Just for today, it's OK to be Catholic for the sake of meeting new people. Yesterday, my friend Tracey brought me to her church. As soon as I walked in I was overcome with the power of my childhood faith, as well as the beauty of the men inside. Perhaps seeing me blush, Tracey informed me that this church welcomes and recruits gays and lesbians and that most of the men she noticed me ogglingwere gay.

Once communion started being served I realized that this would be a great way to scope out the rest of the parishioners. While I understand that I must confess my sins to be ready for communion in a Catholic church and while I realize that I haven't gone to confession since I was ten-years-old (and my only sin then was not listening to my mom), I know that the God of my new understanding would understand my needs. After all, he/she gave them to me. As I solemnly walked up each aisle, I casually glanced at each passing pew. However, I got so distracted staring at nice looking gay men that I failed to notice when it was my turn to receive communion. I was a little flustered, so I raced up in front of the priest and thrust out my palm at which point I knocked over the little cup that holds all the hosts. A slight commotion took place at which point I was shoved off to the right where I found myself staring at a statue of the Virgin Mary. She seemed to stare down at me in pity. Realizing that I had dissappointed her by attempting to receive communion with a less than pure motive, I said a quick penance and walked back to my pew with my head bowed in shame. It wasn't until Tracey drove me home that I told her what happened and she reminded me that I'm only human and it's OK to go to church to meet new people and even check out guys.

For the third time in my life I went to confession. Not so much to confess my sins, but because I was really lonely and the priest I saw last time was so nice. He was very happy to see me again and, luckily for me, I had some sins to throw in there so it didn't look like I was totally wasting his time. Despite the line that he had seen forming behind me (I had gotten there early) before he stepped in, he took his time to give attention to everything that I said to him. He told me that it's certainly time that I got married and asked me how old I was. When I told him that I'm 31, but still not sure I want to be married he said, "What are you waiting for?!" I felt like an over-the-hill spinster, but I really appreciated his kindness and departed from the confession booth with a new-found feeling of holiness.

When I walked out of the booth a mob of angry Catholics came down on, "Did you take long enough?!" They seemed very upset about the prospect of not being able to confess their own sins at that time. I ran away before they could jump me. With my new found holiness I felt grateful for the fast running legs I have. Just for today, I feel at peace with God.

As a courtesy to my fellow confessioners, I tried today to keep my confession (or the story of my life over the past two months) to a few key points. Father Ben has a way of making me feel like I'm making too big of a deal out of my "sins." After all, it's only human to hate certain people and wish them dead. Any reasonable Catholic has a healthy appreciation for the drama of human emotions. Needless to say, I said my penance by praying for those I resent and lighting a candle. While I was praying, I stared up at a mural of Jesus Christ, Mary and Joseph. I noticed that while Jesus stood in the center with his arms open wide, Mary had hers crossed over her chest (as if she was trying to hide her boobs) and Joseph was carrying a stick (as if he was preparing to beat somebody). I have often noted the odd bloody depictions of Christ on a cross that permeate most Catholic churches, but I never realized how depressing some of the portrayals of his co-horts are. Just for today, I can accept that the Catholic religion is bizarre.

It's OK to sleep through the boring parts of church and then wake up for the good songs and communion. Am I really worse off if I miss out on the (occasionally violent) scripture readings, the hymns about the Vatican's latest proclamation, and the sober priests' sermon that he belts out (even though he has a mike) like we're sitting a mile away? (Why does it feel like spiritual people are yelling their point - in books, tapes, etc.)? I'm sure the women sitting next to me weren't crazy about my snoring, but when I woke up I felt great! Just because the Catholic church is my spiritual home doesn't mean that it doesn't bear some resemblance to the dysfunction in my actual childhood home. Perhaps the Vatican is just one big Alcoholic father. Still, I love the gory drama of Catholicism, and I'm sure my children will get over the initial horror of it as well, and may fail to find a less dramatic spiritual community.

Just for today, I can sleep through the creepy parts of church.

My mind is a dangerous neighborhood, so I try not to go in there alone. However, today I did, and it got kind of scary. But then my higher power showed me a door which led to the 12-steps. As I was climbing the steps I realized that I was caring Jesus on my back, and I realized that I need to step into the circle of light because I have neglected the plants in my garden, which are rotting because the river of life is flowing away from them and into the ocean of humanity. So then I meditated and realized that I am living in a spiritual desert, and that I am a picture in a frame, but I need to stop decorating the frame and focus on the picture, so that it can fall into the ocean where the drum of life is beating.

Just for today, I can surrender my frame to the river of life and open the door to the safe neigborhood filled with people who can tell Jesus to get off my back.

