Tag Archives: Catholicism

Lent Me UR Ears

It’s that time of the liturgical year again: the jihad against norms; Lent.

It’s supposed to be about fasting, about giving things up, which is why Fat Tuesday is such a big party: Ash Wednesday is the first day of the rest of your eternal life.

But the Lenten fast can contribute, I think, to a poverty of experience — and I’m not sure giving things up really works as a method of self improvement. That thinking implies that you’re already perfect and just need to shed some cruftybads. I prefer to work on building skills, on adding happiness to my life.

To that end, my Lenten jihad is against procrastination. No promises, but my Now Habit system is working swimmingly — after 40+ solid days I might have some nice stats to share.

Gut Check Of The Vatican Chief Exorcist’s Truthiness

Hitchens harps on Benedict the Accomplice and quotes Father Gabriele Amorth, the Vatican’s chief exorcist. I’ve seen Fr. Amorth quoted all over the place recently but no one seems to have done some simple math:

Father Gabriele Amorth, 85, who has been the Vatican’s chief exorcist for 25 years and says he has dealt with 70,000 cases of demonic possession, said that the consequences of satanic infiltration included power struggles at the Vatican as well as “cardinals who do not believe in Jesus, and bishops who are linked to the Demon”.

70,000 possessions / (25 years x 365 days) ~ 7 exorcisms per day. But let’s assume he’s done exorcisms since before he was in charge of them — that seems reasonable. In fact, in good Catholic style, let’s be conservative. Let’s assume he became a priest-and-exorcist at age ten and has been doing this for 75 years. That yields the more-reasonable-but-still-questionable figure of two exorcisms per day. Both figures assume no periods of rest as required by scripture.

Given that the Vatican now rightly prefers to use secular mental health treatment over exorcisms that seems like quite a few, to say the least.

But I guess that was an estimate. As, presumably, was this:

He said it sometimes took six or seven of his assistants to to [sic] hold down a possessed person. Those possessed often yelled and screamed and spat out nails or pieces of glass, which he kept in a bag. “Anything can come out of their mouths – finger-length pieces of iron, but also rose petals.”

The Strains of Coppola’s Score…

I’ve been asked to represent a young female relative before the Almighty, to be her godfather. This involves answering questions which will induct her into the Catholic Church — basically filling out the application form for her. Then the priest will spiritually brand her for eternity or until excommunication.

In the final days the Catholics’ crossed third eyes will burn and glow, repelling the slobbering, machete-chopping hordes of hell like blood-soaked Jewish houses during Egypt’s final plague. Or so I’m told.

I’ve been asked to hook her up with a super-powered magic soul tattoo, backed with the currency of my own. So what about my state of grace? You can’t leave the Catholic Church — you have to be expelled — but I’m not exactly in a spiritually pristine condition. I’d feel guilty receiving communion without confession, or dire need.

Forgive me father, for I have sinned. My last confession was fifteen years ago when I served as an altar boy. In that time I’ve solemnly denied the existence of God, practiced witchcraft, committed adultery, stolen, done drugs, intentionally poisoned people, killed things… In fact, in the interest of time let’s say that I’ve broken every commandment and most ecclesiastical rules, some thousands of times. I did unto my neighbor whatever the hell I wanted. Oh, right: I also blaspheme — a lot.

The happiness-rush you get from confession is something that must be felt to be believed. It’s like adolescent attraction — there’s a tug at your solar plexus and a spinal rush, you get warm all over, your hair stands up and you can’t stop smiling. It feels like falling in love, or being tied and lashed by someone who cares; the ultimate back-scratch.

In any case I want absolution, but won’t repent — I’m not trying to correct all of those “flaws”. I’d just be apologizing to follow the letter, not the spirit, of the rules. Most of those things gave me spiritual insight that a lifetime of toeing the line couldn’t.

Escaping Catholicism is intellectually rewarding but emotionally crippling. Do I want to be responsible for putting this girl through that? What’s the cost/benefit of having kids re-fight my battles? Someone raised atheist never communes with the divine and never mourns the death of God. They miss dizzying mental highs and lows, but probably end up more “normal” — if that’s desirable given our societal mental disturbance fetish.

The most valuable lesson of the church is that it is possible — necessary, even — to set up social systems which stand outside the workplace, outside the media, and outside government. There are higher laws than those of man, and that’s easy to see when you’re raised in an alternate system.

The worst lesson of the church is that you’re an imperfect, lacking being who can never truly be happy. This is a terrifically awful lesson to teach children, even by osmosis. I’ve come to understand this is one of the most destructive memes floating around our world, one even atheists suffer under. Original sin: It is a bitch.

Those are all heavy-shit concepts to lay on adults, let alone babies. I feel like I might be unfairly signing this girl up for a twenty-year-long psychic obstacle course.

I guess it’s not about me, but her. What’s my spiritual fiduciary duty? What’s in her best interest? I think, on balance, that you could have a worse spirit-guide than me. She’s going to be baptized no matter what I say, so I might as well come along on the journey and see if I can smooth the bumps.

Chances are she’ll totally ignore me anyway.

Mardis Gras!

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the forty day fast of Lent (Sundays don’t count), the day to have burnt palm leaves in oil rubbed into one’s third eye (Matt 4:1).

Fat Tuesday, Mardis Gras, today, is the last day to eat all of your food and drink all of your drink and collect all of your beads so you won’t be tempted.

I did the fast when I was at HB to “beat” Rami at Ramadan. It puts you very much in touch with the natural rhythm: A couple of weeks in I could tell you when sunset would be within 30 seconds on any given day.

Memento homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.