Pierre’s Religious Experience

          A few hours after Pierre fell to sleep in his mother’s home, his mother Eleanor woke up to go to church.  She was not too surprised to find him sleeping on the living room floor.  Pierre had trained her to expect him whenever she saw him at the door or sleeping on the floor and not to worry about him when he wasn’t around. In the past she had tried to get him to sleep on a bed, but Pierre explained to her that it was better to sleep on the ground or a floor.  That way he could sleep anywhere in the world and it would be just like at home.  He wouldn’t have to get used to a new bed.  That logic made sense to her.   Eleanor had, however, insisted that he keep a clean sleeping bag rolled up behind the couch to use when he was in her house.   She didn’t want his regular bag in the house.  Pierre could see her point.  The two got along great.

          After his usual Duluth shower and shave, Pierre went to Mass with his mother.  They took the bus so as not to wake the neighborhood.  Even though it was Saturday, Pierre thought it best to get some extra church time in.  When someone is in the bush as much as Pierre is, it is not easy to go to church.  The nearest church was 70 miles away from his shack in the winter.  In the summer he normally attended Sunday Mass at Laketrails.  He liked hearing Fr. Bill preach about giving the land back to the Indians.  The Kiss of Peace was always intense and went on for about five minutes.  Sometimes Pierre even went around for seconds. 

 The windows in the place where Mass was held at Laketrails were numerous and huge.  A devout person could easily meditate on the glories of God’s creations.   Pierre could watch the big white pelicans fly by in a line formation with the black cormorants after the two species had fished together.  Breaking the wind for each other made the trip easier for both of them as they flew back to their common rookery to feed their young families.   Often Pierre wondered why couldn’t humans peacefully break wind for each other during times of trial.

The windows also overlooked the dock.   As an extra Laketrails hot day church bonus, there were plenty of beautiful non-Catholic gals swimming at the dock to pray for.  Of course, one had to get there early to get a chair with a clear view of the dock.  If one sat near the front, on the Epistle side, it looked as though your eyes were glued on the altar. The dock was right behind the altar.  That chair, Pierre’s chair, offered the best of both worlds.  The snacks after Mass were also the most generous Pierre had found in any religion.   A person could even get seconds in snacks too.  A Mass at Laketrails was almost the perfect religious experience.

Pierre told me the only negative thing about Father Bill’s sermon was the fact that Father “tried to suck people into acting like Christ seven days a week.” Pierre thought it “best to stick with the one day a week deal and let it go with that.”  Pierre said, “ Jesus only had to act like Jesus thirty-three years.  Some people now live to be over 100 years old.  If those old people lived one good day a week and lived three times as long as Jesus, that would make them almost half as good as Jesus.  However, since Jesus was half God, that would equal being nearly as good as Jesus’ human side. That should be good enough.”

Pierre may have a point.  It is hard to argue with logic like that.

          Pierre’s mother liked to go to Mass at St. Ann’s Residence where many of her friends lived.  She would have liked to live there herself except she had to keep an eye on Pierre and Jesse’s Porsche which was stored in her garage between funerals, weddings, and long road trips.  She didn’t mind the inconvenience the car caused her.  All the grass mowing in the summer, snow shoveling in the winter, and daily house maintenance kept her in great shape for an 84-year-old. “What is a mother for?” is the line Pierre had taught her to say.

          The bus finally arrived at St. Ann’s and we all went to the chapel.  Pierre thought about the Laketrails Mass celebrations while the Mass was read at St. Ann’s.  It kept him awake.

Pierre really enjoyed visiting with the elders at St. Ann’s after Mass.  It was like a big party there.  Most of the folks there were younger in spirit than many high school age people.  Most of them didn’t give a rip about what they said or wore.  Some dressed every day like they were going to a wedding.  Why save your good clothes when you are 98?  If you can’t speak your mind at 102, what is the sense of having a mind?  There are no phony people in that place.  What you see is what you get.  From the smiles on some of the people’s faces, Pierre figured they were getting plenty out of life.

          The favorite man that Pierre enjoyed visiting was Father Joe, a  “retired” Catholic priest who was living at St. Ann’s.  Pierre wished he could see Fr. Joe say Mass again.  Instead Fr. Joe had to sit in a pew and be quiet.  Pierre thought that was “as bad as having Michael Jordan ride the bench during crunch time.  The Bishop should put him in.  It is a waste of natural resources.” 

