Spirtual thoughts...

I've been reading my friend Bryan's blog a lot lately, and it has me thinking about my take on religious life.

I guess I'd be more apt in calling it an irreligious life.

Here's the truth, right to the point: In college I decided I didn't quite believe that Jesus was the Messiah. A cool guy, maybe, with a nice message and words to live by, but whether God literally sent him to be our savior is something I'm not convinced of. So, that's an issue. Also, I am what might be described as a bad Catholic.

I find myself struggling with my Catholicism a lot lately because of the colliding forces of the blogosphere, my impending nuptials, and Natural Family Planning (endorsed by the Couple to Couple League, a Catholic entity). It's good to remind yourself of why you do things every once in a while.

I have a primal urge to raise my children in a traditional, Catholic manner. It's my culture, it's my people. I want them to march solemnly in white down the aisle for their First Communions, just as badly as I want them to anxiously wrack their brains for something to confess when first confronted with the Sacrament of Penance. The whole process of Catholicism is not unlike running the gauntlet, with many trials on the way to salvation. But that's what's so great! Salvation is earned, it's not a free pass. You want forgiveness? You have to ask somebody, and you have to be really sorry. You'll actually have to prove how sorry you are. That's where the Hail Marys come in (at least, that's what they say in the movies). I like that. It's all about action, and hopefully, sincerity.

Don't get me started on the mystery of it all. The Catholic Church, I'm sure, prides itself on its sense of mystery and suspense. Ceremonial gowns, candlelit altars, drifting incense. It's such a production, such a show of faith. The bell rings in the tower at the precise moment when the wine makes it miraculous transformation into blood. As the congregations kneels before Christ's body, the choir begins its melodic peals on cue. You almost expect a curtain to lift, and the cast to come out, bowing emphatically for the grand finale.

Eventually all this, the chanting, singing, kneeling, praying, it all becomes rote. Somewhere, something is lost. The meaning of the Word floats somewhere above the incense, impossible for parishioners to grasp. But even then, it's still okay, because this weekly repetition is itself a form of prayer: it is meditation, losing yourself and your consciousness in the motions; it's a kind of unthinking, undoing. It is a way to be present in the moment.

I remember when I was a senior in high school, my English teacher, Mrs. Mountford, was describing a poem to us. I don't remember the poem, but I remember the direction of the discussion: Christianity, and the body of Christ. She said, "Think about that for a minute...eating the body of Christ." The thought struck me: I was a cannibal, and so was everyone in my family. It only felt outdated, though. Just a remnant of our collective mysterious past. I knew it was only bread and wine. I felt smarter than the Eucharist.

While all that pomp might be problematic for my non-Catholic friends, for me, it's a source of solace and comfort. While the world continues to spiral into chaos, here are the Roman Catholics, holding on to their traditions for dear life. It's life-affirming. It's cozy continuity. It's coffee and doughnuts in the church basement.

So, while I might have a hundred problems with Catholicism, for me, it's the cultural aspect that is a constant draw. It's ethnic, in some way. It's living out my Italian/French-Canadian heritage. I don't feel guilty that I'm not a perfect Catholic. I've never felt guilty about skipping church or swearing. Either I'm too demonic to feel good old fashioned Catholic guilt, or I just don't think there's any to be had. Guilt is what you make of it. The only time I ever feel guilty is when I'm in the presence of some other kind of Christian and they make it a point to talk about "Christianity" as if it is the opposite of "Catholicism." I don't think they're the opposite. But for some reason, I just keep on feeling guilty about BEING Catholic. Like it's a dirty thing to be, like I'm somehow unworthy. Like I don't really know what's going on--as if my Christian identity is lost in a fog of incense. It's guilt I'm never quite prepared to bear, and I resent it. Part of the guilt is really just paranoia, but I resent that, too. Maybe resentment is the new guilt?