Faith...

I’ve been thinking lately (especially of late) – about faith. About my experiences and how they have shaped me.

I was born and raised Catholic. In some ways I had no say so in the matter. I was baptized by a nurse who thought I was going to die – I don’t know why she took it upon herself to do this – she must have realized my family was Catholic – in this day and age she would have probably been sued for doing such a thing. I am not even sure if it even ‘counted’ (although when I was ‘taught’ about Catholicism I was taught that ANY Catholic in good standing can baptize someone else – perhaps that has changed) – I was formally christened about a month after my birth.

As a youngster I was very much into being ‘holy’ although I am sure my behaviour bespoke a different sort of ‘vibe’. When I announced in 4th grade that I wanted to be a nun, my mother promptly informed me ‘they wouldn’t have you, C -, you are too bad’ – mainly cause I was always in rebellion, questioning, misbehaving.

When I think about what I treasured, held sacred from my faith, several things come to mind.

The rituals of the church were always a comfort to me (they still are). Certain rituals rank higher than others.

Mainly, a lot of the rituals center around Lent: The Stations of the Cross, the burning of incense, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and then Easter Sunday hold special significance to me…(sometimes laughingly I think that perhaps it’s a ‘Goth Chick’ kind of thing…).

The only other part of the Catholic church that resonates that strongly with me are the stories of the Saints. I used to pour over their histories. I was fascinated by the Saints. By what drove them to be so ‘different’, to suffer, and to be willing to put their very lives at risk for their faith/their love of God.

I would ‘romanticise’ their experiences – even though they were often tortured and killed because of their faith (again probably a ‘Goth’ thing here). I could tell you how St. Catherine of Alexandra died (the Catherine Wheel), of how St. Lucy lost her eyes – lots of martyr stuff – pretty heady stuff for a little girl.

Now my faith has become something quieter. Something that I feel strongly about yet am also at times tested on (as are all of us who profess to be of a certain religious denomination) – there are many things over the years that have tested my faith – and there are just as many things that have served to make me turn to it time and time again to get me through. I pray a lot. I ask for guidance a lot. I ask for patience a lot. I ask for my fears to be removed (this one gets a lot of attention). I am also always and forever being thankful for the wonderful people in my life, for my very life, for all that I am give (even those things that I *don’t* particularly want - for the tests of character and the sorrows/tragedies are just as important as the good events).

I know I am a rebel (duh) – I know I am stubborn, willful, and headstrong. My mom was probably right – had I become a nun I’d have turned the convent on its ears – but then who knows, maybe that's the kind of thing needed when it comes to faith.

Jesus was a radical and revolutionary as well – he flew in the face of convention, he questioned authority. I’d have been in good company.