Brought up Catholic in the 50s and 60s

I never had any issues with God, it was his people that bothered me. I grew up in the old Catholic church with all the High Mass, Latin, incense, robes, stain glass windows, big organs and the works. As a young kid it was all so distant, so big, and so cold. God was cruel to non-Catholics, punishing them to eternal torment and flames. God was also hard on Catholics, dooming even the best of us to a certain burning in purgatory for hundreds or even thousands of years of purging away sin. God was distant, without humor, and without mercy. God was not to be messed with in any way, shape or form.

My 3rd grade teacher (a nun) told the story of one saint who had a vision of hell. Demons were in hell as were little children. The demons each had 2 large searing irons. With an iron in each hand every demon took children, placed their heads between the irons and squeezed. The Saint who had the vision heard screams from the children who were doomed for this torment for all eternity.

I feared hell and I feared purgatory. I thought that the best thing I could do is to die right after Confession so that I might have no sin and thus immediately go to heaven for all eternity, for Confession did take away all sins. But within minutes after Confession my thoughts and actions led me right down the path of sin again and again, so I was doomed unless by some miracle I was able to be run over by a car seconds after I walked out of the Confessional booth.

The road to sin was easy, it was fun, it was the only road I knew or wanted and that terrified me. The road of Sainthood was repelling. Once again my 3rd grade teacher told us how a young virgin Saint secretly wore a crown of real thorns and cut herself regularly in order to properly despise the flesh. Today such a woman would be taken to a counselor for evaluation. Back in this toubled girl's life, she was considered a Saint.

Stories of Christians eaten by lions and burned at the post filled the minds of 3rd graders for the entire year. Christianity was horrifying. I was terrified. God was unapproachable, harsh, merciless and mean.

Father Leo was a good representation of God. He was old, distant, seemed unable to put up with kids, and had absolutely no sense of humor. As a young kid, I was an altar boy in service to the Priest (Father Leo). I memorized Latin and rang the bell on Sunday mornings in front of the entire congregation, kneeling for minutes that seemed like hours. On one morning an altar boy fainted next to me and I faithfully kept kneeling for fear of breaking the Mass and thus causing everyone in the congregation to commit mortal sin (the sin that sends all to hell for eternity)because one Sunday without Mass is a mortal sin. Father Leo abruuptly ended the Mass and then scolded me for not helping my neighbor. The situation was so confusing.

I seemed to spend a great deal of my Catholic life being confused. I suppose the greatest mystery for me was my 4th grade teacher, Sister Mary Paul. She was nice and a very good looking woman - two qualities that did not square with anything else I knew about nuns from my Catholic upbringing. In fact, I was so confused about her that I was compelled to talk to her in private.

First of all I told her she should be a model and not a nun. I think she was flattered. My mother was a model and taught part time at a school for models.

Then I asked her why she was a nun. I did not share with her that I felt she was so out of place with everything I had come to know about nuns. I simply had to know how somebody so nice and so good looking chose to become a nun. She lit up when I asked her as if her life long dream was to be asked by some kid about her calling. And she did tell me that she was called by God to work for Him full time. I didn't get it then, but years later I too was called into His service in a different way.