by Matthew Walsh
My grandmother sat in the living room most nights after her stories, and by the light of the television, said her prayers on her rosary. It was silver, with a man hanging from the cross in the center. It kept her place in her bible; she kissed the man in the middle and tucked the chain away in the pages.
Growing up, I was confused about my religion which was explained to me in bits and snippets. My mother gave me vague answers to my questions on the way to church on Sundays. The fragments I put together about church and God when I was younger left me confused. My religion was a mystery to me. My mother had a rosary. It was in her jewelry case, and it never emerged from there. Her rosary was made of plastic and was the color of cotton candy. It was not as serious as my grandmother’s. My mother’s fingers only ever touched the rosary when she was looking for earrings or a necklace.
I followed my mother’s example. I waded into the Catholic religion, looking around and following what everyone else was doing. When they kneeled, I kneeled. When they sang, I sang. I did not question it. The congregation formed two lines and paraded to the front of the church to receive communion, so I went as well. I stood in front of the priest, and put out my hands to receive the wafer. He hesitated in giving it to me. I had not completed my First Communion, and unknown to me at the time, when someone was initiated into the fold, they had to perform this task before they could receive The Body of Christ. He gave me the wafer regardless, which I ate. My grandmother watched me from her seat, embarrassed. I said “Thank-you,” instead of “Amen.”
When I was a little older, around the time of my First Confession, my grandmother tried explaining the rosary to me. I remember each section of beads corresponds to a certain number of prayers, and something else about the rosary being a key to fifteen mysteries. She told me it brought her closer to God.
She prayed for everyone she loved, anyone who had sinned or was suffering. She was convinced that God would hear her prayers, protect them, or bring them guidance. To a child it sounded magical. I never saw her go out and actively help the people she prayed for, so maybe praying to God was enough. After her husband died she used her rosary less frequently, and I always wondered if these two things were linked.
So at the time of my First Confession, when I received my own rosary, I had a cloudy idea about its significance. I knew it was something to be welcomed into my life. I thought true understanding would come later. My grandmother went over the rosary with me around this time. Repeating the prayers back to her had the same effect as when I was learning my ABC’s. She was very proud and excited. I knew the letters led to understanding words and stories, but in the case of the rosary, when I said the prayers I did not see how it led to any greater meaning. Looking back, praying sounded like pleading or begging for salvation instead of something hopeful.
At my First Confession I told the priest all the sins that an eight-year-old could muster. I was told to say some Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers. I chose my rosary out of a cardboard box at the priest’s feet and left feeling odd, almost guilty. I think that was perhaps the point. After Mass had ended most of the children left their rosaries in the church pews. My sister collected them and wore them as bracelets. I tried to put mine around my neck but the thread broke, sending plastic beads to litter the floor. My grandmother had a petrified look on her face. It was as if the gates of Hell had opened up in front of her.
Religion is a confusing thing for a child. There is no room for them to branch out into the world if, from an early age, they have to design themselves in a rigid social structure like the church. At the same time they are being exposed to new things in the world, they are also exposed to the church- life, and sometimes the real-life and church-life are not aligned with each other. It can be confusing, and in some cases, terrifying. I remember overhearing someone in my family telling a story about my grandmother’s first two children who died when they were infants before they could be baptized. My grandparents could not bury them in the churchyard because they were not blessed, and had to bury them in a graveyard behind the church like outsiders. There were people being buried nameless, in graves behind where my family worshipped because they were not baptized. Wasn’t all life blessed? Did God love them despite this? In the church-life there are dividing lines that contradict and interfere with how real-life is influenced. It is important for children to see how the two lines are different, so the boundaries do not become blurred. It comes down to a question of what values are personally yours, and what values are enforced on you because of your religious beliefs?
The rosary unlocked mysteries. They are a key to God’s door. Because of these vague descriptions, when I was older I had to clarify what the rosary’s relevance was to my religion. There is a lot of mysticism attached to the rosary, not only for Catholics, but for Buddhists as well. The rosary has the same roots in the Catholic religion as tarot cards to Pagan beliefs, yet the latter is often discredited as more of a game, and not taken seriously. The rosary helps some meditate on their lives and for some people it helps them reflect on their choices. If at a young age children are not told what religion is, its history in society, or its relevance it is difficult for them to form a relationship with it. It becomes something alien; its meaning becomes skewed or lost completely. Following a religion becomes something that should be done, or expected from someone. I believe my mother followed my grandmother’s example because she felt going to church every Sunday was expected of her. Later in life it was not something she wanted for herself but went because she always had. It is important to come into a religion with knowledge, love and understanding and to be aware that the views of the church may differ from your personal views or beliefs. Having a separation between the two is important for children who are just starting to unravel themselves.
First and foremost, the church asks you to have faith in God, and secondly, to have faith in your relationship with God. I believe that having faith in your self is the most important thing, not just in a religious setting, but in life. Young children are susceptible to the world around them, and in some cases blindly believe whatever adults tell them. When I was smaller, I would believe anything my parents said. My father once told me the First Communion wafers were actual pieces of Jesus’ body that were dried and preserved in Rome then sent to our church. Children pour as much faith into their parents as religious followers pour into their rosaries, or the church.
To me, the rosary felt like a set of handcuffs twined around my Catholic wrists. The rosary was a coiled snake in my mother’s jewelry case. The rosary is a symbol or club emblem that represents guilt, torture, and sacrifice. The man who was crucified for us all to have peace hangs in the middle of the chain, as a martyr and a reminder. I had to look up the exact significance of the rosary to the Catholic religion because in the past it held an ambiguous meaning. At a basic level they are used to keep track of the prayers you have done, so every night people recite the right amount, but first they make the sign of the cross. What follows is the Apostle’s Creed, then the Our Father, 3 Hail Mary’s, 1 Glory Be. Then the First Mystery is announced, which is followed by an Our Father. The next step is 10 Hail Mary’s, while you meditate on the First Mystery, then 1 more Glory Be. The Second Mystery is announced, along with an Our Father; repeat 10 more Hail Mary’s, a Glory Be, and the Third Mystery in that order. The mysteries correspond to important events in the bible such as Mary being recognized as the mother of the savior and Jesus sweating blood while he prepares for death. When I researched this I began to wonder if this was why the importance of the rosary had been hidden from me.
The explanations I received as a child made it sound like a magical object, and even now it has the same association that tarot cards do for me: a device used to meditate on questions. However, the rosary puts limitations on people using them as a vehicle for self reflection. The person prays, begs for forgiveness and protection for their loved ones, and grovels at the feet of an invisible over-seer. With tarot the person can pull their own meaning out of the cards, and apply it to their lives. Tarot does not confine the user to a set routine like the rosary. A person can pray to a God if they choose, but it is not necessary. I could choose to use 3 cards, or a spread of 10 cards, depending on how in-depth I want the reading to be. Not every reading is the same because the meaning of one card may be swayed by a neighboring card. The tarot is not as straight and linear as the rosary. Not everyone can find solace in the rosary. Life is not straightforward. It constantly changes unexpectedly.
I felt mindless repeating the hymns robotically every Sunday. To mechanically sing, kneel, sit down, open your book of psalms to page 328, without question is not for everybody. Being gay made it a complicated place for me. To be part of a religion that looks at homosexuality and considers it a sin made me question the church. I felt like an outcast, like my grandmother’s first two infants.
I doubted whether people considered the message in those prayers, what those words strung together meant. When they prayed there were no individuals. Each person was praying with the same words on their lips, keeping time with the music.
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