Going Back

There He was – ripped, with a six pack, arms wide open, wearing nothing but a robe and a crown of thorns, suspended in the air, looking down at those who entered His house.

From the moment I knew I wanted to go, from the moment I parked the car, and again when I stepped inside that building, I knew nothing was the same for me.

Anxious, I was wondering what I would feel after years of not going. I mean, I’ve been there, and I’m sure we’ve all been there, finding ourselves participating, outside the bounds of our true desire.

How did we get there? Why am I here?

It was the first time, in a long time, where I felt as though I consciously wanted to be there.

The day prior I had a feeling, an urge to see what my heart and soul could have possibly been missing all these years, or maybe it was because there was enough time to fit something else into the Sunday schedule. Whatever it was, I went, and it was interesting, and it was familiar, and it gave me an experience I hadn't had before.

"Please Rise, Please be Seated, Word of the Lord, Please Rise, Please be Seated, Word of the Lord, Please Rise, Please be Seated” and repeat.

That part was, at least, familiar.

That Sunday was about actions, about how we are not perfect, but also about how we must continue trying to be the best version of ourselves we can possibly be. It was hopeful, and it made me want to question everything and everyone in the building.

There was a reading, an excerpt from the gospel of Mathew - talking about hypocrisy.

"So, you must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach." - Mathew 23:3

This reading focused on Jesus (Big J, JC, The Christ, the Homie Chuy - I’m sure you know Him) talking to his disciples and followers about the religious leaders and law makers of their time. He claimed their words were fine to follow, but their actions were not - much like that of the relationship advice a friend would give you, as they, themselves, are striking out in their own dating life. Jesus said their words must be followed, but not their actions - you get the picture.

Who’s advice truly matters, and why do we take it? After all, Jesus told his disciples to listen to the words of a hypocrite. Interesting, I get it.

A woman then read us the gospel, and I wondered about her, maybe more than I should have. She was a bit older, walked with ease, and had no trouble making her way to the stage – a regular churchgoer walking up to the podium, ready to fulfill her Sunday's mission. She could have been anybody's mother, daughter, or sister, with any job in the world - so why her, why did she get to read?

Perhaps, she loved her faith, maybe she’s been a follower since she was young, maybe she was filling in for someone else that day, or maybe she just wanted to be involved. However, what she read, and how she read it, through no fault of her own, did not resonate with me at all.

I wondered if any distinguished reader ever did fully comprehend what they were reading, or if they were just a person who was popcorn-picked to read a selection of the gospel that week. What do they actually know, how much do they actually care? Are they just trying to score a few brownie points with the big guy upstairs? Have they always felt this way about their faith? A bit cynical, I know, but I'm sure there must be a valid reason for her being undeniably qualified to read to us all.

I remember reading a passage during mass when I was younger. I think my catechism teacher might have made me do it, someone from the church did. I was probably around 8 or 10 years old. A little kid, I didn’t know shit. So, why did they give me the responsibility to address the church?

Maybe they thought it was cute or whatever, that it might ignite something in my 8-year-old self. I don’t know.

We’re here now.

On another note, why this lady was qualified to read a passage to us all, on this gracious Sunday, was not made apparent to me that day.

The priest then elaborated on those very same words with great insight, giving us a peek at his own life through his sermon. It was much more appealing than what the woman had read, almost like if he took the words of the gospel and added his own bit of elegance to it. I appreciated his take on the words, for one very unique reason - his honesty.

That is one of the most unique things about a priest, or at least, of this one. He was honest with the people he was serving, saying that he too was a sinner and a hypocrite. Elaborating on how he tells us how to live our life, according to Jesus, yet, he too sins. It was pure heartbreak, I was crushed.

He's supposed to be perfect, a spitting image of Jesus on Earth. Why would he risk ruining our image of him, my image of him, my first impression of him?

I believe it was because he is a good communicator, because he was being real with us - saying it's okay to mess up, as long as we take note and try to do better. It was not about him; it was about the message he was trying to relay. It spoke to me, and I’m glad he was able to get through.

He’s probably done this so many times, enough to know his congregation might have needed a bit more pizazz to fully appreciate the gospel on that given day. Maybe God knew I was in attendance and gave him a cheat sheet.

I think that’s the magic a dedicated follower can bring to people. After all, that is what a priest is, one of the most, if not, the most dedicated follower in their community – essentially the closest to Christ-like one can get. What he said was personal and to the point, and it made me feel as though I knew him. What a guy.

I did wonder why I wanted to go to church that day, maybe I needed it. Maybe I wanted to make sure that it was not for me. Some could even say it was a higher power who wanted me there, who wanted to reel me in for a purpose beyond my comprehension. Shit, I might even be okay with that.

It’s all up for interpretation, but I was there that day. What a sucker, I am.

So, what has changed? A few things have.

I was a teenager the last time I was asked to confirm my faith, the last time I can truly say I was eager to go to a Sunday service, the last time I was eager to live life according to the truth I grew up with.

I was 16.

As of now, that was the peak of my love for the faith I was born into, the faith that was adopted for me. That is not to say my passion for it is gone, it’s just different.

As a matter of fact, I think about it that much more now. Maybe too much? The irony.

This time around, I truly processed the experience as an adult instead of as a child, as a husband building a home and a life, as a critical thinker constantly wanting to learn more, as an individual trying to understand the world as best they can.

I am confident that living a life dedicated to one general religion, faith, and understanding of the world, is not for me. I don't think it’s for anyone. I think life should be viewed through a lens that is uniquely yours, ever-changing, without the constraints and subjugation to a one concept or train of thought.

I would hate constantly have blinders on, like a racehorse who needn’t any other train of thought during the immaculate race we call life.

Then again, I believe everyone should have the freedom to hold any thought, a basic human right to think freely, which in turn, paves way for masses to come together to rave about a book, about a man, about the cosmos, about the way life came to be and the way it might one day cease to exist.

Things can be beautiful, they can be ugly, they can be whatever you want them to be.

Sometimes, it’s hard to change things.

If you think about it, go for it, if you believe it, go for it - do what you need to do to find your peace. 

Thinking freely, a lovely thing. 

It was a good Sunday indeed.