Thursday, June 12, 2008

Sundays.

And after nearly five years of resisting her mother's pleas, she finally stepped into a Catholic Church. It was 3,000 miles and on a complete opposite coast of the modest mission style she had been basically raised in. And yet, it felt so familiar. For every Catholic Church is mostly structured in the same way, save for differing levels of grandeur.
She sat toward the back of the church for she still fell much apprehension in regards to her decision to partake of a Sunday ritual. Staying close to the doors would make for an easier exit, she thought. She looked around. And as the families made their way to their pews, it all began to feel more and more familiar. Everyone greeted each other with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. And she remembered what it was like to be a part of a community such as this. Adults marveled at how fast children were growing, ever-faithful parishoners commended youth on their continuous participation as alter servers, babies were held, passed, and admired.
And she then began to see why her mother never ceased to plea for her return to the church. There is a certain rhythm to life that such Sunday rituals provide. And though it could be because of the strict tradition of the Catholic Church, it was more or less the community that the church created. And while she had made countless cases with many facts as to why such a community could be detrimental (i.e. unfounded judgment, hypocrisy, and a seeming unwillingness to accept those who are remotely different) there was still so much good. And it was apparent merely by watching people. Yes, the nurturing of a faith in God was the primary reason for participation in the Sunday ritual. Yes, many came simply out of habit. Yes it was highly probable that many didn't have a strong conviction in their Catholic faith. And yes, she still believed that Sunday rituals did not directly (if at all) correlate to being a good person. But the love felt in that two to three hundred capacity building with its crucifixes, statues, and candles adorning all its walls, was un-paralleled. She had felt like such an outsider when first entering. But even just ten minutes into the Sunday ritual. She felt that love, which she hadn't experienced for so many years. It was non-judgmental, it was unlike any other feeling she had experienced.
And so as she looked up to the altar where the priest held his hands out in prayer, and while the congregation bowed their heads, she shook hers, and smiled. For yet again, her (at times seemingly insane) mother had been right again. Simple attendance at this Sunday ritual does make a difference in one's life. And to her surprise, quite a positive one.