This summer's destination:
Photo by p medved
Jerusalem, Israel
I will be leaving in a few weeks for Israel. I'm excited, but of course I have the usual anxiety when it comes to traveling (and the saga continues...)
Anyway, when I mention to people that I'm going to Israel, I get a lot of raised eyebrows and, "Oh, you're going there? Isn't it dangerous?" We all know this land is the holy ground for the world's three major monotheistic religions: Christianity, Judaism and Islam. Though tensions have been uneasy on these grounds for centuries, this place holds so much meaning for so many, and since I'm a history nerd slash having been immersed in a Catholic education for far too long, I'm really excited to go to the place where many of the Bible's stories are supposed to have taken place.
Personally, religion has always been something abstract to me. What I find truly amazing about it is people's devoutness, that place from where people pull their belief. It's real. I've never felt that organically before, but I admire and respect people that do. On paper I'm a Roman Catholic: I was baptized, "communionized," and confirmed. Had I not gone to Catholic school the latter two probably would not have happened. I can remember the horrified look on my fourth grade religion teacher's face when I went up to receive the Eucharist, the body of Christ, and asked her afterwards if it was OK for me to go up since I had never had a Holy Communion before (of course, by that time the body of Christ was already fully ingested). I was so embarrassed, and in order for me not to be the lone kid in the pew with the token Jewish kid, with my hunger pangs getting the best of me at 10am mass, I begged my parents to sign me up for Holy Communion (which I had to do with a bunch of second graders by the way) so I could receive the body and blood of Christ along with everyone else.
Maybe it was a sign when during my first week of Communion classes I passed out while I was kneeling because the church air was stale and stuffy, or maybe it was the group of murmuring old women's rosary repetitions that got to me, or maybe, the power of Christ did compel me, but really I just didn't eat breakfast. I was brought out to the back where Holy Water was splashed on my face. That woke me up.
What I do remember actually liking were the songs. I loved singing, and I felt I could inject my love for Tina Turner in "Holy, Holy, Holy Lord." I joined the elementary school choir, and later my high school's Gospel Choir where I could really let my inner Tina free, or so I thought. My mom even tried to sign me up with the choir at her old church in Harlem, a real Gospel choir, because I loved it so much. But I think I was way out of my league, so I stuck with my HS choir.
Another story comes to mind when I think about my Catholic school experience:
So, I think this must have been in High School. But we were all invited (forced) to partake in an overnight spiritual retreat. We were all shipped off somewhere upstate for a full day and evening's worth of fun! Prayer, silence, prayer, and, oh, Bible games, yippee! At one moment we had to go to confession. I didn't want to go. I was sick and tired of going anyway, half the time I lied to make up sins because, honestly I couldn't think of anything that would be worth noting. "Uh, I said shut up to my parents..." "Ok, my child, recite two 'Hail Marys' and three 'Our Fathers' and your sins will be absolved.'" Not doing that again. So, I boldly told one of our retreat leaders that I would NOT be doing confession because I can pray to the G upstairs myself. I don't need no middle man. Oh, this one did not go over so well. With horror, she signaled to the other retreat leader and the two women escorted me to the back of the chapel. "Sophia, I am going to ask you a very serious question." She pauses. "Do you believe God is in the floor?" I could only laugh and think, What the hell is this woman talking about!
"Isn't God supposed to be all around us?" I said. "Since I am his child I thought I'd talk to him privately, myself. Why do I need a priest to relay the message?"
They shook their heads and said they were disappointed in me, blah, blah. Whatever, so I went to stupid confession.
I don't know why I thought about all of this while trying to write a post about going to Israel. My Catholic school experience and Israel have no obvious relationship, but I can't help but think about religion when going to a place like Israel (and my partner-in-crime will be going ahead of me on his own sort of spiritual journey)
Religiously-cloaked or not, all I can say is that I am really looking forward to spending time in a place with my partner that has a lot of abstract meaning for the both of us: me being Christian (maybe with some Muslim Hausa ancestors thrown in the lineage and who knows what else) and him being Jewish (and atheist). I look forward to being challenged. To being moved.
-Sophia