Ok, so excuse me for getting the title wrong and forgetting to insert the "the" that Mel threw in there. Thirty-two years of church going (very sporadically...actually, make that about twenty years within a 32 year time frame) has just left me calling him plain Christ. I wasn't hip to the adjunct article because I haven't been up on the seventy million articles written about this movie. I'm just making small talk about another movie based on the most famous man in creation. So, please forgive my cluelessness, I'll try to keep up in the future.

I think a few parties involved are in dire need of a reading of "Co-dependent No More" (one party being the man himself, yes, Mr. Codepency, Inflated Sense of Responsibility, Watch How I Suffer and Feel the Guilt, the late J.C.) If Mel understood anything about healthy boundaries, he would know that Jesus Christ, while a seemingly groovy guy at times in his life (he really should have gone into medicine), must have hit a proverbial bottom in his life. I know that my bottoms have been characterized by the same sense of martydom and acceptance of abuse. But no, Mel, had to go and further glorify the one and only, most powerful symbol of guilt, martyrdom and manipulation in Western history.

I spent the majority of the movie humming Jesus Christ Superstar to myself until the woman next to me told me to be quiet. At least the musical depicted Christ as asking himself, "Am I crazy? What kind of God would have me suffer?!" Which is, I think, a very good question. It seems crazy for any God to want want his creation to be beaten to hamburger. I was taught at a young age that there might be some inherent worth or nobility in feeling bad. But now I am over it. So, get happy, Mel, so you don't feel the need to make any movies about how great it is to accept violence. I don't see any shrines to victims of domestic violence. If I walked out in front of a bus because I thought God told me to, I don't think there would be any shrines to me. I really don't. I don't mean to sound condescending, but I'm praying for you, Mel.

Just for today, I can say a condescending prayer for Mel Gibson.

This is how angry I felt the other day.

If Yoda can raise a sunken starfighter, I most surely can have a successful career and find someone to fall in love with.

Just for today, I'll let the words of wise people or, in this case, short hairless talking green creatures (what exactly was Yoda anyway?) speak for themselves.

I always have said that the Catholic church is my spiritual home. That is, it feels like home in the same way that the smell of rank day-old stale beer outside of a bar on a Sunday morning sort of feels like home. Not that the Catholic church smells stale and rank - it's a different kind of association. There isn't a smell for guilt, martyrdom, and drama. Let's just say that the Protestants are really lacking in personality when it comes to creating deities (not to mention the costumes, props and decor) associated with the creator of all living things.

When I first began thinking of God as something more akin to The Force (as in Start Wars - see blog below), I decided that the Catholic God is an alcoholic parent - irrational, manipulative, but capable of seducing you with the promise of fulfilling your deepest desires for love (i.e. heaven) with all the careless charm of an addict too preoccupied with self-destruction to waste time on your petty little needs.

But since I've never let emotional unavailability stop me from pursuing men, why should I let it get in the way of my road to God? However, attending church as an adult has always left me teetering between my childhood awe and wonder of the mysticism of the Catholic church and apt reverence for something so much greater than myself, and my adult skepticism of an institution that is inarguably perverse, outdated, and dowright strange. But as a child, it was all too weird to not be a little fun. I kind of dug the brass cups of blood (sybolically speaking), solemn super seriousness of old ladies dressed in black obsessive-compulsively muttering over beads, and priests bathing grown men and women with water. To this day, going to church is not that different from watching a really good production of "Jesus Christ Superstar."

However, having gone to college, I can see other things; how easily politics creeps in the pulpit, how scary people are who take the bible literally, and how little women can participate in leadership...to say the least. It's more a microcosm of society, than a safe space...

Sometimes, I wonder if it's time to let it go...

Just for today, I am a struggling Catholic.

It all started when Neil Walsh wrote "Conversations with God" and, seemingly, cornered the market on...well, conversations with God. I thought about writing a book called "God Had a Coversation With Someone Else, Too," but I didn't have enough dialogue to fill up a book. To be honest, I had no dialogue because I 've never had a personal conversation with God (I didn't know he spoke English so well)...I think I was just jealous of Neil cuz God talked to him and not to me.

For a while I tried to use the word "God" as a catch all word for anything that occurrs that didn't involve my planning, like rain, sales, sinus infections, and the occasional good vibe. But now God is responsible for foreign policy?! God is resonsible for our failure to sign the Kyoto Treaty, start a war in Iraq, and arrest Cat Steven's arrest? God is a Republican?

Someone once told me that if you stop using swear words you can start thinking up other words to describe your emotions...I think I'll apply that to "God."

Alternative Words for "God"

The Universe (way overused)
The Way Stuff Is
The Force
Godess
Chi (is that how you spell it?)
Coffee (jk)
Wind
The Deal

Just for today, I can find a new word for "God."