As the parking lot of the church starts to empty on this beautiful morning, I can see the virtue of the parishioners dribbling out the tailpipes of their Buicks, Le Sabres and Cadillacs. On their way to coffee, or perhaps brunch, those who have donned ties, dresses or pantsuits on the Sabbath day have done their religiously duty for the week. They’ve gathered with other parishioners, praised and offered thanks to their god, prayed for those less fortunate and promised themselves to have a sin-free week. Some may have gone to confession to alleviate a particular bad behavior, or some may have just prayed for forgiveness from the privacy of the pew. They’ve seen friends, met new neighbors, and wished the pastor a fine day. It’s the Norman Rockwell version of Sunday morning at the church down the street.
And here I am, in my kitchen, enjoying coffee and feeling sated from the brunch my family just shared. Aside from the syrup covered dishes on the counter, I feel that I have served humanity well this week – I am feeling pretty virtuous myself. Some may say that I pray at the altar of humanism, others may call me a pagan or a heretic; but the truth is I don’t pray or worship anything.
The fact is that I was raised in a family of non-believers. Well, that’s not quite right, my family believed in each other, and the rest of humanity. We simply didn’t believe in a god, a supreme being, or deity. I was never incented to behave through the threat of going to hell, nor was I told that when my grandfather died that I would see him in heaven.
On Sundays, all of my friends would go to church, and every once in a while, I would ask my parents what it was all about. Being the good parents they were, they encouraged me to tag along with one of my friends to find out. I remember actually attending vacation bible school once, but I’m pretty sure I only stayed as long as I needed to earn the prize for attendance – a balsa wood airplane. All the stories were just stories to me.
On my 18th birthday, when I declared to my parents that I was marrying my “soulmate”, I floored them even more by telling them that we were to be married in the catholic church… when my father asked “why now”, I told him that I wanted to give religion a shot and Catholicism seemed to be a good one. Ok, so I didn’t believe it either, but my 18 year-old self wanted the church wedding, blah, blah. So I stuck to my story and went through the conversion classes, got baptized, confirmed, the whole nine yards. I never felt “the quickening”, or whatever you are supposed to feel when you realize Jesus is your savior. I got sick from the incense on Christmas eve mass. My (now ex-) husband and I were married in the church, went back a few times for the fun masses (Easter, xmas, etc.). Then, we only went for rites of passage for his family. My stint as a catholic happily ended when the marriage did. Tomorrow: Why do people try to save my soul?
Girl Scout Cookies
2 years ago
I'm glad you didn't go to the dark side but kudos for giving it a shot. I almost laughed when you wrote "...Catholicism seemed to be a good one..." Not laughing at you of course as you didn't know at that time but laughing at the notion that Catholicism is a good one. ;o)
ReplyDeleteYou know how you can flashback to a moment many years ago? This one I have stuck on instant recall. It was one of those teenager moments that you are convincing your self of your position as the words come out of your mouth.
ReplyDeleteLaughing at me is a good thing -let's hope neither of your lovely daughters ever pulls something like this on you... I'm sure my father was torn between laughing at me and crying.