Now Loren,
you know sarcasm
is a weapon of
the weak,”
Father Sal chided.
Van Burton ignored
him. “In
the fourth century
the Bishops got
together and decided
to limit the concept
of Papal infallibility
to matters of
faith and morals
– although
the part about
morals was tacked
on and isn’t
found in scripture.”
“How does
reason lead you
to that conclusion?”
Salvador hissed
in a low tight
voice. The class
quieted down.
“Well, the
whole idea of
Papal Infallibility
is supposedly
tied to passages
in the Book of
Luke where Christ
prays that Peter’s
faith will not
fail him. Catholics
believe somehow
this passage combined
with those in
Matthew documents
Papal infallibility.
But faith and
morals are two
different things.”
“No, Loren,
you’re misinterpreting…”
“While canon
law hasn’t
changed the Church
has been redefining
morals for the
last two thousand
years. We even
had a married
Pope, didn’t
we?”
“Well, yes
we did, but no,
morals have not
changed. The Church
has been steadfast
and consistent
in its interpretations.”
Father Sal stood
and resumed his
pacing.
“But the
rest of us depend
on the clergy
to define morals
over time –
a clergy with
only a second-hand
understanding
of how people,
how married people
live, and the
things that tear
families apart.”
The room grew
even quieter.
Van Burton’s
pink cheeks turned
ashen. His thin
lips trembled.
“Mr. Van
Burton, personally
attacking your
opponent is a
sure sign your
arguments are
weak, don’t
you agree?”
“No I don’t
agree. It’s
confrontation
that allows us
to learn. Aren’t
we supposed to
confront our faith
to make it stronger?
If our faith is
based on the efficacy
of the clergy,
shouldn’t
we question that
also?"
“Yes, yes
– you’re
right, but…”
“Besides,
others have tackled
this issue. Voltaire
talks at length
about the distorted
role of the clergy
in his Lettre
Philosophiques
les Anglais and
again in Dictionnaire
Philosophique.
I have English
translations here
if anyone wants
to read them.”
Loren held up
two battered volumes
and scanned the
room for takers.
Only bewildered
faces stared back.
His recitation
of the French
titles rolled
off his tongue
like a true bon
vivant. But instead
of impressing
Father Salvador
it seemed to have
the opposite effect.
The Jesuit stopped
his pacing and
stiffened, face
chalky, hands
and arms overcome
by a strange palsy
that gripped his
body. The rest
of us were still
trying to decide
what terms like
“efficacy”
and “distorted
role of the clergy”
meant –
since they seemed
to be the key
to Father Sal’s
discomfort. Finally,
taking a deep
breath, Salvador
walked slowly
to Van Burton’s
desk and extended
a hand.
“Please
give me those,”
he said quietly
and motioned to
the two volumes.
Loren handed them
over without hesitation.
Salvador turned
his back on the
class and began
speaking as he
walked to his
seat.
“Gentlemen,
over the centuries
the Catholic Church
has had many enemies
– Monsieur
Voltaire was one
of them. His immorality
was so profound
that he was exiled
from his own country
on numerous occasions.
All of his works
– and I
mean all of them
– are on
a forbidden reading
list created by
the Papacy. We
are here to use
reason and not
immorality to
bolster our apologistic
arguments. Mr.
Van Burton, you
will please refrain
from referencing
these works.”
Loren glared back
at Salvador, his
eyes afire with
the zeal of a
wronged apostle.
Father Salvador
looked tired.
“But if
Voltaire is wrong,
shouldn’t
we use reason
to determine that?
Wouldn’t
it make us better
apologists?”
“No, Loren,
it could make
you a heretical
one.”
“But wasn’t
it Voltaire who
said ‘I
disapprove of
what you say,
but will defend
to the death your
right to say it’?
Wasn’t that
the basis for
our principal
of free speech?”
“Yes, yes
– Voltaire
said a lot of
things. But we
are not talking
civics here; that’s
Caesar’s
domain. The Church
is not a democratic
organization.
It depends on
the infallibility
of the Pope and
the faith of its
members to survive.”
“Well, maybe
that’s why
Voltaire said,
‘God is
a comedian playing
to an audience
too afraid to
laugh.’”
Stu Wall and a
few other students
broke into giggles
but it died quickly
as Loren continued,
his rapid-fire
words bouncing
off the walls
at a soprano’s
pitch.
“Isn’t
it strange how
our political
system stresses
free speech while
our religion says
faith and conformity
are the keys to
salvation?”
“Loren,
you’re getting
off the…”
“If God
lets us use these
freedoms wisely,
would he feel
threatened if
we questioned
everything?”
“Mr. Van
Burton, I must
insist that you…”
“Would the
Church need a
forbidden books
list? Would we
need priests to
interpret God’s
will using fourth
century logic?”
“Loren,
SHUT UP!”
These last words
rang out over
a deadly still
classroom. Father
Salvador charged
down the aisle
toward Van Burton.
Loren swiped at
dripping eyes
and struggled
to his feet. Both
were pale and
breathing hard.
Lewis Mendoza,
our all-league
tackle, quickly
stood, just in
case.
The buzzer suddenly
sounded, echoing
down the hallways,
and we all jumped.
Doors banged open
and conversation
erupted from adjoining
classrooms. Father
Salvador struggled
to compose himself,
not having time
to identify the
questions for
the following
day’s class.
Nobody bothered
to ask about them.
Salvador stopped
Van Burton before
he could leave.
“Loren,
I want to talk
with you and your
… your mother
tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sure, Father
– more family
counseling, I
can’t wait.”
Loren pulled away
from the hand
Salvador placed
on his shoulder.
By the end of
the week, the
most curious of
our class had
read both of Voltaire’s
works that Loren
referenced. By
the beginning
of the following
week, Father O’Malley
was teaching our
senior religion
class in his comfortable
easy-to-ignore
style –
the experiment
with apologetics
being apparently
over.
Years later, bearded
and bespectacled
myself, I still
wonder about all
of it. Where did
Fr. Sal end up,
finally –
in a library somewhere
uneasily checking
out the proper
books? And I wonder
if Van Burton
is still destined
to burn a few
years in Purgatory,
to be cleansed
for such a venial
offense as talking
back? I’ll
be praying for
him anyway, even
if I no longer
believe faith
must be blind.
Or even apologized
for.
©
2008
by Terry
Sanville
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