Christianity: Been There Done That

Actually, to be more accurate, been there done that twice.

If I described my life, truth is, it might seem as though I haven't done much with it. I have a fair amount of potential, and a lot of talent in some areas, but seems as though it came hand in hand with a s**tload of self-sabotage. The result is that all my brilliant beginnings seem like roads paved with diamonds that shred the crap out of my tires. Many of my efforts just run out of air and go flat, while others spectacularly crash and burn.

As a result, most of my life, I turned my attention inwardly. I've been blessed with a lot of time, and have covered a lot of ground. Although I've done some writing about what knowledge I've gained, apparently no one connects with what I'm saying.

So maybe it would be more interesting to write about how I came to know what I know. Its this inward journey, much more than any description of my physical existence, that's really made my life worth living.

Christianity played a significant role, in fact it got the whole ball rolling, and that is where we'll begin. But I've been alive much to long to put it all in one post. This one will just be the first time that I was a Christian. I'll be writing future posts for later chapters of what I consider to be my 'spiritual evolution'. At the same time, its expression is the next step in the latest chapter. We'll just see where it takes us. (SO hoping I don't get a flat: /)

First Time Round

I was born into Christianity. Although my Dad never attended mass or even talked about his beliefs, my Mom was a devout Catholic, so we were taken to church every Saturday or Sunday for the entire course of my childhood. But that alone didn't really make me "Christian". At least in my experience, being dragged to church once a week and forced to attend Sunday School, did far more to cultivate resentment than awaken religious fervor.
But that changed dramatically shortly after I finished second grade when my family moved to a rural town in the outlying suburbs of NYC. When we first moved to town, the church was a small one room building with white siding and an unpaved area to park cars.

It didn't even have its own Pastor. A priest from the next town would come to say mass. Usually it was the Pastor himself, Monsignor Scully. I still remember him so clearly. He was probably in his late 70's and had a brutal schedule at his own church, but would drive a half hour to say another Mass for us.

When we first met him my mother thought he must have suffered a stroke because of his odd mannerisms. His head lolled from one side to the other, like his neck could barely support its weight, and he made this ticking sound with his tongue as if lacking control over its activities. Later she realized he was just exhausted from going nonstop 24/7, regardless of the toll it took on his large, aging frame.
No matter what the weather, he would show up in this beat-up station wagon. Even a snow storm couldn't stop him. He told us that each time the car started skidding out of control, he'd say a Hail Mary. And apparently She heard his prayers because, although perpetually late, somehow he always made it through. We'd wait quietly in the church with the steadily falling snow slowly adding up outside. Suddenly Father Scully would burst in, pounding up the aisle shouting apologies to the small group that was scattered around the wooden pews on either side.
Having served as Chaplin in WWII, war stories frequently slipped into his sermons.

I remember him once yelling about Hogan's Heroes, (his voice was always set on LOUD). For those who aren't familiar, Hogan's Heroes is an old sitcom that takes place in a German POW camp. Hogan is an American Captain. He and his band of faithful followers were constantly tricking their incredibly stupid captors and carrying out missions right under the German's noses.
As a war vet Father Scully felt it necessary to call out Captain Hogan. He let the congregation know that the Germans were far from stupid and that no one was laughing at the time. Can't remember what the sermon might have been about, or how that would have tied in, but in retrospect, he was right. What the hell were they thinking making a sitcom about Nazi Germany?

But that's not really my point. The reason I'm going on about Father Scully, is that somehow this man awoke in me, as a young child, a deep love for him and, at the same time, a love for God as well. It was, as I said, a long time ago, so I don't remember a lot of specifics of my "spiritual life". I'm sure I prayed a lot and felt a strong, connection to a Being beyond this earthly plain.

But the connection only lasted the brief time that Father Scully was charged with caring for our parish.
He was already quite old when we met him, and retired a year or two later. Our church got its own Pastor, someone that did not have the mysterious, mystical influence over me that Father Scully had. As a result, my religious fervor cooled considerably.
Sadly, when he was retiring, the Monsignor had wanted to buy a small house next door to our church, that was for sale at the time, but the Archdiocese prevented it. Maybe they were aware of the up hill-battle his replacement would face filling those gigantic shoes and felt his close proximity would only slow the process down. But without a doubt, things could have gone differently if I had his presence in my life throughout puberty. You can't say for sure, but it's entirely possible that I could have become a Saint by now.

Okay, probably not, but you don't know.

Instead my life went in an entirely different direction. My relationship with my parents was never good, so long before adolescence, I was in a state of rebellion. One day I told my mother I had enough of going to church. My older brother had already broken that ground before me, so there wasn't much she could do or say. By then I had lost my connection to God altogether. In fact I decided that I didn't believe in God because He refused to do things my way. Essentially I was mad at Him and, for much of my time as a teenager, I went on ignoring Him and insisting I was an atheist.

But this was not the end of Christianity in my life. I hope Christians reading this will not judge me too harshly at this point. I was only a child at the time, and clearly God forgave me. Fortunately for me, God doesn't believe in atheists.

Just bear with me and tune into future posts. I get far deeper and far more serious the next time around, I promise.