November 8, 2007 05:38 PM
Finding Something to Believe In
When I was about 13 years old, something happened in my church that nearly drove my mother crazy. That was the year that Catholics were able to begin receiving holy communion into our hands, rather than having it placed on our tongues by a priest. I'm not really sure why this bothered my mother so much, because she rarely attended Mass on Sundays, or any other day for that matter. I attended regularly since I was in the folk choir, and whenever I asked her to join me, she'd say: "No, you just go for the both of us."
The fact that she was so vocal about the communion change magnified the question (in my mind): why wouldn't she go to church with me? It all started to really get me down, and for a while I wondered if she believed at all, and if Mom would join me and my siblings in the great hereafter if she didn't straighten up her act and get her butt into a pew--fast. So I prayed for her and hoped for the best, and eventually I grew up and realized that just because she didn't practice her faith the way I did, didn't mean she was doing it wrong. And even if she didn't believe at the moment, maybe that was just all part of the journey.
This all came rushing back to me a few weeks ago, when I found this letter on Salon.com, from a man who's atheism was feeling shaky as he nears his forties and is starting to feel what many of us feel at this age--unquestionably mortal. The idea of not believing reminded me of those years with my mom, and of a few years in my own life when my faith faltered so much that I wasn't sure I would ever get it back.
When I was around 23, a friend of mine was killed in an accident. I went through the whole "no God would take an innocent young man for no reason" period, and I spent a year being angry with God. I have to say, it felt pretty crappy. Then one day, when I was meditating (I used to do yoga and sit in meditation a lot) I could have sworn I heard a little voice whisper "If you don't believe in me, then he's just dead--gone, and that's it. Can you really live with that?" I thought about it for a long time, and decided that I didn't want to believe that my friend, another childhood friend, and my beloved aunt were just dead, and that their spirits hadn't lived on. So that was the end of that, and I started to believe again. My faith didn't look like it did before all of this, but somehow, it felt a whole lot better to me. I guess you could say I figured out where my journey was taking me that day, and I found that even though the road had been bumpy, the destination was totally worth it.
Years after my own struggle, I sit here and think of my aging mother, falling deeper and deeper into Alzheimer's Disease. The nursing home staff once told me she loves to be wheeled into the activities room to hear a priest who visits the facility, and that although she is getting less and less responsive by the day, she seems very happy. She blows kisses at the nurses. She loves pudding and cookies and her loud roommate. And I remember that things seemed to change a lot for my mom around the time she had her third stroke. She called me and said: "My mother's here. I want to go with her." (Her mother died more than 40 years ago.) And I finally figured out that she doesn't struggle anymore; she just smiles and waits and dreams of a heaven where she'll meet her mother again. So I get this feeling that her journey towards figuring out life and God and happiness and lots of other stuff took her nearly 80 years, but that was okay. We get there when we get there.
