GUM UNDER
A CHURCH BENCH
It was Mother’s Day - and Vera was all alone at Sunday Mass at her parish church of St. Christopher’s here in Boondocks, Tennessee. What do people think about during Sunday Mass?
Her husband wanted South - after his retirement. She wanted where she was - North - after his retirement. He could be so strong and so stubborn at times - and it seemed to be getting worse, the older he got. So after the initial struggle - it wasn’t worth the fight - South they went.
He was sick and tired of New England winters. Shoveling snow was never fun. Okay, to be honest, sometimes it wasn’t too bad. It gave him the feeling of seeing results. Results was something he often didn’t see in his job: a high school social studies teacher. He also wanted the sidewalk cleared and the path and steps to their front door ready for the mail and paper carrier. She discovered - newspapers - especially the political columns - are important to retired men. So clear that winter snow - open up that path to one’s front door.
Her husband wanted Tennessee. He had to be different. Many of their generation moved to Florida for good or went there for at least a month or two to break the back of winter. They - better he - settled on Tennessee for better or for worse. He thought about the better; she thought about the worse. Surprise - it worked out somewhat okay. Surprise - they got some snow at times in Tennessee’s winters - but the living was cheaper - slower and easier.
They adjusted - more difficult for her than him. Then came cancer for him. It was seven years after his retirement that he died. She was healthy and had forged some good friendships - so that’s where she stayed. Now she had to get used to being alone - a widow.
It was Mother’s Day and Vera sat there wondering what mothers - the ones with the corsages - probably from their adult daughters - were thinking in their inner minds this Sunday at Mass. The priest up front was also wondering, “Where is everybody? What’s on your mind today?”
It was Mother’s Day and Vera found Mother’s Day could be worse than Christmas or Thanksgiving - if by oneself. They only had one kid and he was in Maine with his wife - and their 4 kids. Her daughter-in-law was from a big French Canadian family. To say the least - she had to be with her family for all holidays - and her son, just like his mom, had to be obliging to the stronger spouse.
Vera made some friends down here in rural Tennessee and their Catholic Church wasn’t too bad. In fact, it was pretty good. She got used to it. Their priest was from Ireland and she gradually understood his accent - Irish - with some Southern slow vowels that he picked up. He was a Teddy Bear type of a guy - one of those Southern pastors who were pastors in their parish forever. If you got a good one, great; if you got a bad one, ugh.
It was Mother’s Day and she’s sitting there at Mass and she rubs her hand under the bench she’s sitting on. She feels something. She’s trying to figure out, “What is this?”
“Oooh!” She realized it was gum - dry dead gum - perhaps there for 10 to 75 years. It was an old wooden church. “When did they invent gum?” she wondered to herself.
She was the only one on her side of her regular bench over there on the left side about half way down the side aisle of St. Christopher’s Church. So, out of curiosity, she moved another butt distance along her bench. She rubbed her hand again under the bench. Sure enough another piece of gum. Then another. Then another.
She smiled. She wasn’t listening to the priest. She heard all that he had to say that first year there. She was wondering, “Maybe every bench in the church has gum stuck under it. What would it be like to start a ‘Society for the Removal of Unwanted Gum Under Benches at St. Christopher’s!’”
Old chubby Father Michael Connelly would laugh at that suggestion - probably saying, “Vera, gum is what’s keeping all these benches together in one piece all these years. Mind you. It’s gum.” Then with Irish wit, which he had a lot of, he would surely conclude, “Let sleeping gum, sleep.” Or, “Let what can’t be seen, remain unseen.”
She smiled, Then thought, “Oh! One of these days, I’ll have to confess my sins of distraction at Mass.” Then she thought, “No. This is me. Vintage me. I’m always having distractions. It’s life. It’s called thinking - reminiscing - wondering.”
Then she wondered if they can get DNA off old gum? Then she thought, “I’ve been watching too many NCIS TV shows.”
Next she found herself off on another tangent. Here it was Mother’s Day and she should be thinking about God and mothers and love as the readings of the day were talking about. And the priest was talking about love, love, love. He said the word “love” appeared 17 times in today’s readings. He seemed to be filled with more blather and Blarney than usual this Mother’s Day.
