Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Home
Catholic
The Appalachian Purgatorio

The Appalachian Purgatorio

Last updated on: March 20, 2021 at 11:26 pm by Mary Pezzulo

The Appalachian Purgatorio 2021-03-20T23:26:32-04:00 Mary Pezzulo

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

Friday was Saint Joseph’s Day, so I prayed to him as I walked downtown to the bank. I took out a cashier’s check for the first time in my life. I put the check in my purse loose, because I’ve never thought to buy a wallet.

I walked to the church to say “thank you” and to pray that nothing would go wrong the next day. They were tuning the organ up in the loft, as I sat in the front– key by key, pipe by pipe, one loud sharp cacophonous blare after another. Nothing sounds grander than a really good piper organ. Nothing sounds worse when it’s not what it should be, than a pipe organ does. It was pandemonium, so noisy that I couldn’t hear myself pray, which is a good way to pray on occasion.

This was the church where Rosie was baptized nine years ago, in late Advent, when I was so cloudy with PTSD that I barely knew where I was. The second to last time I ever saw my parents. That was where I nursed her in the pew while sobbing and inwardly railing at God for the rape and for stranding me here in poverty.

After I was done praying, I walked across downtown, taking the shortcuts down alleys and across gravel parking lots. Steubenville’s pavement is pockmarked and scarred; you could break an ankle if you don’t look watch your step. But I’m so used to it.

I kept a running commentary in my head as I went along: This is where we had to sit for an hour at the CAC to get assistance so the gas wouldn’t be shut off. This is where I carried Rosie down to Catholic Charities so the water wouldn’t get shut off. This is where she was so exhausted she threw a tantrum and the lady with the Rosary shouted insults at me. This is where I sat down on the asphalt on a stifling day, to rest in the shade of a brick wall, and a volunteer from The Friendship Room found me and brought me cold water. This is where I cried. This is where I cried. This is another spot where I cried.

The Ohio Valley is the harshest of places. There are countless stories a hundred times worse than mine. If all the tears that all the desperate people had ever cried in Steubenville were to materialize at once, I’m sure they would flood the Ohio and drown downtown, then rise up over the cliffs to engulf LaBelle and finally the university campus.

I have prayed for that to happen, as I’ve cried.

This place is hell on earth.

I went home on the bus, humming an old spiritual to myself. “This may be the last time. This may be the last time, baby. This may be the last time. May be the last time, I don’t know.”

Today was a feast day of sorts, though not a liturgical one. It’s the birthday of Fred Rogers, whose name I remember in my litanies. I once had a dream that Fred Rogers was driving me to Sunday Mass, so it felt portentous that I was going to buy a car on his birthday. Two of my friends helped: one drove us there in her van, and another rode with me on the way home so that she could help me get the two hour drive back from the dealership, since it was my first time driving my own car and I didn’t know the roads. I hadn’t driven since last October, when I finished the lessons Rosie’s godparents bought for me. A friend loaned us the money at no interest, since we’d never be able to pass a credit check. The stimulus check paid for the insurance.

It’s probably foolish to buy a car right now. We’re just a tiny bit above the poverty line; we’re still just one wrong step away from ruin every month. We still live on tips. We don’t have any savings and maybe we never will. Cars are a money pit. But this was the first chance we’ve had to own one in the fourteen years we’ve been in Steubenville, so I bought it.

I am so used to walking around Steubenville on the verge of tears, trying to catch the elusive bus that only comes once an hour. I am so used to nothing going right. The whole time I was riding with my friends to buy the car, I was in denial that this could possibly work out.

And now I have a car.

We drove back to Steubenville along the wine-dark Ohio, past the noxious smokestacks and the heaps of jet-black coal, in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, the most destructive chaos in the most beautiful mountains in all the world.

I’m still a little dazed.

I came here in fall of 2006, a victim of spiritual abuse though I didn’t know it at the time, loathing myself more than I can express, thinking it would be two years of graduate school and then I’d move to a big city. But I didn’t. I got married, I came down with a chronic illness, I ended up trapped here in poverty. I found myself with a blog on Patheos because a former editor liked how snarky I was on Facebook. The anniversary of my blog’s first post was almost exactly five years ago today. I threw myself into writing because it was the only thing I knew how to do, and I work hard every day at writing. I pass around a tip jar periodically to see if anyone values my writing enough to keep my light bill paid so I can turn the computer on and write more– and people do. Every year we step a little bit closer to not poor anymore. And now I have a book out, and another one coming out in a month.

I’ve needed so much help along the way, it seems embarrassing to act as though I did this. But I have done a lot.

Here is a truth that you need to know: If you’ve been abused, if you’ve been traumatized, if you’ve been broken in some way that you used to be whole, you will fantasize about being rescued. You’ll imagine that someone is coming to be a hero and take you away from it all to a place that you can rest and heal. You believe that, not because you’re foolish, but because you’re wise. You believe that because you have a conscience and a sense of justice. It ought to be true that for every person who is in trouble, there is a hero who will rescue them and take them away to a healing place. That’s what the world is supposed to look like. You are right.

Unfortunately, the world is not as just or as wise as you are. The world is brutal. People don’t do what they ought to do. A tragic amount of the time, you will have no one to rescue you. You’ll have to do it yourself. That’s a realization that is more traumatic that I can express: you ought to be rescued, but you won’t be. The pain of that realization is so deep you could die from it. Part of you does die, inside. It dies and descends into hell and I’m not sure exactly when it rises again. But when it’s dead, the rest of you can become the hero that rescues you. And that won’t happen all at once. It won’t be poetic and it won’t usually be exciting. But bit by bit, you’ll find an opening, a way to exist. And along the way, you’ll discover that you are heroic, and you will discover heroes like you who actually will help– not the dramatic rescue you wanted, but help along the way. Someone who will give you a job. Someone who will help you fill out forms. Someone who will let you stay the night on their sofa. Someone who will teach you to drive. Someone who will drive with you to get the car. That kind of thing. You will have to be the hero, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be a supporting cast.

