Faith I went to Mass this morning for the first time in ages. The Cardinal Law/pedophilia scandal was the last straw for me for almost a year, and I’m still deeply ambivalent about my future as a Catholic. Somehow, the scope of the molestation, combined with the scope of the cover-up, sort of made it impossible for me, for a very long time, to ignore the clear message from the hierarchy that the Church is concerned first and foremost with it’s own power as an institution. This hit all my Big/Small buttons, and I just couldn’t go to Mass. Not for a long time. Not even at Christmas. Not even at Christmas when Advent is my secret special liturgical season because it was during Advent that I had my Eucharistic epiphany (see The Stigmata Incident for this particular little tale).
But I had one of those dark nights last week, you know the kind, where you lie awake worrying about someone you love and all the scary things that could happen, and I sort of answered my own question. If anything happened, I knew I’d be back on my knees in Mass, not because of the Church, or the hierarchy, but because in ways I still don’t understand, the Mass is my practice, and the Mass is my home.
But I’m still not sure if I’m going back next week. I’ll let you all know.