So here it is - Sunday again. I'll go through all of the motions of going to church, basically to sit there staring at the holy woodwork for an hour and to wonder what I believe. Truth is - I don't know any more.
It was easy as a kid. I simply believed everything the big people told me about God and heaven and how to get my little ass there someday. If I wavered, I could count on my parents, my grandparents, the nuns to smack me around to get me back onto the straight and narrow. A trip to the dark box, a magical "Bless me, Fodder, for I have sinned...," a couple Ave Marias and Pater Nosters and there I was - as good as new. Now, though, it's not that easy.
I try to be a good person. I know I suck at being patient with other people and that I'm likely to either burn in Purgatory for a few centuries or to come back as a garden slug in another incarnation for sort of teaching my kids to make fun of people, for making sport with stupid people who work cash registers, and for screaming at people at the other end of service calls who aren't capable of being helpful after I've spent too much time pushing numbers on the keypad of my phone to talk to them in the first place. Other than that, though, I think I'm okay. I just don't know what I really believe, and I worry about what I might not believe any more that might be necessary to save my sorry ass from going to hell.
Everything about my marriage - about my sexuality these days is utterly contradictory to what the major religions teach, and yet I am more in love with my wife now in our unorthodox ways than I ever was before. Life feels good, and right, and is much more worth living than it had been in a long time - perhaps more than ever. I can't believe that what we do is objectively wrong; if I did I'd have to stop - and I don't want to. And so I question the whole structure of conventional morality and wonder what I believe even as I plod forth in the Communion line like some rough beast slouching toward Bethlehem.
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2 comments:
Joe
Just don't get me started on religion.
I believe an hour spent in church is an hour less in bed worshiping Alex.
Call me selfish but I'm not giving that up for anything.
I agree with Suze! If I had to get up and go to church every Sunday, Wednesday, Saturday, to prove my faith, I would lose out on those other important things in life. And who would I be proving my faith to, God, the congregation, my family, my friends, myself? God already knows my faith, as do all the people I surround myself with.
Life is too short to spend it in a large building with strangers, listening to the diatribe of a seemingly mortal man who has been raised by the church to a stature that no human begin should rise to. A man who in his bed has the same desires, thoughts, and lust that I do. A man who can guilt you into giving money, donating your time, and believing that you are a frail, spiritually weak, immoral person who is going to hell unless you do this or that.
I would much prefer to prove my faith, if I must, in other more significant ways, (yes significant to me) donating money, loving my family, communicating with my friends, and building stronger bonds of love, commitment, and friendship with The Biker.
Amen. And Amen.
The Teacher
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