(Inspired by this column by Tom Ehrich)
What now seems like a lifetime ago, i.e. during my early 20’s, I tried to be Catholic. Not that I went to mass every day, or confession, or confirmation classes, even–hell, I was never baptized. I followed the lead of the young Catholics I knew, who fit in weekly mass on either Saturday after work (if I wasn’t too tired) or Sunday morning (if I wasn’t too hung-over) and wore a crucifix and maybe a patron saint’s medal, but otherwise led their supremely secular, birth-controlling, non-procreative, pre-marital sex-having, potty-mouthed yuppie consumerist lives. During this brief flirtation with religious observance, what most appealed to me was the self-discipline of observing Lent.
As I have written previously, I am aware that I have an addictive nature; also, that the way I’ve dealt with a substance or behavior getting out of hand is that I stop, completely and immediately. It was one aspect of life that my extreme stubbornness served well. And so giving up something for Lent, and all the periods of fasting and forms self-denial that are endemic to all of organized religion, fascinate me. While I was off alcohol, every time I was offered a drink I felt a tiny spark of pride in turning it down–an awareness of the choice I was making to honor myself. When I was observing Lent (and let’s face it–it was only a two year period before I lapsed back into my old heathen’s life), I felt a similar awareness, not of myself but of God. Not to suggest that making a conscious choice to order my pizza without meat for six weeks one early spring made me a more godly person, or that the same same length of time that I lived candy-free the next year put me any closer to a happy eternal ending; I’ve been delusional before, but it passed after proper medication. What I do believe, though, to the bottom of my bruised and sooty little soul, is that in those tiny moments, in places like the Taco Bell drive-thru as I changed my order to bean burritos, I opened my eyes just a little bit to what I had been given, and my heart to what I owed.
Though my milliseconds of faithfulness ended fifteen years ago, at this time every year I feel reflective. I don’t imagine I’ll ever reconcile my issues with mainstream religion, particularly with the hypocrisy and mendacity of so many of the “faithful,” or with the pursuit of money and power in the name of righteousness, or with the use of interpretation of scripture to separate, bludgeon, and shun human beings. I can’t accept that there is only one right way to believe that is acceptable by God. I will probably always have too many questions to make any space for real and stable faith. I still believe, though, in sincere and daily reflection, whether it’s called meditation, prayer, woolgathering, or spacing out. Or blogging.
I look forward to reading Ehrich all week, probably because I enjoy a man of faith who asks as many questions as I do. Anyway, I love his premise in this piece: the benefit of daily personal whateveryoucallit, not only for the sake of self but also for the refreshing of the community. Across the American religious establishment, a deep breath and a little quiet openness could work miracles.
