Of Catholic Guilt

So with all the drama of being sick and admitted to hospital, and when I say drama it's mostly because I am very drama (an aspect of myself I attribute to my Indian roots) especially when sick, so anyway, with all the (emphasis on the word) drama of being in the hospital, I said out loud through labored breaths that as soon as I could breathe again and was healthy, I would start going to church again. Of course, at that point I was heavily drugged but there were also about ten people around me and out of the ten, one of them was my grandmother and everyone who knows my grandmother knows that she is only the head advisor to the papacy in Rome, so really, this was a classic Becky-shooting-self-in-the-foot moment and there was no getting out of this one.

But seriously, I did figure that it was about time I started going to church again. See, it's not like I had forgotten God and was completely derailed from the path of eternal salvation (still not too sure what that is), I just stopped going to church because at some point I began to realize that the only reason I was doing it was because it became part of my Sunday routine and because that's what everyone else did. I didn't truly make an effort to want or even understand why I went to church every Sunday. And at mass itself, most of the time I didn't understand the significance of half the things that were going on. Quite honestly, I still don't.

Let's go back a little though. Now, I was born, original sin and all, into a good Catholic family. And as with all traditionally catholic (yet another oxymoron, I know) families, I was baptized in church at only a few weeks old, ergo, ridding me of original sin and fully equipping me with catholic guilt (as I say this I whip myself three times, I kid). I grew up, a typical, good, wholesome (yes, I laugh too), Catholic girl, well for the most part of it, at least. I went to catechism classes on Sunday mornings, said the Rosary with the family ever night, wore a dress to Mass on Sundays (the most Catholic I will ever be), and as a teenager was the president and I kid you not, of the 'Young Catholic Students' society (ah, good ol' YCS), where we organized very catholic youth rallies and camps and praise and worship sessions and in all naivety believed in sex after marriage. Radical, I know.

Anyway, I guess at some point you grow up, and such childlike innocence and unquestionable belief is replaced with adult-like skepticism, cynicism and well, reality. You find that, love, sunshine and happiness don't really make the world go round, otherwise Yugoslavia would still exist (okay, maybe not the best example, but still).

In addition, the Catholic faith has never made it easy for itself anyway, I mean, with it's stand on contraception and it's strong condemnation (such a Catholic word) of certain lifestyles. So, I found myself not being in sync with my birth religion anymore. Thus, I decided that until I fully understand my faith it made no sense for me to go to church and so I became the occasional Catholic. I'd go to church on the occasion's, you know, Christmas, Easter, Good Friday, Holy Thursday and Ash Wednesday.

Anyway, come last Sunday, through the 'very subtle' joint efforts of my family and friends it was ensured that I attended evening Mass. You got to appreciate the Catholics for their considerate evening Mass service, catered to the needs of the Saturday night drinkers. So, naturally, we arrive late, but I've always thought God doesn't mind tardiness so much, it's the Catholics that do.

We walk in, make the customary Sign of the Cross by dipping our hands in Holy Water and proceed to stand at the back, not outside but inside (I hear there's a whole different type of catholic judging for those who stand outside and at the back). At this point, I'm comfortable with our chosen location, it's inside, so it's cool because there are fans, and being at the back meant I was out of view of the pious Catholics. This location was also good because I haven't been to church in a while, so I'm not so familiar with the order and procedure of things anymore, you know, when to genuflect (another very Catholic word),when to stand, when to kneel and so on. Just at this point, the reading of the Gospel ends and (it is disrespectful to walk around during the gospel but anyway), just as I am adjusting the weight from my right leg to my left, as to commence 'cool'-standing-in-church-stance, dear Fifi Jane then decides we should sit. Disaster.

First of all, we were rather late, second Fifi Jane decides on a pew about 15 rows from the back, and this to me is like 'we might as well sit at the alter!' , and then we also kind of salah budget the space on the pew - we estimated for two, but as we turned around our troop of three other friends had followed behind us. So now there were five of us trying to shuffle our bums along trying to make space for each other. Anyway, by the time we were done with this embarrassing commotion, and had composed ourselves it was time to recite the 'I believe' which is not the 'I believe' anymore and has been changed to something else, I believe (pun distastefully intended).

Good thing is, I survived the rest of the service without further embarrassment. This, I maintained by kneeling or standing half a second after everyone else so it didn't look like I was unsure about what I was doing. I did however come away with a couple of thoughts, as I always do.

