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hathycolI class myself as a lapsed Catholic, or according to facebook, a superstitious Catholic. After a long amount of self-doubt brought about by reacting against a school that forced it down my throat, I realised that a firm Catholic education since I was three had taken it's toll; I'm completely blindly terrified of hell and I feel bad for a lot of things I do a lot of the time. It is a Thing. I'd also feel more comfortable having baptised children, to be married in a Catholic church, and so help me, I want a priest there when I'm dying, and I want to be buried in consecrated ground, and I want to be buried. I think the Pope can be misguided on a lot of issues, and that he is just a man and that is all, but I also think that there's something to be said for following his lead when he'snot being blind. I don't think all Popes were good people - Alexander IV fathered Lucretia Borgia; Boniface VIII was a madman; Innocent III was generally rubbish; Julius II went to war - but I think the idea is right. I don't eat meat on Good Friday. I can still sing a lot of hymns.
I apply all these things to myself, though. I'm taking Simon's wishes into account when it comes to the thing above that we'll be sharing, because the period of self-doubt came from the fact that I am outraged and horrified by the assumption that my way is the only way forward. I also have a lot of self-doubt that perhaps I'm wrong and it turns out that perhaps Calvin was right and God really is that much of a bastard; perhaps I should have converted to Islam years ago; perhaps Jesus really was the false prophet and Christians in general should have stuck to being Jews; perhaps we should all be worshipping his Noodly Worshipfulness. There's even science to prove that last one.
To be honest, I'm a rubbish Catholic, I really am. I don't go to church, I haven't been to confession for years, I've never tried to convert someone and I see no reason to do so, I find overt religiousity a little distasteful unless someone takes it to extremes - word up, kids, it says in the bloody Holy Book you keep on trying to bash over my head that it's harder for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than a rich man get to heaven, and no, really, that honestly isn't a metaphor idiots - and actually becomes a hermit or something and all in all all that's basically left is a belief in the Nicene Creed (I believe in God the Father, etc, etc) and that if a priest is there at the end, everything will be sorted out.
It's a... childlike faith, I think. I always like having a safety net. I, er, pray sometimes. Not often. Not formally. I rattle off my Our Father and Hail Mary as a ritual before exams, as something to ward off the evil eye, like a protection. (I can even do the Ave Maria now, because like everyone brought up Catholic, it's clearly better in Latin - Ave Maria, gratia plena... don't correct me on spelling, I can only do it phoenetically.) Sometimes I do a desperate plea when things go horribly, awfully wrong, and it's nice to imagine that someone is out there. God Himself might not give a crap, of course, but, well, there are saints. I like saints. The saints care, the saints intercede.
And, in the end, I think this is all why I'm finding my course in divinity so utterly depressing. I can't find much that I sympathise with, in terms of religion, with Martin Luther. I have nothing whatsoever in common with Calvin. His doctrines frighten me. It's not the religion I recognise, the one that I was brought up with; a comforting presence, with processions and ideals and traditions that mean a lot, no constant self-examination. Catholicism has a forgiving and noble God, who gave up his Son out of that love, who promised never to bring disaster again after sort of accidentally drowing the world. Where the important part is faith, hope and love, and the most important of these is love.
Where, basically, if you live a good life, then it's okay if you missed a few sacraments. You might go to Purgatory for a wee bit, but that's okay, because you'll get out. I believe in heaven, too. No, really, I do. It's not very trendy. I know. I don't talk about it very much, because I think other people don't care, and I don't think about it, either. Because I don't need to. There's a safety net there for me, and that's good.
Here, unfortunately, is where we've reached the problem that divinity has given me. Other than being incredibly depressing and just gave me the same anger that a Catholic education did, it's done something else - it's made me doubt in that safety net. And that makes me angry. I spent two years of my life coming to terms with the fact that I had that safety net. And I was happy. I liked having it there, I liked the feeling that someone cared.
And I've gone through a semester of people telling me that such faith is silly, that I should be constantly thinking and evaluating it, and that works for some people, it does, and I'm glad for them, but it's doesn't work for me.
I think I'm going to go to church on Sunday. I've never felt a blinding flash of light about church, but I find the rituals comforting; these rituals have existed, in one form or another, for thousands of years, and more importantly, they've existed for me for as long as I've lived, and with what, a billion or so Catholics around the globe? they'll keep on existing. I'm looking forward to going to Mass in Venice, and then again possibly in the Vatican City in September, and I don't see anything wrong with that; I find Mass comforting. I find my religion comforting.
I'll stop feeling so angry and alone soon. But now, reading Calvin's Institutes, a book that apparently inspires about eighty million or so people to live a better life,, I just think 'why?' and cling onto what threads of my childhood I have left.
And that's all I'll say on the topic of faith. I have better things to talk about - the lady doth protest too much, or so it seems to me when people constantly fucking bang on about how lovely they find their conversion or whatever - like David Tennant, and history, and university, and the fact I went to Primark and brought some boots for £2. But I needed to get this out before I go and dig up the body of John Knox. It doesn't help that I live in St Andrews, the home of the Scottish Reformation. Seriously, you have no idea how many of the buggars I can go and defile the graves of. (He's buried under a car park in South Street, for those who are.)
