Haloed Be Thy Claim

It was bound to happen eventually, the subject of Religion has invaded our happy household.  Ugh.

More specifically, HRH  has become old enough to begin the whole Catholic Communion process with her church, which, is fine in and of itself except, personally, I don’t give a fig newton about Religion.  Any Religion.  Honestly, I’d rather open up a vein with a rusty fork than sit on a hard wooden bench through 60 minutes of fire and brimstone but, hey, to each their own.  I have no more right to comment on anyone’s spiritual path than I do about how they dress, choose to style their hair, or which television programs they like to watch.  Topics of concern such as this are simply filed away in brain under NMB, for “Not My Bid’ness“.

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I frown on her becoming curious about her spirituality, it’s just that this newly developed interest is beginning to lead to some rather awkward conversations about my own beliefs.  After all, how do you explain to an eight year old that I subscribe to the more unpopular notion that we’re basically all bags of meat sitting on a floating rock in outer space waiting to die and, therefore, fertilize the next generation of meat bags?  Good times, right?  But while you’re tossing around that little chestnut, please understand that I’m all for whatever puts the “boom boom into your heart” and “sends your soul sky high when your lovin’ starts” (yes, I just quoted Wham in referring to religion), it’s just that discussing specifics about particular religious doctrine, and Sunday morning masses for that matter, aren’t my thing, like, at all.

HRH“How come you don’t go to church with us?”

Me“I like to talk to God another way.”

HRH“How?”

Me“I talk to God outside when I go for my long runs while you’re at church.”

This is not far from the truth actually, except the conversations I have are more along the lines of: “God, why am I doing this again?”, “God, I wish my quads would stop cramping” or, “God, please let me make it home before I need to poop”…that kind of thing.  But it totally counts in my mind.

The real issue here as I see it is that, HRH  is no more able to sit through a 60 minute sermon than she is able to calculate complex mathematical formulas, so what benefit then is really being gained from this exposure?  At best, she fidgets in the pew and drives Kelly crazy until it’s time to go home.  Sounds like fun, right?  Hell no!  I’d rather suffer my 20k runs peacefully in sub-zero weather along remote country roads, thank you very much!

My own personal belief here – not that it counts for much – is that she is still too young to make up her mind yet about her spirituality.  Sure she’s into saying Grace before dinner now, but it’s more a showing off of what she can recite as fast as possible, than it is an offering of thanks to God for the ‘bounty of which we are about to receive’.  Maybe she will eventually evolve into a devout practicing Catholic and complete this whole Confirmation thing and go on to be the most pious person on the planet, or maybe she might adopt Buddhism, Wicca, or Unitarianism instead.  Hell, she might choose to slather her privates in peanut butter and wait for the mother ship from Cenori-12 to arrive and cart her off to the Promised Land…whatever.  The point is that it will ultimately be her choice, not something that was forced upon her; it’ll be something she truly believes in.

In the meantime, I put on a happy face, go for my long runs on Sunday morning and do my best to answer questions honestly while supporting my girlfriend throughout this ordeal.  Oh, and resist the temptation to tell her that God is a fire-breathing orangutan that lives in a Fortress of Solitude at the North Pole…fun as that might be.

God Help Me.

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