Don’t blame me – I only married into a Catholic family. As a Presbyterian, I didn’t know what I was getting into. Besides losing eligibility for a cracker crumb during communion, dozing off in the middle of the service was no longer possible considering the requirement to stand, then sit down every three minutes.

“What time do we need to leave for church?” Rita asked one Sunday shortly after we were married.

“10:45 – that will get us there in time to visit before finding a seat in the sanctuary,” came my reply. In the car, engine running and still waiting for Rita to come out of the house at 10:55, I sent up a couple of Hail Marys Full of Grace in hope devilish horns sprouting atop my head would wither before we arrived at the church parking lot. We snuck into a pew after services were underway.

In Chicago years later, I noticed a play called Late Night Catechism at the Greenhouse Theater. “What do you suppose that’s all about?” I asked Rita.

“Oh, that’s how Catholic schools teach Catholicism to students. We should go.”

“I’m not anxious to pay to be converted to Catholic.” I replied. We went anyway,

We settled into second row seats in an intimate theater accommodating an audience of 75. The play’s tiny set mimicked an elementary school classroom complete with a flag, chalkboard, teacher’s desk and other schoolhouse items. The only performer was a woman dressed like Sally Fields – The Flying Nun. Sally took the stage, introduced herself as Sister Maria, then spotted someone in the audience chewing gum. She politely invited the fellow to the stage, then turned on him like a biting sow. Sister harangued him for gum chewing, demanded he spit his chew into the waste can, then sat him in a chair facing the corner.

Among various terms on the chalk board, The Immaculate Conception was written. “Can anyone tell me what this event was about?” she asked. I raised my hand and Sister Maria called on me.

“The Immaculate Conception was when…”

“Wait a minute,” she interrupted. “Always stand up when you are talking to Sister.”

I stood and started over. “I believe the Immaculate Conception was….”

“Hold on there,” Sister interrupted again. “Whenever you speak to Sister, you begin by saying, ‘Sister, the answer is…'”

“Sister, the answer is, The Immaculate Conception was when Franko Harris caught that Hail Mary pass from Terry Bradshaw during an AFC playoff game.” The audience came unglued. I was suddenly a celebrity.

“Ok, Mr. Smarty Pants,” Sister continued. “What year did that happen?”

I thought a moment, then took a guess, “1972.” Sister awarded me a Gratitude of Catechism card.

A different list on the chalk board included Saint Magdalena. “Now class, I’m going to tell you what folks on this list did to become saints, then ask you to vote, yes or no, if they deserved to be elevated to Sainthood.” In her story about Saint Magdalena, Sister described her this way: “Saint Magdalena was afflicted by many demons. She was evil, mean, had a vile temper and spoke with constant profanity. One day sitting in the kitchen, a small door in the side of her head opened like this.” Sister held a hand to the side of her head and demonstrated how the door hinged opened. “All of those demons came flying out of her head! I bet you’ve never seen that before,” she added.

I couldn’t resist. Without raising a hand this time, I blurted out, “I saw that many times with my ex-girlfriend.” Not only did the audience erupt, Sister Maria turned around to face the corner, shoulders recoiling in uncontrolled laughter.

Outside the theatre after the play, Rita visited the ladies’ room as I waited in the hallway. Two young women approached. “We thought you were part of the show! Can we take our picture with you?” Rita returned to find me posing, arms wrapped around two lovely ladies. More Hail Marys couldn’t prevent a close brush with hell that followed that time either.