Faith on Faith
By Cicero | Related entries in Religion
Last Sunday, in the baleful, relentless May rains of Massachusetts, my wife, two year old daughter and I went to the neighboring town to try out their 9:00 Catholic mass. We’ve been church shopping since our move from California, trying different parishes in neighboring towns.
We arrived drenched in rain, at about 8:50. The church building was small and plain. Inside, the congregation filled the pews and spilled into the aisles, where children of all ages were doing their best to behave. Near the altar were the musicians. They had guitars, a synthesized bongo drum, and voice. They were practicing their bits with the microphones turned off. There was confabulation between neighbors and parents. The priest and the altar girls were near the front entrance of the church, lighting candles and inspecting each other’s vestments.
We sat in the last pew. My wife and I couldn’t help but notice that the average family size in this little church must have been three children. We saw some families arrive that had five or six children. Many of the families were young. The human energy in this little refuge from the gray rain torrents outside was palpable. And loud.
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We’ve begun looking for a Catholic church to regularly attend for many reasons. The most pressing reason is our two year old daughter, who can now speak in short sentences and recall events from a few weeks before. Her memory is astonishing. If we want our little girl to be a part of the culture from which her parents came, now is the time. Up until now, not going to church seemed logical if only to avoid the sheer hassle of her infantile months. Hardly a young lady at two, she is at least manageable, and more importantly, impressionable.
Going to church is unusual for me. I was raised Catholic, in a very conservative parish. I grew up believing, then later disbelieving. Then still later, believing alternative things, only to find them dry and unfulfilling. Religion hardly seemed like my vocation; it was more like a club where all the members would nod their heads at the same things, followed by donuts and coffee. And sometimes, not even that. Much of the time growing up in the Church, I was simply there. Nothing else was apparent, or possible.
To this day I have troubles with many facets of the Catholic faith, taken in parts. I’m just not sure what to think about the Church’s absolute stand on homosexuality, celibate male priests and the role of the laity. I’m suspicious of some of the notional aspects that any religion tends to promote.
But now I am 43, and part of me thinks it’d be nice to go to a good old fashioned Latin mass, with the works: Gregorian chants; the priest standing towards the altar; the mighty pipes of the organ; frankincense wafting from the gentle chain-swinging of the priest’s brass thurible. At my age, all that seems comforting in its solemnity. It respects my past, and my culture’s origins. My craving for the Old Ways is like a boomerang fulfilling its 30 year trajectory, hitting me in the back of the head with a thud.
“BANG! I told you I’d be back someday.”
The truth must be told, since I’m on the topic of an institution that promotes The Truth. The truth is that I’m not sure if I am looking for God, or simply taking refuge in aesthetic. It’s a very old aesthetic, going back to my youngest days, and to my civilization’s beginning. I now go back to tap into a deep well whose surface remains quite parched. I cannot deny my daughter these waters, though seldom do they quench my sorrows and pains. It’s the sound of their trickling that suffices for now. I want her to hear the waters that I once heard so well in early morning masses. I want to give her the opportunity to drink from that well. I want to give her something richer than I alone can provide, in spite of my doubts.
“But why Catholic,” one of my coworkers asked me. “You guys sound like you’d love the Unitarian Church I go to. It’s so inclusive and it puts all religions on equal ground.”
That does sound very egalitarian. But somehow, a smorgasbord of religions sounds too postmodern for me. It is odd, but at this point in my life I feel like a salmon who must swim back upstream to spawn — for my daughter’s sake. It may not be logical. But it is necessary. And putting all the religions on a lazy susan and spinning it in front of her is not what I want to do to her.
In these times, finding certainty can be an obsession. Religion offers the possibility of an eternal order that includes you, where you can feel protected and safe. For all the detractors calling religion irrational, looking for order and the Creator’s love might be the most rational thing in the world. I take no umbrage at other people’s faith, as long as it does not impinge upon my own — or lack thereof. Unlike in my twenties, when I felt the need to shake-off a Catholicism that I felt was imposed upon me, in my forties I respect people’s quest for certainty and solace.
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Back to last Sunday, at the little New England church. It’s 9:00. People have quieted down. The rain can be heard pounding on the roof and dripping on the outside of the stained glass windows. The building feels like a sanctuary in this weather. Then the music begins. The priest and the altar girls make their procession to the altar. Though somewhat stale, the words of the mass fall out of my mouth in familiar tones. It’s all still there, deep inside of me.
