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Finding a Messiah of Sorts By Frater M.O. | |
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.  I knew she wanted to get married in the old church even before we walked in from the cold. "Isn't it beautiful?" she said as she looked up at the cathedral towers. I did my best to appear unimpressed, although, it was difficult to not admire the ornate gothic cathedral. There was something so confining and controlling about organized religion. Once we entered, I noticed traditionally Italian tiled floors and rich dark wood covered with beautifully hand-carved depictions of biblical scenes featuring apostles, the phony virgin mother and her crucified son that ran from floor to ceiling. Blank wall space was covered with pictures of Jesus, or crosses and images of peasants admiring Jesus or crosses or pictures of Jesus. "Too much homage to a dead guy," I thought. A dark and humungous pipe organ played ghastly music with frowning pipes vents that I knew was meant to strike the fear of god into someone less willful than I am, sat on one side of the candlelit room."Oh, it is so beautiful. More than I remember" she added. "Maybe not bad for a church in the United States but in Spain," I thought, now "those are churches." We walked towards the pews and she squeezed my hand and smiled at me. "Not my religion - not by a long shot," I thought. I smiled back at her and watched her gaze around at the wondrous architectural achievement that surrounded us. I felt a compulsion to argue history with her. After all, I was well versed in all the conspiracy theory and the many scholarly findings from dozens of books - I would make a case against Christianity. I would make a case against Jesus, the guy chosen to be an icon by the elders who edited the New Testament at the meeting in Nicea in 342AD, but it really did not matter, she was in awe. So, I took a walk to plan my anti-Christian litany as a Christmas present. Hanna talked me into seeing Midnight Mass. She claimed the choir would bring tears to my eyes. As I strode around the confessional booth, I saw silent and respectful Catholics filling the pews. The only sound was the click-clacking of my boots across the floors that echoed though the high ceilings. "How could I get married in a place with too much reverb," I considered. I clunked my way passed the plastic manger that included a plastic baby Jesus with long golden blonde locks of plastic hair. The fake baby Jesus' arms reached out toward me as if to ask for my soul. "I wondered if Jesus existed at all." Historically, there is no evidence of him outside of some stories from the apostle Paul. Even if Jesus did exist, geographically he might be an African - and a black guy. "Bet that would piss off these hypocritical rule-loving Catholics," I thought. Hanna caught my eye from across the room, "Let's get married here," she said in a loud enough whisper to cause an animated stir among the worshippers near Hanna. I smiled back at her with self-righteous indignation. Turning back, I stared into the forged baby Jesus' blue painted eyes and considered my own perfected spirituality until an older red-sweatered man asked me to please take my seat. The wooden pews were hard and made me squirm. I sacrilegiously took off my shoes and secretly dared someone to ask me to put them back on as the congregation waited an additional 20-minutes before festivities got under way. Finally, a man wearing an overly complicated robe and a silly hat followed by two crew-cut headed second fiddles made a grand entrance and proclaimed the hour of god was upon us. The room quietly shuddered in fantastic rejoice and admiration. I shifted slightly to let out a fart. Then, several plain white-robed individuals ceremoniously lit candles throughout the church. The congregation bowed their heads in unison. I did not because I pretended I was not paying attention. The faithful prayed to have JC absolve them of their sins. I watched them pray to a smiting, punishing god. I contemplated, "Catholicism is nothing more than Judaism-lite." At last, the choir strode in and took their places in the church and a brief moment later, they began to sing. Hanna began to fill with emotion, as their well-trained, well-rehearsed voices consumed everything around us. However, not a crumb of spirituality or connection registered with me at all. "Too many rules," I thought. While I respected their talent and unity, my fiancé was overwhelmed. I watched her as tears streamed down her face. I remember thinking as this angelic choir soared to melodic perfection, "Where is the truth in all this? Doesn't anyone read a history book? Why can't I find god here? Then my angel spoke unto me, "Because tonight you have chosen not to find Light in yourself. Tonight you chose to find judgment and comparison on what is a sacred night in a sacred space for some. All words sacred and all prophets true, save they know a little." And as a final direction, "Take what you like and leave the rest" Here is what I liked. As ceremonialists, the clergy were passionate and their actions were well rehearsed and crisp. The choir's voices were brilliant. The craftsmanship was wonderful. Politics aside, these people wanted peace and to celebrate the teaching of who inspired them to ceremonialize, ritualize, bow, kneel and pray. These are not bad things; I have been willing to do the same for other ideas and ideals and to my own definition of a more attractive deity. My own self-important smiting intellectualism could fight no more. I was left with surrender. Surrender meaning choosing movement towards the victorious side. Later, I found myself joyfully singing along with the room full of excited Catholics after I had allowed myself the vision to find our commonality that had little to do the mythology of Jesus. I would love to have you believe that I began to sing for, or with, them - I did not. I also sang because the song "Gloria" reminds me of home and I know all the words. Hanna and I decided that night to get married in a Chinese restaurant. Love is the law, love under will in excelcius deo. Questions, comments and hate mail are strongly encouraged. By the way these thoughts do not necessarily reflect the ideals of Cor Lucis as a whole or its members... but they might.
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