I am not "religious". I probably should qualify that statement: "I do not practice my religion often". I attend Church services on Easter and Christmas with my brother. He and the family of a friend cook up a feast. I have incentive. When I was a kid I was given 50 cents allowance each week. It meant I could go to many of the weekly Saturday matinees at the local cinema. I could buy popcorn and maybe a soda and scream, yell and throw things with, and at, the other kids. The fact that there was a particular movie, was sometimes a plus. My attendance at church twice a year is somewhat similar.
At my last visit to church there was an interesting situation. A woman sitting across from me sobbed openly through most of the service. It was a long service, the Christmas midnight Mass. Someone crying or demonstrating extreme emotion is kinda unusual here in the United States, especially in a predominately white, middle class parish. I remember visiting a church in Italy years ago. There was no service taking place, but an elderly woman was conducting a loud, demonstrative conversation with a statue of a saint. Only the tourists did more than cast a glance. Religious services in Africa during my Peace Corps days rivaled a rock and roll concert. There was shaking, baking and rolling on the floors. Even with the help of heavy duty drugs we didn't create such a scene back in the 60's and 70's. Maybe Woodstock came close.
Now this woman at Christmas wasn't a "Holy Roller". She wasn't rolling on the floor or speaking in tongues in an uncontrolled manner. She was sobbing, usually quietly, but sometimes louder. A woman on one side of her held her hand occasionally. A woman on the other side, older, sat stiffly, never looking her way. I have no idea what the relationship was of either of these woman.
Now I should mention that this was at the beginning of the "flu scare". The priest began the Mass by saying that there would be no drinking of wine from the chalice and no shaking of hands as a "sign of peace". I heard that at one church the priest said: "Now, instead of telling people to shake hands, we’re more likely to say ‘Touch your neighbor’s shoulder". Now for me the shaking of hands as a sign of peace is the one time during the Catholic service that parishioners are forced to recognize each other. Maybe, just maybe, that might explain why I never saw anyone demonstrate the smallest sign of compassion for the woman sobbing across from me.
Don't get me wrong, I didn't run over to the sobbing woman and hug her. Nor did I take out my wallet after the service and offer to pay her rent or the vet fees for her sick cat. I am as guilty as anyone else. I don't want to put myself in the shoes of those less fortunate. I have my own load to bear, and it gives me a daily workout.
I need to buy a couple of books. I should probably buy How To Be A Perfect Stranger: The Essential Religious Etiquette Handbook to learn how to attend a Church service when most of my days are spent as a heathen. I am not twisting the necks of chickens for Satan. Nor am I saying Three Our Fathers and Hail Marys before going to bed. I don't know what book to buy to learn how to become a better human being. Even when I have the intention to be kind, or compassionate, I have forgotten what to do. The other day on the bus 80% of the passengers where wearing headsets and were totally oblivious to each other. I am not offering excuses, but I am out of practice. When is it OK to smile at someone. I am afraid of being shot, or arrested as a pervert.
While bicycle riding through some of the most beautiful, rural scenery in New England, a friend rode the whole time with the earplugs of her mp3 players glued to her ears. So much for enjoying the sounds of nature. We are out of touch with each other and our surroundings. I, as guilty as anyone, need to shake out of my rut. I can take comfort from the words of Mother Teresa: "we can not do great things on this earth, we can only do small things with great love". Hopefully, if you see me on a bus, I will smile in your direction. it may not be much, but it would be a start. I will measure success not by what I do, but that I do something.
On a lighter note, may I recommend for your enjoyment: I am still chunky, hefty; maybe even still obese
See links for all the Genesis posts to date: Genesis Through My Eyes
Also, you may enjoy reading: Be aware of the snowball effect of your thinking
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