In front of us is a family with a little girl, the same age as ours. They make faces at each other during the mass, fiddling with their sweater buttons and flipping the pages of the missals. I remember doing these things. I remember my father would sit in the pew, holding his missile a certain way in his hands, partially scrolled with his thumbs crossed to hold it shut. I remember doing the same thing as him, trying to be like him.
Maybe I’ve conflated God with religion, religion with aesthetic, with community, with culture, nostalgia and a father’s need to do right by his daughter. Maybe none of those things have anything in common with each other. That is never far from my mind, and is a barrier to faith for me.
Faith is a mysterious thing. I don’t know that I have much left in me. That’s sad. But maybe for my daughter, I will simply have to take faith on faith.
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May 15th, 2006 at 11:28 pm
This is a very beautiful essay. I share your skepticism towards traditional religion but I very much understand your sentiment about unitarian universalism and the lazy susan. My impression — and this is just a guess — is that you want your daughter to be exposed to the beauty, love, and transcendence that can be embodied in an ancient religion — and that seems a very noble and good thing — but aren’t so sure about other aspects.
I feel that it is perfectly good and just to allow each individual to sift the contents of a particular religion, harvesting the wheat from the chaff. I place more faith in the divine within each person to discern truth rather than a huge and ancient bureaucracy. If it feels appropriate you may as well want to help your daughter separate the wheat from the chaff in the tradition as she grows older.
Substitutionary atonement and original sin — eh — but who can argue with love and justice and beauty?
If this strategy feels right to you, pay no attention to the mindguards and authoritarians who harangue you with tired rhetoric concering “cafeteria catholics” and “religion is not a smorgasbord. ” Trust your own intuition and simply reply that no religion has a monopoly on truth. You may even want to teach her about other religions as she grows older — weaving in other religious strands as seems appropriate.
May 16th, 2006 at 8:44 am
I echo Eusto, and also think that it is good to let a child find the good, the bad, troubling and soothing characteristics of practiced religion. I haven’t returned to the faith, and don’t know whether I will in the future … but for my own children … I gave them the menu, and let them choose by their own taste. You are providing the basis for choice …. that is a good and honorable thing.
May 16th, 2006 at 10:49 am
A lot of people come back to church because of their children, in my experience. Kind of a natural cycle of faith.
Speaking of Unitarians, one of my wife’s friends in seminary was a Universalist Unitarian. She would always add “I’m a Universalist Unitarian” to her name when introducing herself. That always struck me as odd, almost as if she were playing a religious game of one-upmanship. Well, that and the logical disconnect of a Unitarian attending a Christian (or any other) seminary. Why invest all that effort and money in studying the intricacies of a faith that is fundamentally incompatible with your own?
So, Cicero, how was the service? Did the blending of “High Church” and rock-n-roll elements work for you? I find myself to be pretty much a universalist when it comes to services, and this one sounded interesting.
May 16th, 2006 at 3:38 pm
It’s become almost doctrine that people who grew up in the church and then moved away, come back when they become parents. I think that both oversimplifies it and overrepresents it, but you’re describing what happens to many. I’m a believer in the still, small voice that calls you, and you respond even when you’re not sure what it’s saying. I don’t proclaim that church, or Christianity, is the answer to everything. And I don’t deny that in many cases the Church would be better off without many of the “Christians” who show up there. But I do believe that, beneath the noise and hubbub of the religion that is so loudly trumpeted by the Pat Robersons and the Jerry Falwells, is a faith that can offer many things in many ways. it doesn’t matter whether you’re “conflated God with religion, religion with aesthetic, with community, with culture, nostalgia and a father’s need to do right by his daughter”. You can figure that out later. For now, take it for what you get from it.
May 16th, 2006 at 3:38 pm
My father had a saying regarding those times in each of our lives when our faith waned, “Fake it till you make it.”
May 16th, 2006 at 3:41 pm
“I share your skepticism towards traditional religion”
Eusto, I think that is the healthiest way to keep one’s focus on God. The traditions we inherit are necessary to our identities as individuals, but at botom they are human and they bear watching. We Christians are supposed to have a very healthy scepticism towards our human nature and its tendency to wickedness.
“religion is not a smorgasbord. �
I think it is always a smorgasbord, just like any other aspect of culture. Linguists talk about idiolects and are always taking pains to get as broad a sample of infromants when they are trying to describe a new language, because they recognize that individuals have their idiosyncracies. The same holds true for the rest of culture.
God is mysterious, and our expereince and experiences of him are mysteries, and we wrap them in concepts in order to make some sense of them. That is what Paul means about having thee treasures in earthen vessels. The Liturgy is porcelain, which is to say, earthen.
