For someone who has spent 18 years in Catholic schools as a student and taught in one for 3, I really don’t talk about religion all that often. Well, I suppose that’s not true. I do talk about it. I talk about it a lot in fact. But I talk about religions—not about my own faith and the constant embattled journey that it is.
It’s a topic that we can avoid talking about quite easily. It requires a question that people shy away from asking. You simply don’t ask someone how their faith is, or even if they believe in God. It’s one of those questions that are too uncomfortable and too sincere to ask, like “Are you happy?”
My original draft of this entry told a long chronological story of visiting churches, and I tried to cleverly embed my thoughts amidst the storyline. It was a disaster. There was something missing, but I couldn’t place it. I must have read it upwards of 40 times. I eventually realized that in all of the words I had written, I hadn’t really said anything, or at least I hadn’t said what I thought. It had lost its authenticity.
There is something to be said for just telling it how it is, so I am redoing it now.
What I saw: A church
I visited Sacre-Coeur, in Paris. I was ushered around the interior walls in a hurried fashion and forbidden to take pictures. People still did.
What I thought: This is wrong
How wrong to be ushered through a church. How wrong to forbid pictures of such a beautiful place. How wrong to be taking pictures when asked not to. How wrong to be taking pictures of people while they are praying. How wrong to be treating them as a spectacle. How wrong to be taking a tour of a church during Mass. How wrong to have not realized it was a Mass time. How wrong to not sit down and join them in prayer as I realized this. How right to finally do it.
What I did:
Attended a mass in French. Thought about life and God. Lit a candle.
What I saw: Light
I went to the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris during a service. It was getting dark outside, but inside was glowing with candles, elaborate lighting, and the sunset through the stained-glass.
What I thought: This is beautiful
This is what I remember Mass feeling like when I was younger. This church is beautiful. How could I not realize this is a mass time? That’s twice today. I am again touring with a crowd of people during a time of prayer. I feel guilty--I must be Catholic.
What I did:
Found a pew to sit and join the service. Left after communion (You'd have been proud Dad). Lit a candle.
What I saw: My breath; darkness; somber people
I walked into the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Rouen, and it was so cold I could see my breath. Outside it was warm.
What I thought: This is uncomfortable
This is uncomfortable to be so cold. The lack of light is eerie. Is this how a church is supposed to be? This feels so dark. It definitely has that holy aura about it, but in no way does it feel comfortable. Was there a time in which this building saw light? Was there a time that people came here and smiled? This is comforting to be aware of my senses. This is comforting to be aware of my thoughts. This is a good church.
What I did:
Walked around and stopped to reflect when moved to do so.
What I saw: An elderly woman
She was in the darkest corner of the same cathedral in Rouen sitting in front of the statue of Joseph. She was there when I entered and remained when I left an hour later.
What I thought: She…
She is so still. She is so quiet. She comes here often. She looks sad.
What I did:
Took a moment to appreciate my family and friends. Lit a candle.
What I saw: Two women
They were in their 60’s. They were eating breakfast at one of the 6 tables in the dining room of our hotel. They were speaking English. They were talking about religion.
What I thought: This is not a coincidence
I am late and I should go. I should talk to them.
What I did:
Stopped and introduced myself. Listened. Pulled up a chair. Had a cup of tea. Talked candidly about my faith. Took a piece of paper one of the ladies offered me. Put that paper in my pocket for safe-keeping.
I have always been one to question my faith. Blind faith has never made sense to me. In fact, it has enraged me at times. Not questioning is not a show of good faith. It is a show of cowardice.
I can’t say that my faith is the strongest it has ever been. It’s also not the weakest. It’s a work in progress. It’s a journey that has no end.
Sometimes I forget I am on that journey though, and without someone asking me the questions, I can wander a ways without remembering where I am heading. I walked up to that first church in Paris, and though it took me a few minutes longer than it should have, I remembered where I belonged, and I took a seat, in the back row of course, but I took a seat…
…and I asked myself the questions.
We often ask for the wisdom to find the road. I think it’s the courage to stay on the road that is hardest to come by.