Lastly, please don't take any offence from this. I have respect for everyone's personal religion, and if it makes you happy, and it doesn't make you do things like blow up entire countries, or at least trains, or riot at the funeral of dead soldiers, then I honestly don't care. This is just what I think, and how it has an effect on me and, to be honest, unless you're in the divinity department of the university of St Andres or are personally John Calvin, it's not directed at you.
I just needed to get this out. Sorry again.
I apply all these things to myself, though. I'm taking Simon's wishes into account when it comes to the thing above that we'll be sharing, because the period of self-doubt came from the fact that I am outraged and horrified by the assumption that my way is the only way forward. I also have a lot of self-doubt that perhaps I'm wrong and it turns out that perhaps Calvin was right and God really is that much of a bastard; perhaps I should have converted to Islam years ago; perhaps Jesus really was the false prophet and Christians in general should have stuck to being Jews; perhaps we should all be worshipping his Noodly Worshipfulness. There's even science to prove that last one.
To be honest, I'm a rubbish Catholic, I really am. I don't go to church, I haven't been to confession for years, I've never tried to convert someone and I see no reason to do so, I find overt religiousity a little distasteful unless someone takes it to extremes - word up, kids, it says in the bloody Holy Book you keep on trying to bash over my head that it's harder for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than a rich man get to heaven, and no, really, that honestly isn't a metaphor idiots - and actually becomes a hermit or something and all in all all that's basically left is a belief in the Nicene Creed (I believe in God the Father, etc, etc) and that if a priest is there at the end, everything will be sorted out.
It's a... childlike faith, I think. I always like having a safety net. I, er, pray sometimes. Not often. Not formally. I rattle off my Our Father and Hail Mary as a ritual before exams, as something to ward off the evil eye, like a protection. (I can even do the Ave Maria now, because like everyone brought up Catholic, it's clearly better in Latin - Ave Maria, gratia plena... don't correct me on spelling, I can only do it phoenetically.) Sometimes I do a desperate plea when things go horribly, awfully wrong, and it's nice to imagine that someone is out there. God Himself might not give a crap, of course, but, well, there are saints. I like saints. The saints care, the saints intercede.
And, in the end, I think this is all why I'm finding my course in divinity so utterly depressing. I can't find much that I sympathise with, in terms of religion, with Martin Luther. I have nothing whatsoever in common with Calvin. His doctrines frighten me. It's not the religion I recognise, the one that I was brought up with; a comforting presence, with processions and ideals and traditions that mean a lot, no constant self-examination. Catholicism has a forgiving and noble God, who gave up his Son out of that love, who promised never to bring disaster again after sort of accidentally drowing the world. Where the important part is faith, hope and love, and the most important of these is love.
Where, basically, if you live a good life, then it's okay if you missed a few sacraments. You might go to Purgatory for a wee bit, but that's okay, because you'll get out. I believe in heaven, too. No, really, I do. It's not very trendy. I know. I don't talk about it very much, because I think other people don't care, and I don't think about it, either. Because I don't need to. There's a safety net there for me, and that's good.
Here, unfortunately, is where we've reached the problem that divinity has given me. Other than being incredibly depressing and just gave me the same anger that a Catholic education did, it's done something else - it's made me doubt in that safety net. And that makes me angry. I spent two years of my life coming to terms with the fact that I had that safety net. And I was happy. I liked having it there, I liked the feeling that someone cared.
And I've gone through a semester of people telling me that such faith is silly, that I should be constantly thinking and evaluating it, and that works for some people, it does, and I'm glad for them, but it's doesn't work for me.
I think I'm going to go to church on Sunday. I've never felt a blinding flash of light about church, but I find the rituals comforting; these rituals have existed, in one form or another, for thousands of years, and more importantly, they've existed for me for as long as I've lived, and with what, a billion or so Catholics around the globe? they'll keep on existing. I'm looking forward to going to Mass in Venice, and then again possibly in the Vatican City in September, and I don't see anything wrong with that; I find Mass comforting. I find my religion comforting.
I'll stop feeling so angry and alone soon. But now, reading Calvin's Institutes, a book that apparently inspires about eighty million or so people to live a better life,, I just think 'why?' and cling onto what threads of my childhood I have left.
And that's all I'll say on the topic of faith. I have better things to talk about - the lady doth protest too much, or so it seems to me when people constantly fucking bang on about how lovely they find their conversion or whatever - like David Tennant, and history, and university, and the fact I went to Primark and brought some boots for £2. But I needed to get this out before I go and dig up the body of John Knox. It doesn't help that I live in St Andrews, the home of the Scottish Reformation. Seriously, you have no idea how many of the buggars I can go and defile the graves of. (He's buried under a car park in South Street, for those who are.)
Lastly, please don't take any offence from this. I have respect for everyone's personal religion, and if it makes you happy, and it doesn't make you do things like blow up entire countries, or at least trains, or riot at the funeral of dead soldiers, then I honestly don't care. This is just what I think, and how it has an effect on me and, to be honest, unless you're in the divinity department of the university of St Andres or are personally John Calvin, it's not directed at you.
I just needed to get this out. Sorry again.