May 16th, 2006 at 3:44 pm
You say you don’t know that you have much faith left in you. And how does one measure faith? Mustard seeds?
What a wonderful essay. Grandly honest, picture perfect, thoughtful and richly overflowing with faith.
Thank you.
May 16th, 2006 at 3:51 pm
Teach your daughter by example how to live an honest life. You don’t need to throw the invisible sky-man in to the mix. Religion is all about doing the right thing, because if you don’t you’ll go to hell.
Why not teach her to do the right thing because that is how you live your life, and it makes you feel like a good person.
May 16th, 2006 at 4:35 pm
I was raised Catholic, and in my younger days went to daily mass. I am now a 54 year old grandmother of two, soon to be three. After our daughters were born, we left the church and raised them as Unitarians. They have grown in to amazing women with deep and true values, a clear understanding of their connectedness to the rest of humanity and a willingness to accept others wherever they are on the journey.
I could no more return to a church that does not allow the full participation of women in all the sacraments, then I could take wings and fly. I have found a UU church that is deeply devotional with its own comforting rituals including a communion service on Christmas Eve at midnight. I hope you find a spiritual home. Its good to have a harbor in these unsettled times.
May 16th, 2006 at 4:41 pm
I share your struggle with finding a good church. Hawaii seems to be lacking with the traditional Southern Baptist services I grew up on. I have yet to stick with a church the 14 years I have lived in Hawaii.
My wife grew up Catholic, alhtough all she remembers about the services is putting in the dollar her mother gave her and sitting in thte back of hte church reading her Archie comics while the service was going on. She says she is non-practicing now, whatever that means.
The topic of finding a good church came up, as did with you, as our 3 year old son started to become truly aware of his surroundings. It is the age of discovery for them and what better time to expose kids to religion when they are gullable and naive. I mean that in a good way.
My wife and I have come to the conclusion that we will expose our son to both sides of our faith and just leave it up to him when he is older to decide which, if any, route he feels drawn toward.
I guess I’ll have to go to a Catholic church one day with my wife but I am reluctant to do so, partly out of some guilty pseudo-betrayal to my own faith, but mostly because the Catholic faith confuses me- too many “things” to keep track of just to worship the Almighty. Perhaps they are just stereotypes on my part just as my wife has her own about Baptist churches having huge choirs, helfire and brimstone messages, and plenty of food to eat after the service.
May 16th, 2006 at 4:54 pm
I can’t imagine taking my kids to a church. They could be standing near me when the floor opens and swallows me up.
May 16th, 2006 at 4:58 pm
If you have no faith, why are you pushing something like that at your daughter? Can you not wait until she is an adult and let her seek her own faith?
May 16th, 2006 at 5:52 pm
I haven’t actually read all the comments, so I apologise if this is completely moot, or whatever.
I really appreciate what you’ve written. I am staunchly athiest (something which has developed over time from being vaguely agnostic), and sometimes find it frustrating and confusing that anybody could possibly believe much of what the bible (in my limited knowledge) teaches.
Your viewpoint is beautifully written, and if I personally would want to being my child/ren up without religion, I can definitely see where you’re coming from. It is great to read something I can relate to on the topic of faith, and I can definitely appreciate that having faith to turn to would be a great comfort.
I admire you for putting what you see as best for your child before what you believe/what you think you believe.
May 16th, 2006 at 10:49 pm
I’m going to copy my comment from over at Winds of Change:
You’ve made me think back to my childhood and realize that for a child, even before she or he is capable of giving much thought to ultimate questions, religion is a sensory experience. Holidays and services are magnificent works of collective, four-dimensional art, multisensory environments for a child to be blissfully immersed in. There are smells, sounds, tastes, and also a sense of solemnity and mystery, and of anticipation and orchestrated crescendo. And holidays are aligned with the seasons. All of this strongly appeals to a child in a sensory and emotional way. It speaks directly the the soul, which is less concerned with the concept of “God” than with the experience of mystery, power, awe, and beauty. Life is poorer without that. There the Unitarians may be missing the point. (But it sounds as if Mary Sheehan’s UU church isn’t missing it.)
To a child, also, Bible stories are mainly just great stories.
I went to a Reform synagogue, but we had an exceptionally great, warm rabbi, Jacob J. Weinstein, who radiated the humor and warmth and compassion of the tradition (and also marched with MLKing). We had Sunday school, with very vivid telling of Torah stories and celebration of festivals. Most of all, we had an amazing cantor, who was (unbeknownst to us kids) a famous composer of Jewish liturgical music, Max Janowski. We had a professional-quality organist and choir. Max’s melodies came roaring out of the choir and organ loft and bathed us all in a passion that we didn’t understand but felt directly. I can still hear and sing his melodies to Hebrew prayers.