           As a boy, Pierre had known Fr. Joseph Hughes when Father was stationed at Good Shepherd Parish on Duluth’s Raleigh Street.  Father Joe was a brilliant man who had traveled to China, Russia, and numerous other countries all over the world.  Fr. Joe went to those countries before most people knew they existed, before the people living in that area knew they were a country.  Pierre used to read the Duluth Register to find out about Fr. Joe’s experiences and his interpretation of faith.  Forty years later, Father Joe, at 93, was still an extremely young man with an open mind.   Pierre told me once that,  “Listening to Father Joe was like listening to God.” Of course, I agreed.  Pierre had forgotten that I was the one that introduced him to Fr. Joe years ago.

          After Mass, Eleanor wanted to sit in on a hot bingo game before going to a noon cook out on the patio.  Pierre figured that this would be a great time to visit with Fr. Joe.  We both walked to his apartment on fifth floor and knocked.  Fr. Joe was busy writing an article about Church unification, but he set aside his work and invited us to visit.  I just sat back behind the piles of papers stacked all over Father’s room and listened and watched as the two talked.

          “How have you been, Pierre?”

          “No big complaints, Father.  Had a little trouble going through Customs.  Got a $100 fine for not checking through properly.” 

          “I wouldn’t worry about that, Pierre.  Borderlines come and go.  The last time I was in the USSR I saw Custom Stations that had their names written on chalkboards.  Custom laws are laws of men not laws of God.”

          “Gee, Father, I wish I had thought of saying that before they took my credit card and rung up the $100.  I’ll remember that when the collection basket comes around at Mass.  I’ll put in a note that says, “Canada owes God $100, Canadian funds.  Collect it from them.”

          “How has your truck been running?”

          “I am afraid she is on her last set of tires.  She hasn’t been sounding real well since she went through the ice last spring.  That experience scared the hell out of me.  I never prayed so hard in my life.”

          “Well, I wouldn’t worry much about your truck’s soul.  If you prayed hard while the truck was under water, I am sure God will consider that a valid baptism.  Actually the ice situation could have been to your truck’s advantage.  It got saved very late in its life.  Hanging out with you, I am sure was not the best company.”

          “Ah, Father.  You know I don’t do much of that any more.”

           “Oh shoot. I thought I would hear a good confession for a change.   People with really interesting sins just don’t confess any more.  Have you been keeping the faith, Pierre?”

          “Well, Father, you know how far away my cabin is from any town.  I don’t get to church often in the winter.”

           “God understands.  That is no sin.  It might be a sin of presumption if you tried to drive that truck anywhere.”

          “I do try to make it to as many Masses at Laketrails as possible, especially on hot days.  I always tried to talk to the Protestant girls after Mass.  Isn’t that something like Church unification?  There must be some bonus indulgence for that.”

          “That will cost you ten ‘ Hail Marys’ and a ‘Glory Be’.  I understand your hot day situation completely.  I used to be a lifeguard before I went into the seminary.  I never said so many ‘Glory Be’s’ in my life and that was before the bikini. I’ll tell you this; the biggest miracle I saw happen in my life was my becoming a priest after that lifeguarding job.  After I was ordained, the director of vocations suggested that all seminarians for the diocese of Duluth spend their summers mowing grass in cemeteries.  We got more men ordained, but more priests dropped out later to get married.  Oh well, win some; lose some.   Pierre, next time you see a beautiful woman and you feel pangs of passion, just say a few ‘Glory Be’s’.  God will reward you.”

          “Hell, Father, if you would have told me that as a youth, I could have been Pope by now.  I’d be a regular praying machine. That is all I am willing to confess.”

          “Good enough, Pierre, God can live with that confession. 

              “Pierre, while we are on the topic of Church unification, last time we visited you told me a little about a few Lakota Sun Dance religious ceremonies that you attended in South Dakota.  You said it ‘was like a Lent with an attitude.  Men were hanging from trees with ropes attached to their chests and going without much food or drink for days and looking at the sun instead of the women in long dresses. They were making these sacrifices for the good of their tribe.’ Now that you are living near the Ojibwa people, have you learned anything about their ceremonies.”

          “Yes, Father, there was an event that I witnessed a few years ago that might interest you.  I hesitated to tell you this long story because I wasn’t sure how much time an old man like you had left on this earth.  I didn’t want to take up your precious remaining time.”

          “Did the event have a huge impact on your life?”

          “Yes, Father, it was right up there with the first time I held a girl’s hand and with my very first confession right after that.”

          “Sounds interesting.  I’ll just make myself comfortable on my bed, close my eyes, and try to imagine what it was like to be there myself.  I have been studying religions all my life and I think I am just about there with understanding the common ground of all religious experience and, ergo, the key to religious unification.  Just keep doing what you have been doing. Tell me your story.  I’ll be listening, Pierre.

                                              To be continued.