- Feb 5, 2002
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Psalm 88 is a cry of despair that draws those who suffer closer to Christ.
When I was a freshman in college I joined the largest religious denomination in America: Lapsed Catholic. It’s a popular movement that doesn’t require anything but a condescending attitude to the backwards faith of your youth. You get to sleep in on Sunday, and preface dubious opinions on faith and morals with the conversation-stopping qualifier “I was raised a Catholic.”
Leaving was easy for someone nursed on the skim milk of 1970s American Catholicism, a machine purpose-built to squeeze all the majesty and mystery out of one of the most dazzling, sublime, and beautiful religions in human hist0ry. By the time I encountered Greek philosophy in my late teens, I was already heading for the door. The clincher was the Bible, what little I’d read of it. In my ignorance it appeared to be a dull and useless book filled with absurd stories and contradictions. Why should my life be shackled to this leaden weight written millennia ago when an entirely new world, filled with new and better truths, was bursting into creation all around me?
In all this, I proved that no one can be as insufferable as a slightly clever teenager. At a certain stage, being well-read can actually make things worse. I’d encountered enough new ideas to see a hint of the wider world of belief, but not enough to weigh them properly and judge them intelligently. It would take me fifteen years of spiritual wandering to the ends of the world before the twitch upon the thread brought me back with a jolt.
Continued below.
www.ncregister.com
When I was a freshman in college I joined the largest religious denomination in America: Lapsed Catholic. It’s a popular movement that doesn’t require anything but a condescending attitude to the backwards faith of your youth. You get to sleep in on Sunday, and preface dubious opinions on faith and morals with the conversation-stopping qualifier “I was raised a Catholic.”
Leaving was easy for someone nursed on the skim milk of 1970s American Catholicism, a machine purpose-built to squeeze all the majesty and mystery out of one of the most dazzling, sublime, and beautiful religions in human hist0ry. By the time I encountered Greek philosophy in my late teens, I was already heading for the door. The clincher was the Bible, what little I’d read of it. In my ignorance it appeared to be a dull and useless book filled with absurd stories and contradictions. Why should my life be shackled to this leaden weight written millennia ago when an entirely new world, filled with new and better truths, was bursting into creation all around me?
In all this, I proved that no one can be as insufferable as a slightly clever teenager. At a certain stage, being well-read can actually make things worse. I’d encountered enough new ideas to see a hint of the wider world of belief, but not enough to weigh them properly and judge them intelligently. It would take me fifteen years of spiritual wandering to the ends of the world before the twitch upon the thread brought me back with a jolt.
My Only Companion is Darkness
Continued below.
This Is the Psalm That Led Me Back to the Church
Psalm 88 is a cry of despair that draws those who suffer closer to Christ.