You cannot do what you have to do without their help, but you’re the one who’s got to do it.

And then you’ll discover how courageous and powerful you are.

And then you’ll discover that it wasn’t hell, it was more like purgatory, and you came out of the fire somebody better than you were.

And then you’ll find a way to be a hero for somebody else.

It won’t be the life you meant to have, but it won’t be the life of agony you think it will be. It will be something different from both of those.

That was what I thought to myself as we drove home– home, on the bank of the wine-dark Ohio, through steam and coal and cruelty and despair. Not the place I ever thought I’d call home, but the home I’ve made in Appalachia where the mountains are more beautiful than anywhere else in the world.

And just for a moment, it seemed like Heaven.

Image via Pixabay

Mary Pezzulo is the author of Meditations on the Way of the Cross and Stumbling into Grace: How We Meet God in Tiny Works of Mercy. Steel Magnificat operates almost entirely on tips. To tip the author, visit our donate page.

Previous Post

March 17, 2021

Yes, Robert Aaron Long's Rampage Was Racially Motivated

Next Post

March 25, 2021 On Birds and Bees, Gila Monsters and Chastity

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category abortion Abuse Advent America American Christianity angel angels Annunciation Appalachia apparition apparition chaser apparition chasers apparition culture art art review babies baby baby Jesus Bad Lip Reading bad statue contest bath beauty Bible story blog blogkeeping blood book review Brandon Sanderson breastfeeding bus Catholic catholic conspiracy alarmism Catholic Oppositional Disorder Charismatic Renewal Charlie the Cat chastity Christ Christian idenitity Christianity and Judaism Chronic Illness clean clothing COD piece comedy compassion conscience conspiracy theory conversion cop-on-black violence Crucifixion cry of the poor culture Daesh Daily Saints death death penalty devotional diaconate diaper diapers dirty disability Donald Trump Dorothy Day dream drugs Eastern Catholicism Eastern Christianity education election election update Elsewhere on Patheos empathy environment Fear feminism film review fish flashback fluffy buns food Franciscan University of Steubenville Friendship Room fun Gabriel gardening gospel hair-splitting Heaven hell heresy Hillary Clinton history Holly the Witch Holy Spirit holy war Homeschooling homosexuality horror human dignity humor Icon idol immigrants infection inter-religious dialogue Interpretation of Scripture Islam Jesus Jihad Joseph joy laity and lay vocations lamb dinner laundry lent lgbtq literature love manners Mary Medicine and Science Meditation mercy mess milk misogyny Missouri monasticism monster motherhood mourn with those mourn movies movis music mystery nature neurodiversity New Pro-Life Movement news nonsense nostalgia O antiphons obituary objectification Ohio Valley Ordinary Time ordination Ordo Amoris parable paradox Passover peanut butter personal beliefs pets philosophy Planet Charismatic poetry politics polls poop Pope Francis Pope Leo power in the Church prayer prayer request prayers preferential option for non-violence president presidential election priest primary private revelation pro-life prophecy Public face of Catholicism Pure Flix Q and A race racism random rape rape. sexuality reader's request Reckoners refugee religious trauma ressurrection Right to life Saints saints and celebrations same-sex same-sex marriage satire scandal secular feasts seder Seven Joys Seven Last Words sex sexual ethics sexuality silencing six months skid row slavery social justice Speculative fiction spiritual abuse spoon stain story suffering suffrage suffragette Sunday Gospel temple Tenebrae Responsories Terror the exorcist The Friendship Room The New Pro-Life Movement Things I Learned on the Internet tin cup traffic true story tv review Uncategorized USCCB vice and temptation violence Virtue virtue and vice war Way of the Cross whimsy whole life women's ordination work of mercy Year A

Select a Month October 2026 September 2026 August 2026 July 2026 June 2026 May 2026 April 2026 March 2026 February 2026 January 2026 December 2025 November 2025 October 2025 September 2025 August 2025 July 2025 June 2025 May 2025 April 2025 March 2025 February 2025 January 2025 December 2024 November 2024 October 2024 September 2024 August 2024 July 2024 June 2024 May 2024 April 2024 March 2024 February 2024 January 2024 December 2023 November 2023 October 2023 September 2023 August 2023 July 2023 June 2023 May 2023 April 2023 March 2023 February 2023 January 2023 December 2022 November 2022 October 2022 September 2022 August 2022 July 2022 June 2022 May 2022 April 2022 March 2022 February 2022 January 2022 December 2021 November 2021 October 2021 September 2021 August 2021 July 2021 June 2021 May 2021 April 2021 March 2021 February 2021 January 2021 December 2020 November 2020 October 2020 September 2020 August 2020 July 2020 June 2020 May 2020 April 2020 March 2020 February 2020 January 2020 December 2019 November 2019 October 2019 September 2019 August 2019 July 2019 June 2019 May 2019 April 2019 March 2019 February 2019 January 2019 December 2018 November 2018 October 2018 September 2018 August 2018 July 2018 June 2018 May 2018 April 2018 March 2018 February 2018 January 2018 December 2017 November 2017 October 2017 September 2017 August 2017 July 2017 June 2017 May 2017 April 2017 March 2017 February 2017 January 2017 December 2016 November 2016 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

Who said, "It is more blessed to give than to receive"?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Solomon Peter Jesus Paul