Part of my growing up years was spent in the Episcopal church. The Episcopal church was a break off from the Catholic church (nobody throw rocks please). We went religiously every Sunday, I covered my head with a beautiful white lace scarf, my mother covered hers with a black one, every woman who entered the church had their head covered. We also always wore our very best dresses when attending church. This was what you wore, this was how you showed respect.
As time went on and we spent more time camping on weekends we spent less time in a formal church. Most of the campgrounds we stayed in provided a worship area. Some campgrounds would provide a nondenominational service others would have a particular denomination represented each Sunday, still others would have no one there but had an area for private meditation. We got in the habit of taking our interest in God with us as we went and we each worshipped individually in our own way.
While we were on our trip in Mexico no one even bothered to ask about church because we were so far into the interior of Mexico that we knew anywhere we might go we would not be able to understand a word that was being said. It just wasn't even thought of quite honestly. So when Sunday came we got up and dressed just as we did any of the other days we had on our trip, nicely in our skorts and tennis shoes, ready for the days adventure.
We drove in to the next big town which was amazingly beautiful. Such beautiful architecture. As my family walked around I was looking up at the old buildings awe struck, I was in love. (I think it was there that I decided to become an Architect.) There were very few people out and about and even fewer buildings open to the public. That was back when everybody and everything was closed on Sunday's. We didn't think anything of it because we were enjoying our walk through town and that was pretty normal. After a while there were more people and they were following us and where speaking harshly in Spanish and I was fairly sure they were saying some unkind words by the looks on their faces. I couldn't figure out why they were being unkind though, we weren't doing anything, we weren't touching anything, disturbing anything, nothing. The women especially were unpleasant. Our skorts were a little short but they weren't to the point of immodest so we could not figure it out. After what seemed a lifetime of being surrounded and scolded by these Mexican women it finally dawned on us, it was SUNDAY. It was Sunday!
We were in VERY Catholic Mexico on a Sunday and we were in shorts. We had been disrespectful to the traditions of these people. We should have known better, our roots should have reminded us. Good grief, had we lost our minds? No wonder those women thought the "gringo" ladies were bad, we were! We left the plaza where we had been walking and went back to our campers. The next time we left the camper that day we had "appropriate" Sunday clothes on and tried to be sure to keep up better after that. It kind of taught us a lesson in making sure to keep up with the traditions of the country, state or area you are visiting in because you can certainly hurt someone's feelings even without effort just by your ignorance.
Question? I wonder if in these new times if Mexican Catholics in Mexico still only wear dresses to church?
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