Okay first, the music by the two and a half piece band was horrendous. Aside from the songs being sung at a painfully slow pace, it sounded like Willie Nelson and Kenny Rogers had a huge disagreement and decided to do their own thing which was to sing miserably while outpacing the other.. Like seriously, they sounded a bit like unhappy drunks. I've always thought songs of praise should be sung happily and enthusiastically. Like if you read the bible and the book of Psalms you'd get an imagery of people prancing around, tapping their makeshift tambourines but most importantly, essentially happy, whilst singing praise to God. I understand that these people volunteer, and good on them, but if you're going to sound forced and absolutely unhappy whilst singing a hymn of praise, then it just ain't working out, just don't sing. Instead, we could read out the hymn enthusiastically.

Then there's good old Father Volle. Bless him, a sweet old, French priest who has served the parish for as long as he can remember and I promise to go for confession after this, but ever since I can remember, I've never been able to understand a word of what Father Volle says. To be fair, his speech has improved tremendously over the years but still not so clear. Although, as I write this I feel that Catholic guilt gnawing at me (whip! whip! whip!) and feel terrible, he really is a sweet man, just very old and very French, that's all.

Then there are the wardens. Ah, the wardens. They take it upon themselves to be the KGB of God and the parish, assassinating anyone who's phone beeps or is caught chatting, with their killer looks and supersonic stares. Oh, and don't even think of lining up for communion if you're not Catholic and don't even dare think of stealing the host (sacramental bread), because they see everything.

But the thing that really struck me - and not in a flash of lightning, spiritual reawakening, type of way, but in a hmmm, that's rather strange type of way - was the choice of this one hymn called 'The Canticle of the Sun'. Now, this hymn was written by St. Francis of Asisi and according to the ever convenient-yet-highly-unreliable-but-still-useful-Wikipedia, it says that :

The Canticle of the Sun in its praise of God thanks Him for such creations as "Brother Fire" and "Sister Water". It is an affirmation of Francis' personal theology as he often referred to animals as brothers and sisters to Mankind, rejected material accumulation and sensual comforts in favor of "Lady Poverty".

So, last Sunday I had to sing this hymn, that had the words "Brother Fire", "Sister Water" and "Lady Poverty" in it! With a straight face. Is it just me, or does anyone else agree that St. Francis of Asisi was a bit of a hippie? And so, I looked around and wondered if everyone in the congregation absolutely understood what they were singing, or were they just singing because it was projected on the big screen and it's something you 'just do' every Sunday.

I then remembered the experience of attending Mass said in Melanau, in Dalat, a remote but beautifully tranquil village by the river, a two hour boat ride from Sibu, Sarawak (google Church by the River). To begin with, a woman was elected by the priest to give the sermon that even included a slide presentation. It was not so much her talking at or to the congregation rather it was more a sharing from her and how she related to that day's gospel reading. They also had both boy and girl alter servers that wore traditional type Melanau costumes - you must understand that the alter servers err... movement here, has always been heavily biased and dominated by the male gender (as with most aspects of Catholicism) and as a kid I'd always thought it'd be cool to be an alter server, so to me this was a big deal. More impressively though, they sang hymns composed in Melanau that absolutely made sense in relation to their everyday livelihood - hymns included thanking God for good crops, and to help the farmers and keep them safe, etc.

It was absolutely fascinating, how a group of people, considered a minority, from a remote village somewhere deep in Sarawak, whom depended on the land for their livelihood, practiced such a modern, adaptable and culturally enriched version of the same faith.

St. Francis of Asisi composed "The Canticle of the Sun" in 1224, and you know, that's what Mass on Sunday evening felt like, like we were stuck in 1224. Actually, that's what the Catholic faith feels like sometimes, like it has been eternally stuck in 1224. The only time I've seen the church adapt was earlier this year, when Chinese New Year fell on the same day as Ash Wednesday, and because it was "bad luck", Ash Wednesday was considerately moved to a Friday.

I guess, after all that, my one sentiment is that it'd be nice if the Catholic faith weren't so, well, how would you say... old school and a bit more logical and applicable to today's world. (Ah, already I hear your thoughts of 'but that is faith, you have to believe...'). Well , the one thing I've always understood about religion is that, it hardly is logical. Oh, but look at me, back to church for one day and already I've got so much to say. Oh dear, whatever will those wardens think. Whip! Whip! Whip!