Dear Hearts
You can still be a “Good” Catholic (or Christian, I suppose…) and still swear, have tattoos, smoke, have a temper, and even betray Jesus.
My tattooed-shaved-head Guardian Angel told me so. His name is Jed.
Today is the Feast of Our Guardian Angels.
Catholics believe that God assigns all of us a Guardian Angel at birth. “Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared.” Exodus 23:20 KJV (The only version)
Angel of God,
My Guardian dear,
To whom His love commits me here,
Ever this day be at my side,
To light and guard,
To rule and guide.
Amen.
I read somewhere that naming your Guardian Angel is like a sin, but I figure that goes under the “You can still be a “Good Catholic…” Besides, what are you gonna call your Guardian Angel? Guardian Angel? I am surprised mine's a guy.
Depression hit hard when I went Home. Yes, The Holy City is my home, but where I grew up will always be Home too. All those ghosts, demons, and failures glaring at me…
When I went back to the East Coast to tie up loose ends in September, I went to Mass in my Hometown. I would say they are a fairly moderate bunch. They are not all like, “OMG, Pope Francis is so liberal! We must stop him!” But, they also aren’t all like, “Pope Francis isn’t liberal enough! We have to legal in The Church gay marriage and abortion!” I digress.
I went to Mass thirsting for serenity, guidance, something…I found it two rows ahead of me. My Hometown is pretty White—actually they are very White and middle to upper class. There is a large contingency of gay men who seem to have art-ified Hometown. That’s great—but I’m not sure why they chose Hometown. Mostly Hometown is filled with Bleeding-Heart-Liberals (MOM!), but there is an older contingency—that has been there for generations contingency and keep Hometown from turning into Greenwich Village. Again, I digress.
I felt so bewildered when I went to Mass. I always sit as by myself as I can near Mother Mary. At some point, probably when I was saying the Rosary or begging God for help, this guy came and sat two rows in front of me. He had on black jeans, black boots, a sleeveless shirt, some big tattoos on his back and neck. He was shaved bald and his left arm had plastic wrap around a new tattoo.
At first, I was like, “What? He doesn’t fit in with us all WASCs (White Anglo-Saxon Catholics).” He knew every step of the Mass—I suspect he was raised Catholic because he knew the routine and took communion. That’s when I also saw that he wore an inch-or-so long cross on around his neck.
I studied him more than I listened to the preacher. Another sin for the confessional. He had the Sacred Heart (rather large) tattooed on the back of his neck. He also had some calligraphy-style words, but I couldn’t make them out under his shirt. Believe me, I tried.
I’ll admit my first response was that he was a criminal. Then I saw him reverently going through the Mass and I noticed the Biblical tattoos.
When I was converting to Catholicism, my biggest obstacle was Jesus. We were in negotiations since 2012. Once I got a grip on the Crucifixion—I tried to figure what does Christ look like to me? I have images of Mother Mary and the other Saints. I don’t want Hippie-Hair, White, Blue-Eyed Jesus, who is always calm and perfect. I want a Heavenly Dirty Harry Type, dammit.
That’s what was sitting in front of me! I resisted to urges: one, to tell him that you should wrap a tatt in plastic; and two, to hug him and thank him for my Epiphany. I barely saw his face.
I bet he smokes. I think he does not drink because at one point, he drank and/or did way too many drugs. One of his tatts may be SERENITY.
I just had this feeling—I was captivated by this man. Magnetically pulled toward him like the Earth to the Sun.
God talks to us in so many ways. God was showing me my Guardian Angel.
Jed wears a Charlton-Heston-First-Half-of-Ten-Commandments type outfit. He looks like a cross between Ben Affleck and Timothy Olyphant—with a little young Pope Francis and Heston thrown in. His had huge body-length white wings. I can feel them when I pray, especially the Rosary. (And, yes, I only say one decade of the Rosary—I read somewhere that Mother Mary weeps every time some says only one decade. Really?)
A bold Celtic Cross tattoo covers Jed’s left arm and on his right arm is Jesus in on the Cross. “Serenity” is tattooed across his chest. Below the arced “Serenity:” he has Arch-Angel Michael killing a dragon; Arch-Angel Gabriel appearing to Mary; and, Arch-Angel Raphael healing a young boy. The Sacred Heart of Jesus and Mary is emblazoned on the back of his neck. His left forearm boasts the Rosary and Saint Peter and his right forearm has The Flame of The Holy Spirit. He has Fort-Lauderdale-Ocean-Blue eyes. Hell yes, he is ripped!
Jed’s hands are sand-papery like my grandfather, Gabriel’s. A light hint of American Spirit Bold Original Cigarettes and lavender clings to him. Oh, did I forget? On his left side, he has a Big-Ass-Medieval-Silver Sword. Think Excalibur. He doesn’t takes God’s name in vain, but he says all the other swear words. He drinks—but NEVER to access. Appalachian Moonshine is his preference. His sense of humor is raucous and his is not PC.
Most importantly, he enfolds me in his wings and I can lay my head on his chest as he kisses the top of my head. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re five-by-five. I got your six.”
We’re still getting to know---rather I AM still getting to know him, but so far…Thank you, God.
Here’s the deal: I love God, Christ, The Holy Spirit, and Mother Mary (along with all my Saints) with all my Being. I don’t exist without them. I try my best to be a good person and not hurt people. But, God help me when it comes to telemarketers and foreign customer service reps. I just try so mother-fucking hard to be good enough. I will never stop take God’s name in vain. I smoke, because I can’t imagine life without cigarettes. That’s My Truth right now. When my hackles get up—they are New Jersey Rottweiler.
I follow all “important” The Commandments. (You know, the ones that are in bold.) But, I am so not fucking perfect. I judge people in my head and think bad thoughts about people. I love violent, sexy movies. I do and say stuff I know I ought not and don’t do stuff I ought.
Jed says it’s okay. Saint Peter was bad-ass! When The High Priest came to arrest Jesus, Saint Peter slash the ear right off Malchus (servant of the High Priest). The ear! He didn’t kill him and he didn’t miss. He cut the guy’s ear off like, “Yo. You wanna mess with my and My Savior, you best rethink yourself.” He denied knowing Christ three times to save his own skin.
“That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” Matthew 16:18.
Jed says that Christ built The Church on an imperfect man, who probably swore a lot (I’ll have to ask,) and was violent. Jesus didn’t pick the perfect people to be his disciples: Mary Magdalene, Thomas, Judas…He picked the flawed ones, because that’s the way God made us. What is in our heart of hearts, souls, and spirits—that’s what is weighed.
Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless
In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.
PS: Screaming and stomping your feet in a graveyard—because that’s the only place you can without being heard—helps a lot.
PPS: To those Anti-Abortion protesters, who are just damn lucky they left before I could exercise my constitutional right of free speech…I am not pro-abortion. I’m not sure what I believe. I am working on it. But, I know for Goddamn sure that Christ would not be holding up signs accusing people of murder. He would be walking among the “unwashed masses” doing acts of kindness, compassion, and mercy. So would Pope Francis.
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