On Religion and Controversy

There are a variety of subjects that I avoid in my little corner of the bloggiverse simply because I'm not interested in being controversial. Some people may view this as a bit of a cowardly, mousey way to be - but for the most part, it seems to be the best idea, as honestly- I don't want to be one of those people who brings up something potentially inflammatory and then gets all hurt when people argue with my views.

Ideas I have strong feelings on, but avoid blogging about:

Michael Jackson
Abortion
Aboriginal Rights
The Military
Big Business/Little Business- consumerism
Misogyny - patriarchal institutions and organizations.

One topic though that I've also gone out of my way to avoid is something that I think I might actually tackle today: religion.

I was raised Anglican, and for my first five years of elementary I went to Catholic school.

Catholic school was beautiful. In grade 2 I was introduced to the concept of confession. "Religion" was a subject taught daily. We said the Lord's Prayer and Hail Mary each morning. We would go to mass regularly where I would see alter boys in flowing robes and hear bells chiming like music. We wore uniforms and behaved way more appropriately than any child who went to public school ever did.

I left after grade four because I found the girls there to be snobby and cliquish and I longed to have friends who lived within walking distance. But still, forever afterward I was the good student. The one who made the sign of the cross for the few remaining years we said the Lord's prayer in class and got funny looks for it. The one who dressed up for school. The one who was silently appalled at how shockingly inappropriately both the boys and the girls acted in class.

I still went to church with my father. He insisted that I go at least once a month with him. It seemed a fair trade off as I really didn't mind going too much. There was something kind of soothing and magical about church.

I enjoyed the predictability and the ceremony of it all. My church was more strict than many others in that we did communion every Sunday. I learned the Apostle's Creed and the Nicene Creed. I would stare at all the people around me during the infinitely long homilies and try my best not to fidget.

As I got older, long past the time when my father insisted I accompany him, I would still go occasionally. I found church to be a nice slap in the conscience. It reminded me of the kind of person that I wanted to be.

As time progressed, and I moved out of the nest I rarely went. Although occasionally I would find the need to go to a different service with friends. Friends getting baptized or married. Funerals. Or simply very devout friends that I would accompany when visiting them from out of town.

I always found it profoundly uncomfortable. Something about these ceremonies were just...wrong. In some cases I found them to be too laid-back and informal. In others it was indefinable. There was simply some quality missing that I associated with church. Which was silly, since I didn't even go anymore.

I very strongly believe that a person shouldn't simply carry on with the religion that they grew up with. There are infinite varities of denominations out there, and I think that we are obligated to take the time to actually think about what each one means and represents and decide which is best for your own set of values.

I am still on that journey. I confess, it's not something that I actively research- but I am open to other possibilities. But there's just something about the church that I grew up with that cannot be replaced. A sense of comfort and home.

Perhaps it's God?