It’s Sunday, and for some reason, I thought about church, even though I haven’t been inside a house of worship for many years. As I’ve tried to boost my creative output in retirement, the memories stir, and I’m whisked away to childhood, when Mom and Dad did their best to keep the nuns happy.
My parents were check-the-box Catholics. Neither was particularly religious, although they were both raised Catholic and were married in the Catholic church. Part of the deal is agreeing to raise your kids Catholic, so that’s what they did. The highlight for my mother was dressing us up in little outfits with matching hats and purses. I liked when we went for donuts after.
As my mother understood it, she was responsible for getting us through confirmation, which is when you come of age in the eyes of the church. I seem to remember this happening around age 13 or 14, but I’m not sure. Once she checked that box, she was done.
I quit going to church and never went back. Despite years of Saturday catechism and Sunday mass, religion never stuck with me. I confess to attending church a couple of times in high school with a friend who was into it. I don’t know what her deal was, but I was just trying to keep a friend happy so we could all go to the beach later.
When I joined the Army at age 18, they asked for religion and I said none. They put that down as no preference, which I think is quite different than my intent. I just wanted to be a good, moral person without a stamp of approval from organized religion, but the pressure was on. A boyfriend broke up with me by way of a note that said, “I’m looking for a woman who is intellectually and spiritually strong. Although you are intellectually strong, your spiritual attributes are nil.” I thought that was a little harsh, but at the time it was probably true.
I respect faith in its many iterations. For a while, I thought I might be Jewish. My parents were both of Eastern European descent, and Pekar is a name that can be associated with Judaism. As a teenager, a lot of my friends were Jewish, and I read Chaim Potok, so I thought maybe that was my tribe. When I was found to have the BRCA 1 mutation, I thought, this is it. I’m Jewish! However, genetic testing revealed no such affiliation. Back to being a no preference, lapsed, check-the-box, ex-Catholic.
Have you found aging to have an impact on your religious practices and spiritual beliefs? For the faithful, I imagine finding that sense of community has a positive impact on your life, especially as you get older. My mother got more Catholic as she aged. Not in a doctrinaire or go to church and touch people kind of way, but she knew her saints and called upon them frequently. I’ve heard it said some people become more religious as they get closer to death. Hedging your bets, so to speak.
Although I didn’t become more Catholic like my mom, I have grown more spiritual. When I was being treated for ovarian cancer 18 years ago, I swear I met my guardian angel. Is that a Catholic thing? I don’t subscribe to a particular deity, although I do believe there’s a spiritual universe beyond what we can see and touch. The details are sketchy.
When it comes to religion, we all land where we land, but it’s interesting to think about where we started and where we ended up. As I’ve aged, I continue to keep an open mind and now think of myself as being spiritually fluid – camping out among indefinite lines along a spectrum of believing and not believing or something in between.