Unfortunately, I felt pretty much the same way as a child about churches I visited, and Christmas, and even Hallowe’en, as I did about the Jewish holidays that were my own heritage. When it came to holidays and mysteries, I was like — the more the merrier!
May 17th, 2006 at 12:21 am
I am Jewish and my wife is Catholic. We have two kids, boys ages 2 and 4. We tried going to Jewish services but we couldn’t get over the tribalness of it (as a Jew I never thought about how much we talked about OUR ancestors and OUR land in service). We went to Catholic mass and I found it deeply uncomfortable, mostly because I just thought the point of the whole thing was the rituals. There was no meaning there. Strangely, my wife agreed. So we go to a UU church now, and we love it. But what we really love about it is what it does for our children. They learn about morality not because of some extrinsic fear of eternal damnation, but because of its intrinsic worth. Only by contemplating human nature and human service, and by acting in the interest of justice and peace, can you understand the intrinsic basis for our morality. Ironically, I have a greater appreciation for Catholics, evangelical Protestants, Muslims and Jews because of my experience at the UU church. We all need some guidance to find the truth. We are all imperfect.
Things came to a head recently when my father-in-law pestered my wife about getting our 2-year old baptized in a Catholic church. My wife kept resisting. Then finally she asked, “Dad, do you want him baptized because it’s a family tradition of celebrating a baby. Or is it because you’re worried he’ll go to Hell.” He actually admitted that the reason he wanted our son baptized was because he feared he would go to Hell. For that, we’ve decided to get him baptized in HIS church, and do NONE of the pre-baptismal preparation (except as required to do the service). Since neither my wife nor I believe in “Hell”, the whole thing seems a pointless and meaningless ritual. It’s been quite a depressing thing, the only benefit of it seeing that he was honest. But it reinforced why I don’t want my children inundated with the propaganda of one faith.
I want my children to consider their spiritual nature. When we go to church, we say, “That’s where we learn to be nice to other people.” The rituals are foreign to both my wife and I. But every once in a while something resembling the Catholic mass comes out in a service. Or a beautiful prayer in the minor key in Hebrew reminds me of the songs of synagogue (my favorite part of Jewish service was the music in minor key). Those moments feel nice for both of us. But the deeper purpose of the church for us is for our children to understand the intrinsic value of each human being. Why doing right is right, not because God might reward you, or Mom and Dad will smile, or you might get rich, but just because it comports with your basic understanding of how we should live and who we are.
May 17th, 2006 at 3:24 pm
When our children were very small and we were living thousands of miles away from friends and family, in a very different culture, I worried about the traditions that they were missing. A friend told me not to worry: that no matter what you do, you end up creating traditions and it is those traditions your children will cherish. You are cherishing a lot of things in your return to church attendence: the comfort and certainty of your parents being there to take care of you, God in his Heaven, and all being right with the world. The words, the music, the rituals are bringing you comfort. Wanting to build something like that for your daughter- so that it is there for her when she is as old and trammelled by the world as you are- is a lovely thing. But both nostalgia and the issues of different ages may be colouring the picture for you. Your daughter, if you raise her as a Roman Catholic, will be trained in the rules of the faith as much as in the sensory experience of incense. When she is asked to confess her ’sins’ at 7, she will (as you probably did) have to think of some naughty thing that she did, and call it a sin. She will have to accept that by virtue of her chromosomes she cannot be a leader in her faith, only a follower- no matter what her gifts or calling may be. She will have to wrestle with all the growing up issues that you have forgotten about- and that seem so far away with a lovely toddler- about what it is to be a person, a woman, and what her faith tells her about both. She will have to deal with becoming a woman in a church that is currently extremely shrill and negatively focused on issues regarding sexuality. If you have successfully inculcated a strong sense of Catholocism in her, and it turns out that she is gay – hard as that may be to imagine of your sweet little girl- she will have to reconcile her faith with a church that fundamentally rejects her. This will not bring her the lovely comfort of ritual, but significant heartache and anguish, no matter how she ends up resolving it. And these are only some of the issues she will face. It sounds as if you want to be one of those famous ‘a la carte’ Catholics- I’ll come for the music and the ritual, but will pick and choose which of the actual tenets of the religion I accept. I understand that with people who were raised Catholics and are trying to reconcile that with their adult thinking, but I don’t understand why you would then put your daughter into it head first. She will accept and internalize whatever faith ritual you give her, but there are many, many other ways that you can give a solid base. The Episcopal Church, for example, which sometimes rudely- but not completely inaccurately- called Catholic Lite, would give you much of what you are feeling nostaligic for, but with a more catholic (in the original sense of the word) approach. By all means, help her build a foundation- just take off the rose coloured glasses first.
