I have been Roman Catholic my entire life, baptism and first Confession and first Eucharist and all. I have a rosary hanging above my bed; I prayed before every theatre performance in high school. Once, I was in the hospital for two weeks and I asked for a priest every Sunday so I could take Communion because I wanted to be a good girl and eat the bread of life and the body of Jesus and all that.
And also because the hospital food sucked.
I also have a huge advantage when it comes to Middle Age or Renaissance literature with Bible references because I actually know what they're talking about. Cutting a baby in half or corn flakes falling from the sky? (OK, not corn flakes, but it's the first thing I think of when they talk about the Exodus. Manna or whatever). I feel prepared, like I know my stuff when it comes to this stuff.
So coming to University of Portland, a well-known Catholic university, hasn't been that big of an adjustment for me. It's sort of comforting to be able to go to Mass every Monday in my hall and to sing the familiar choir songs that I've known for a majority of my life.
This isn't bragging, by the way. Far from it. Sometimes I think I'm actually just a little bit really fake. And sometimes, I wonder how much of it I actually believe and how much of it is just going through the motions because they're familiar to me. I mean, I sincerely love the order of Mass because it's the same no matter where in the country, hell, even in the world, you go.
And if I'm going to be really honest, part of the reason why I even show up to church half the time is because I love to sing. Not because of the verses or the message or because I'm such a True Believer or whatever, but because I'm an actual drama queen who will take whatever chance I can get to stand up in front of people and sing.
I feel like this might make me a bad person. Does it?
But at the same time, I feel like I like the idea, I really do. My God, when things are going really sh*tty, I'd love to be able to look to the sky and say with utmost confidence, "Hey, Jesus, buddy? Can I get a little help out here? Thanks bro."
I can't even begin to imagine how that must feel; it must be such a relief? So amazing? Like being able to take off armor and put it down, or like sitting down after walking for a long, long time. Wow.
But unfortunately, I'm no Joan of Arc. I'm no Mary Magdalene. I can't hear or see anything, and because of that sometimes I feel like I'm left grasping at air, trying to look for something that's invisible. Or maybe doesn't even exist. I want it to exist, very badly, even if sometimes it may seem like I don't give a damn, but... I don't believe we are born with an inherent purpose in life. I believe that we are supposed to find it eventually; I believe it's out there, but...
"Forgive me Father, for I have greatly sinned, in my thoughts, and in my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do."
Whenever we stand in church and hold hands and recite the profession of faith, when our voices come together as one, like singing a song that everyone knows the words to, when I stand on the platform in front of rows of people that we call "brothers and sisters," when they know the words and we all speak of peace and love towards one another... well, to be honest, a part of me wonders sometimes if we sound like a cult.
Especially the part where we all say in unison, "We look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Amen."
Like. Zombies?
But at the same time I'm wondering just how crazy we sound to other people, another part of me feels chills running down my spine. I know we're not any more good or worthy than other people, that religion doesn't make us good people. I know that back home, at my small church in Southern California, as soon as we get out to the parking lot we're all going to be swearing and racing to get out of there the quickest. At the best, we're AM/PM Christians, coming to church when we're obligated to at Easter and Christmas and saying that's good for the year. But at the same time, at the same time...
My mom says there's no morality without God. I disagree. At the same time, though, I can't pretend that it doesn't influence the way I think either. I feel like I could try my damned hardest to run from it, but religion has been such a formative part of my life I can't distance myself from it.
I know there are things that I reject, like "no gay marriage and no abortion" (its 2016, come on) and I know that we're not good people just because we sing songs and got dunked in water as babies. And I've read the Bible, I know it's full of death and hate and the walls of Jericho falling and heathens falling beneath righteous blades and that honestly human history is so messed up and the God of Moses is freaking terrifying but...
There's something innocent in it too.
"Bring all the little children to me."
"My son was lost but now he is found."
Unconditional love, no matter how many times you've messed up. Kindness. Gentleness. Justice, righteousness. Good versus evil. Such primal things, such simple things that I can't even begin to comprehend, but I can't reject either.
There's something beautiful in it, I think. And not just Christianity, but in religion in general. In believing in something, in anything. Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, just the power of belief, in the idea that there's something greater at work.
That's really scary. It's sort of intense. And even though I could try to push it away, I always end up coming back to it. Because I grew up knowing the stories, that there's a certain heart to belief, regardless of which branch-- whether you're Christian or Jewish or Muslim or whatever, it doesn't matter.
There's a heart to it that says, "Come in. Come here. No matter how tarnished, you are worth something, you are worth kindness and you are loved."
Isn't that lovely?
I have a lot of sh*t in my life. I know that. And there have been so many times I have prayed and nothing happened, and I swore, and I hated and once I yelled out in middle school that religion is just a crutch so people don't feel alone.
I feel very alone sometimes. And I want more than anything to believe that I'm not.
And one more thing. That rosary I tacked up above my bed with push pins?
Yeah, its kind of a piece of sh*t. The chain broke ages ago and instead of fixing it I looped a paper clip through it and kept using it.
But it's for that very reason that I keep it. Because it's not perfect (It might actually be bordering on sacrilegious, actually, I have no idea...) and because of that it represents exactly how I feel, perfectly.
I'm no Joan of Arc; I'm no Mary Magdalene; I can't hear God, but I want to, and I want to believe that He can hear me. Do I sing because I love to sing, or do I sing because I want Him to hear?
Maybe it's both.
