American Catholic

I took Mark Twain to church today. Cathy and Matt stayed at home. It was easier to go without them. They're always complaining. I'm not sure they believe but only they can tell. Samuel Clemens might have protested but he's dead and I can't say. I took him anyway. I wanted him to see what I see.

I've been reading the "Mark Twain Autobiography". He said his church in Florida, Missouri was made of logs. Hogs would get under the floorboards. Dogs would chase them and make a fuss. The noise was so loud it would interrupt the Preacher. They had to wait for quiet before the Preacher could continue. There were two streets in Florida, Missouri. There are a lot more where I come from.

Saint Jude Parish in Monroe, Connecticut includes over two thousand families. Mark Twain saw it coming. His father bought thousands of acres in Tennessee. He knew the wave was coming. He knew the country would grow. Mr. Clemens failed to time it right, but he knew. He knew.

I wanted to show Mark Twain what we have made since he has gone. I wanted him to see our beautiful roof. He could admire our school. He could marvel over our rectory. I wanted him to hear the thousands of faithful intone each prayer. I knew he might be derisive and I secretly hoped he would. We're American. We reject such notions, even the ones I cherish.

I went home and kissed Cathy. I told Matt the Monsignor was looking for him. I wished everyone was there. Only Mark Twain came with me because he was dead and couldn't complain. I prayed for my Mom, my in-laws and my wife. Samuel Clemens didn't say a word. I don't think he would have if he were alive.