I tried a new church yesterday. I’m, unfortunately, a lapsed Catholic and yes, I feel guilty about it. I promise to say 10 Our Father’s and 10 Hail Mary’s as penance. Tomorrow.
I’m a girl who appreciates rituals, both religious and otherwise. Rituals have been ingrained in me since I was a small girl, likely from attending weekly Mass with devout parents very involved with the Church. To this day they’re a comfort to me. When deciding which university to attend, I ended up choosing one steeped in tradition and rituals. Probably not a coincidence considering I had several to choose from. Don’t get me wrong, I despise redundancy; but having the same routine day after day is a far cry from the deeper ritualistic experience I crave.
There aren’t many churches around me since I live downtown, so I tried St. Andrew’s Presbyterian, a 179 year-old church about a ten minute walk from my building. As I walked up to the church, I got that familiar little adrenaline rush knowing that I was walking into a completely new situation (and which I secretly love!). I found a seat, the service began and everything was fine – no one brought out the whips to lash me for not being “one of them” nor did anyone point and laugh. Maybe the Protestants aren’t that bad after all (kidding!).
Blah, blah, blah, we asked for forgiveness, etc, etc and the sermon began. The first three words out of the reverend’s mouth were “Money. Sex. Demonic Possession.”, and I knew I was home.