Spiritual Journey Thursday: You can't take the Catholic out of the girl

 

Ruth is hosting this month, and has asked us to  

reflect on Maundy Thursday and 

the origins of a personal spiritual practice 

this Spiritual Journey Thursday.

Her post is here.

I miss the incense.

I miss the feel

of water on my fingertip

from a cool marble basin

finger to forehead

to sternum

left shoulder,

right shoulder,

sealed on the lips.

I miss the moment

of reverence caused

by genuflection

the meditative quiet--

that I preferred to 

preludes on the organ--

that forced me to stop

breathe

listen

and simply absorb.

I miss the rustle

of whisper-thin missal pages

the cadence of common prayers

the peace that comes with

being apart from the world

even for just an hour, and

being a part of a global

community.

I don't miss

the patriarchy

the feeling less-than

the dogma that

welcomes to the table

only those who jump through

man-made hoops

insisting on intermediaries

between me and

my Creatrix.

But I do miss

the ritual 

and

the incense.

*********

I have kept the Church of my childhood at arm's length for almost two decades, but you wouldn't know it if you visited my home.  There are crosses over the main door and all the bedroom doors (the risen, not crucified, Christ is on the children's bedroom crosses; we are a faith based on resurrection, after all).  An old ceramic bust of the Virgin Mary hangs by the front door, her nose slightly chipped, most likely during a California tremor.  Dried palm leaves are tucked behind a mirror.  A large wooden rosary hangs on the wall between the dining and living rooms, and a collection of rosaries hangs by my desk in the study.

Praying the rosary is a meditation I resort to in times of unrest and weariness.  I very rarely follow the Mysteries; more often, I choose a person to pray for with each Hail Mary.  If I'm worried about rushing, I purposely recite the repeated prayers in French, which makes me slow down.

This Good Friday, I plan on taking a quiet moment to choose a rosary from my collection, pause, breathe, and pray.

*************

It is such a holy season.  My Islamic friends are observing Ramadan, fasting from sunup to sundown and reflecting on transgressions and reparations.  My Jewish friends are celebrating Passover; I remember a time when one of the parishes we belonged to (we moved a lot) celebrated a Seder meal with a nearby synagogue for Maundy Thursday.  Jesus was Jewish, after all.  Our traditions are so closely intertwined; it's a shame that our religions are often used as the basis for exclusion, shame, and violence.

I'll ponder that in prayer, beads in hand, tomorrow.  And maybe light some incense, too.