I didn’t want to go. They
made me, sort of kicking and screaming. I don’t know really why I
didn’t want to see it. Maybe it was because it was such a big thing, in
vogue. If it’s in the current fashion, I want something else. Maybe I
felt uncomfortable around religious people. I kept making jokes. "Is
this where the religious wackos hang out?" or "Oh, you’re one of those
religious people." I mean, we all go to church together, so I’m one of
you too. I’d chuckle.
But there was a kernel of truth there
in those off-handed comments, that belied what I really felt.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in. When I’m in mass, I’m one of the
"in" crowd, part of the culture, on the inside. Sometimes, though, I
feel like an infiltrator, like they’re going to find out who I really
am and boot me. Sssh.
In all reality, the Catholic church
bugs me to no end, from the Pope on down. There’s lots of things that
are weird, wrong, or just plain stupid. Many people are sheep. Much of
the hierarchy is lost in the abstract, wrapped around many layers of
dogma, protective coatings designed to preserve rather than serve. And
the people; coming to mass hoping to receive
something, perhaps a magic wafer? They hop into their cars and rush off
to some trivial secular affair, content that they have done their
weekly hour of religious devotion. They learned the right words to say.
Piety comes in a can.
And then there are those that have
mystified things to an unrecognizable degree…Virgin Marys in wet
cement in Guatemala, weeping statues, dripping candles, mystical
lights, apparitions, miracles. Each of these people believing that they
have faith, but really deep deep down they hope that their faith can be
proven, and seek something upon which to rest their salvation. May I
have a coaster for this cup of mine, I am having trouble holding it.
And
so there I am, left lamenting the dogma, practice, and the many faulty
hearts and minds of humanity. I am now forced to endure an epic
produced and directed by a pre Second Vatican Council zealot, a movie
deemed to be anti-semitic by the media at large. What’s more, even
among critics favorable to the movie, it is said to be the bloodiest
two hours in movie making history, hard to watch, and downright
gratuitous. I’m not really in a good place right now, I don’t know if
this is going to help.
Well, let’s just get this thing over
with. At least I am getting out of the house, and I got to see the
Spider-man 2 trailer that’s showing.
As the final movie
credits started rolling, Laura began to feel sick, so I got up to help
her to the lobby. I began to get uncomfortable at the world closing in
around me, like I’d stepped outside naked. I wanted to hide, run away.
I wasn’t ready to leave the darkness of the theater yet. Now, I’m
standing here amongst the popcorn, teenagers, parents, and hustle
bustle of activity. I thrust my hands in my pockets. I felt trapped. I
stepped outside. It was raining torrentially, exaggeratedly. It was a
wall of water. I stood there briefly trying to contain my emotions. I
struggled there uncomfortable, wanting to be alone, so I ran. I stepped
off the curb bursting into tears, and soaked immediately as I made my
way to the car, a quarter mile away or so.
I remembered the
scene in the movie that broke up all the parents in our row. Jesus had
stumbled as the Romans are beating and taunting him. His mother, who
has had trouble facing the whole affair had been hiding on a side
street too distraught to look. She suddenly flashes back to a fall that
her son had suffered at an early age, perhaps 5 years old or so. She
runs to him to pick him up and comfort him, comfort her son who was
hurting. Mommy’s here, don’t cry. She suddenly realizes her place and
rushes to his side. There was not a parent with a dry eye in the house.
We
watched Jesus come to terms with his life, his mission, his vocation.
The movie opens with him pleading to have this burden lifted, why oh
why must it be this way, he asks. Beyond any sort of mystical or
metaphysical possibility of ANYONE being able to lift his burden from
him, was the realization that he was who he was. If he were to run
away, he would not be who he was. He had heard his calling in life and
once heard, there was no other possible course of action. It would be
as if you grew up to be an artist, engineer, politician, leader…
could you be anything but that to which you were called, that which you
knew to be right and natural, that which filled you with passion?
It’s
weird, but there’s nothing religious about this. Christians will say,
"God is calling you. Listen to His will. Do His bidding." What they are
really saying is, "Be true to who you are." Who am I? Well, that
sometimes takes reflection. You’ve got to seek it actively, sometimes
be quiet, sometimes listen to the voices of others, sometimes take
chances, sometimes make decisions. In the end, when you are doing what
you were meant to do, it will feel like love. You just know.
Love
isn’t easy, and neither is vocation, but could I be anything but who I
am? Sure, you may sell out your life, ignore your true vocation, be
moderately happy, and die having been successful, but once you realize
your vocation, your calling, can you ever go back, no matter the cost?
When
Martin Luther King Jr. realized that he had to bring freedom to
America, they told him he was crazy, a trouble maker, stirring things
wrongly. Just relax, play ball, and have a nice fulfilling peaceful
life quiet and tranquil with your life and family. I am sure Martin
Luther King Jr. wished for this at times, worried about his family, his
friends and what he was putting them through. Damnit, why did it have
to be me, I am sure he asked. He was compelled to act, and he knew no
other way to be. He realized his place. It may not have been the path
he would have picked on a multiple choice test, but once he realized
it, that was it.
Laura and I are in Puerto Rico trying to get
a foot-old through Open Source software, trying to reform education,
technology policy, the status quo, and raise two children. Does it make
it any easier to know that there is no other way to be, no other course
of action in which we would be satisfied. If we jumped the tracks, we’d
inevitably find ourselves veering back to this one. As much as we
suffer and struggle, there is no other course of action for us. Why oh
why am I like this? Why couldn’t I have been born a rule follower, a
person satisfied with the way things are? Why oh, why must I attempt to
change things? I cause turmoil both for myself and others. I fail more
often than I succeed. Everything is a struggle. Why did you make me
this way, God?
Jesus pondered that, lamented that a
rollback was an impossibility, but did realize that it was nice to just
vent every once in a while.
The full weight of vocation hit
me during this movie. I think this is the strongest and most important
thing that could possibly come from this, and one that kept playing
over and over to me throughout. It hit me so hard, it knocked me over,
and I lost it for bit. It wasn’t religous, it wasn’t magic.
Jesus
knew what he had to do. Geez, and they crucified him. And he knew it,
and he could have sidestepped it, but he couldn’t, didn’t want to… no
couldn’t, even if he wanted to, because that was who he was.