May 17th, 2006 at 4:44 pm
Every time someone hears that I am a Catholic, they immediately feel the need to tel me why they are no longer Catholic. Fundamentally, all the reasons come down to a simple point: it’s hard work. It’s easier to just “be” than it is to actively be a part of the church and examine one’s personal issues with the church.
Rather than work towards change (which has been done before and will be done again), it’s far easier to throw up one’s hands and say, “I don’t like a part of this, so I’m leaving.” Those who think that in fifty years the priesthood will be composed of only males are kidding themselves.
Such things are really small trifling details in the grand system of beliefs. If you don’t believe in an all-loving, infinitely compassionate God who sent Jesus to teach us, serve us, and die for us, those are legitmate reasons not to be Catholic. If you do not believe in the Real Presence in the Eucharist, that’s another legitmate reason. Because you disagree with the Church’s stance on stem cells, that’s almost always an excuse used to leave when the real reason invloves a deeper rift that requires much more pain to understand. There are sociopolitical views in which I disagree with the Church, but I take comfort in the fact that the Chuch is made of humans and therefore is possible to be wrong. Heck, they’ve even acklowledged many mistakes over the years.
I won’t say never, but I can hardly ever remember hearing a homily about doing something to gain salvation. That’s never how Catholicism was presented to me. Instead, I was alwyas taught by my parents, teachers, and priests to do the right things because of love for God and love for others. Salvation isn’t some scavanger hunt prize that you win by completing a checklist, and the post-middle ages Church doesn’t teach that it is. Instead, we’re taught to do right because it is inheriently good. All else will follow.
Many changes have already come. Most of us are too young to really know what it was like pre-Vatican II. You may remember Latin Masses and lots of incense, but you probably don’t remember the lack of laity involvement with parish operations, or marriage preperation run only by priests, or the inflexible boundaries that marked a parish’s district.
Today, there’s lay involvement from the tinest rural parish all the way to Rome. A priest may want to do something, but it’s the parish council (formed of laity) that controls the finances. “[Laity] activity in ecclesial communities is so necessary that, for the most part, the apostolate of the pastors cannot be fully effective without it.”–Catechism 900.
This isn’t directed at any particular comment, just a general ambling along a thought path. Ask yourself about the issues that you have with the Catholic Church. Are they over small political issues, or fundamental tenents? Are they covering for deeper, more painful issues? And perhaps most importantly (and I’m referring to myself here, too), in issues where I disagree with the Catholic Church, am I sure that I am right?
CIcero, you will find the answer you seek as long as you try. It may not come soon, it may not come when you expect it, and it may not come in the form of Catholicism. God knows we’re going to fail, that we’re going to have doubts, that we’re going to make mistakes. He just wants us to try again.
May 17th, 2006 at 5:47 pm
There is little I can add to what has been said. My heart is warmed by your honesty and candour.
I have no church to promote. I have no ideology that constrains what I say to you.
Your path is before you. Walk with confidence. Do not look back with regret.
Have joy in your family.
May 17th, 2006 at 7:32 pm
I would second Aine in her recommendation of the Episcopal Church, which has much of the ritual of the Catholic Church but with a more liberal outlook more in tune with UU sentiments. I think Aine is very right — why put your daughter through all that stuff? I must confess that I was raised Episcopalian though I’m now a spiritual “freelancer.”
Another thing about the Episcopal church is that their music is often better. The few times I attended a Catholic church I was shocked. I was hoping for more ritual, some “latin” flavor — ahem — but it was so low church. Some contemporary thing on a piano. The Episcopal church is much more likely to play a Bach prelude on a great church organ than the Catholics — at least in my experience. It’s definitely worth a try — you’ll get more of the ritual and less of the claustrophobic conservative authoritarian guilt stuff.
I understand Tim’s point. But if you want to reform the Catholic church why put your daughter through all that — unless you want to “debrief” her after each service. You could wait till she’s older if that’s your real desire.
I’m not much a fan of suffering for an organization. Vote with your feet, you know. A church is there to serve the spiritual needs of its members. Something perverse is going on if people are harming their own spiritual interests for the sake of an institution.