Then she found herself back to the gum. It was sticking to her. It got under her being. “Oh my God,” she thought, “is the underneath of my soul filled with gum - dried gum - mistakes from my past - that I chewed on 100 times - couldn’t get rid of - so I simply stuck them under the bench of my soul?”
Then she thought, “It’s secrets - secrets - especially the secret sins of our lives that are stuck underneath the seats and benches we’re sitting on.” Then she said to herself, “Wow, it’s hard to get rid of some memories or what have you. It’s hard to get rid of some sins - even in the confession box in the back of the church. I wonder if there is any gum stuck in there. It’s dark. It’s hard to get rid of the past.”
She thought about the bumps and slips and mistakes of her life. She made peace with most of them. Time can do that. But, like that gum underneath these benches, sometimes - something - someone says - or some song comes on the radio or something we see on TV - touches on an old memory or mistake and we start to chew on it once again. Uuuuh! Ugly.
During Father Mike’s homily this Mother’s Day - she thought about a wonderful homily he preached a few years ago - the one about forgiveness. Father Mike told the congregation that Christianity centers itself on forgiveness. Then he said that forgiveness has to start with oneself. He said that was one of Jesus’ biggest insights - self-forgiveness. “If you can’t forgive yourself, you won’t really be able to forgive those who trespass against you.”
Then she remembered Father Mike paused in that homily. He liked to pause when he preached. I guess he would instinctively listen during those pauses. If there was absolute silence, he knew he was in the soul. If he heard coughs and sniffles and shiftings, he knew he wasn’t. Then after that long pause in his forgiveness homily, he said, “Till we get that, I guess we won’t get Christ. Till we get Christ, we won’t get that.”
Then he paused an even longer pause.
Then he added, “It’s mistakes. It’s sins. It’s being hurt or hurting others - that can break us - as well as make us - make us great people - people who understand. Jesus understood that for sure. Those who are always screaming - wanting others to change - wanting others to see what they see - to be like they are like - maybe they haven’t been inside themselves enough. Maybe they spend their lives walking around inside other people’s sins and never in their own sins." Father Mike continued, "That’s a switch on the old saying about walking in other people’s moccasins. Walk in your own sins first. The Pharisee in us - needs to come down from our tree - to stop spying on people - to come away from other people’s lives and invite ourselves or have Jesus himself into our heart and mind - to sit still in our inner room with him - which the Pharisee in us doesn’t like to do. The gift of mistakes - falling on our face - can put us close to the ground again - from which we came.”
Then Father Mike said, “I think that’s why Jesus chose Peter - and that’s why he chose Paul. One could be so stupid and the other could be so head strong in so many ways. Then when they got Jesus’ way, they were on their way - but first they had to fall on their face and look face to face at their mistakes - at their miss takes on life.”
Vera got that - that message from Father Mike - which he gave a couple of years ago in that sermon. She realized her mistakes - helped her to be understanding - of others who made mistakes. Her son said just that to her once in a Mother’s Day card he sent - and she has it in her box of treasures - in a bottom drawer.
Her son didn’t know it, but his mom had gotten pregnant in high school and her parents convinced her to give her baby up for adoption. She did. What killed her was this became a family secret - a life time secret - like that gum under this bench.
She never told her husband or her son. That’s the way her family did it back then. Every day of her life - she thought about her daughter - wondering if her daughter ever thought of her. It was 57 years ago this month. Life. I wonder where she is now and what her life story was.
As she sat there in church that particular Mother’s Day - that story from her past - which was stuck on the underneath of her soul - like dried gum - uh oh’ed her.
Then that Mother’s Day - down there in rural Tennessee - during that Mother’s Day Mass, she thought to herself - better she made a major decision for herself, “I’m going to find her. I’m going to see what happened to my daughter. It might take some undoing - but maybe she too is wondering this day - where I am and what happened to me."
Surprise. They met each other for the second time in their lives. It was on the July 4th weekend in Agawam, Massachusetts. Both wondered why it took so long - why it took so long. She found out that her only daughter, Michelle, had 8 kids - a wonderful husband - and 7 grandkids - and all her kids and now Vera’s grandkids and great grandkids were thriving. Wow. The stories…. Maybe for some Fourth of July - Independence Day - is more important than Mother’s Day.
