First things first, although I profess to be a Catholic I do not practice all of the dogma of the Church as may be apparent by the content of my blog and it is not my intention to convert anyone to this religion. I simply feel like sharing what has been on my mind the last 40 days before Easter.
I was raised by a very Catholic mom but my father was a convert and didn't go to church with us much. While growing up there were times when I envied him and there were times when I pitied him. These times were reflective of how I was feeling about God and my religious faith over all. I was a good little Catholic girl for the majority of my life. I tried to live by the concepts that had been taught to me by my family on my mothers side and by the Church through CCD and ultimately my confirmation. My relationship with the church itself has been one of great content, embarrassment and in a few cases hate. Let me try and explain.
Growing up in a small town in Central MT I had no idea about prejudices regarding religion until one of my best friends had to tell me, at the age of 10, to make sure not to mention to her Grandfather that I was Catholic. He was a Mason and truly hated Catholics. About a year later I was staying the night with my new best friend who was Pentecostal. I asked my mom if I could go to church with her the next morning and she was at the door picking me up with in 10 minutes. That was embarrassing especially because of my mom's total misinformation regarding evangelicals and the fact that I repeated what she said during gym class and hurt my friend very badly. Our children listen to us.
I didn't think much about religion until college but was surprised that guys were always interested in getting in the pants of a "good little Catholic girl." This was very interesting ot me. There is something very sexual about the Catholic school girl de-flowering. I think it has to do with the outfits they wore to school. I wouldn't know, I attended public school. HA!
I was very involved with the Catholic Campus Ministry. For the first time I enjoyed going to church because it was more of a social event. I learned a lot in this time in my life. Mosty that Catholics have their own set of rules about morality but that no one Catholic believes what the one standing next to them believes. In that way it can be very versatile. I have met some who are very moral-old school. Some are very laid back about morality because they believe that with confession they can literally get by with anything-think Mafia, others who have never explored any other religious school of thought and others who, like me, find the symbol and ritual of the Church to be a very powerful life affirming tool but not neccesarily allow themselves to be defined by the structure of the Church. But mostly, I found Catholics to just be people looking for a little security in a crazy world.
I went out of State to Oregon State University for a year and a half and met my match. She was my new room mate and the daughter of a minister. She had spent most of her life in Germany as a Missionary. I have never met anyone who I adored and hated more. She was truly trying to be what most Christians claim to be. Her every waking moment was spent in adoration of God. She prayed constantly. She would not listen to music unless it was Christian. I made her go to
Pet Detective with me and some other girls and she walked 5 feet in front of us on the way home, sobbing. I was really angry with her. I finally made her tell me why she was crying and she said, "That was not glorifying to God." Of all of the people I have ever met in my life she made me think about what it meant to be a Christian. Could I do it? Did I fit the bill? I began to study the bible and took many classes on the Theology and World Religions, a passion I still cannot quench. To my mothers dismay I went to 28 different churches that year, I was exploring the options. She did not speak to me for 8 months. Eventually I realized that for me the Bible is a social tool. One that I believe was written in response to the human condition by leaders, all men, over 2000 years ago. I know that it was written to be a guide line to help people, not to harm them but I found that it had a lot of loop holes. For example, love your neighbor, but only if they are not gay, Jewish, Romans, murderer's etc. Because of this inconsistency I started to form my own idea about Christianity. We men had taken something we could feel; the presence of a higher power, and tried to define it. We did the best we could, we tried to do it from a place of love but we messed it up somehow. We didn't get the whole picture because we could not put away our hate, fears, bigotry, not even for God.
I began exploring Eastern Philosophies, Religions and Mythology. Although they are all very unique I started to see some patterns within them. The virgin births, the messiah, the wrathful gods. It fed into my original experience that we are just trying to make known that which is unknowable.
Now back to Catholicism: Religion became unimportant to me for a few years. I found the very idea of organized religion laughable and then a tragedy occured, my sister died at the age of 29. I was so angry at God but more powerfully, because of this very real anger I understood that I believed very much in him. I say him, because to me, in my life experience, God is male. He is the father and the son and the holy spirit. After my sister's death a chain of events began to unfold that made me choose Catholicism and stick to it. I had not set foot in a Catholic Church for at least 2 years and then there I was next to the casket of my sister in the Church where my mother was baptised and married, where all of her siblings were also baptised and married, where all of us; her children were baptised and educated. There was a lot of history in that Church and I felt it. It was the most powerful thing I had ever experienced. I thought of the Asian concept that we should honor our dead ancestors as they, like what our culture refer to as Angels, held us up in trying times. I had been searching for a long time and in just a moment of breathing the familiar scent of incense and wine I knew I was home. I knew I was honoring the memory and the life of my sister and all of my ancestors who had grown up in this faith; some in this very church. I took communion that day and although I cannot describe it, it strengthened me knowing that a sacrifice had been made, blood and body of the Savior that I had been raised to know as God. I felt held up, loved, comforted by taking it into my weary and grieving body. I knew then that I had seen past all of the mistakes that we as humans make when attempting to control and define this higher power, this vibration that is but that cannot be defined and I realized that that was OK. I did not have to believe everything the Priest said, I could vehemently disagree if I wanted to; the higher power was not going to condemn me for listening to the Pope as a Sage or listening to Billy Graham; religion meant nothing-the experience it created; one of capturing this higher power and knowing that I was intrinsically part of it was the only thing of importance!
Like understanding a divine secret I understood the importance of knowing that we connect with this higher power on our own terms and that our relationship with him/her/it, is the most personal thing we carry with us. It is OK not to be defined by a religion, it is OK to question, but it is certainly OK to say that you may not agree with every person who stands in that church or temple or whatever it may be, because this is a relationship that only you and God can take part in, and whatever you get out of that hour can sanctify and hold you up through the trials of the week in the secular world.
So I am a little weird, I look forward to Lent every year. I think it is because it makes me slow down and think; be more introspective. 40 days and nights of thoughtful contemplation. No meat on Fridays. The Stations of the cross. All of these rituals reminding me that of my heritage, my history, of my ancestors who hundreds of years ago heard these same words, may have even spoken these same prayers. I decided to repeat a mantra this Lent, it goes: We are not mortal beings trying to be spiritual, we are spiritual beings trying to be mortal. It holds a lot of meaning for me.
In 2000 my mother and I traveled to her home land, Ireland. We were able to walk through the so-called ships that were like the one's that her family came over on. Many people died on these trips to America. The ships were smaller than a Winnebago and the families were crammed in without sunlight and in deplorable conditions. I could not help noticing that my mom cried as we walked through on the tour. When we talked about it later she told me that she could feel the spirit of her ancestors, she could feel their prayers pushing her forward into her life; so different because of the sacrifices they made to make it so.
And so, on Sunday, I take an hour to go to Church. I find it to be meditative, and comforting. I find that I am fortified for the week ahead in a way that I would not be had I not taken the Eucharist. For me, this is God. This is my time with him. This is my time to honor those people who sacrificied so much so that I would have the luxury to choose- or not to choose; a religion.
The boy seeks his communion in the rivers with his fishing pole. He does not call it Church but I know that when he comes back, the small stress lines in his forehead will be lessened. He will come walking up the front steps tired and achey but full and he needs not to try and explain or define it. I know it will be this way with or without a good days catch. It has simply been his Lent.
