Oftentimes, atheists will sneer about how religion is used as a crutch for the feeble-minded and weak-willed who, unable to accomplish anything of note in this world, need the illusion of a celestial Santa Claus and pie-in-the-sky paradise in order to cope with the cold, dark reality of their own failed existence. My fellow believers often guffaw and deny this accusation, stating that religion is much more difficult than meets the eye and that, in fact, life would be far easier if there wasn't a God brooding over out actions and threatening hell fire unless we fufill His commands. In my experience, this is the wrong way to react to the accusation. Religion is difficult, yes, but it is most definitely a crutch. My assertion would be that there is nothing to be ashamed of in that.
Allow me to give you the most poignant example I can think of. Around 6 years ago, on a rainy, miserable afternoon, I served Mass for the residents of Gracedale, a retirement home on the outskirts of my hometown of Nazareth. It was horrible. WWII veterans drooling on themselves, toothless, tremendously fat old women staring blankly in the distance or at a television. What an unspeakable tragedy, I thought, that these people who were once full of vigor, life and love are now reduced to this, awaiting death amidst the smell of old t.v. dinners and urine. Is this life, is this justice? Is this God's plan for humanity, to rot and die abandoned and alone? But, I quickly put these questions aside and prepared myself for Mass, during which, something fascinating happened.
In the middle of the liturgy, an old woman in the back randomly started singing "Jesus loves me" the famous children's hymn which most people know a few verses of. "Jesus loves me, this I know; for the Bible tells me so." I could see she was in a wheelchair, was overweight and was wearing a hospital gown adorned with teddy bears. She obviously suffered from some level of dementia, and, yet, there she was, rattling off the children's hymn in the middle of the Holy of Holies. That struck me deeply. I turned my eyes to the large, kitsch painting of Jesus adorning the chapel wall and realized for the first time that, yes, religion is a crutch. We humans, if we have a heart, no matter how well off we percieve ourselves to be, need a crutch. In the face of the horrors of this life, where suffering abounds and it seems as though no one gives a damn, yes, we need a crutch. We need the promise of a benevolent Father who will watch over us and tend to our needs when no one else will. As the Psalmist says, "Even if a mother were to forget the child suckling at her breast, I will not forget you."
That image, dear readers, has carried countless souls through the hardships and trials of this veil of tears, and I can't see for a second why we should do without it. Even if there was no God, and Christianity is just a massive illusion, so what? If there is no God, then why should truth matter? What consolation is it to the dying, to that old woman in the hospital gown and thick glasses, to tell them that Jesus doesn't love them and that their life meant nothing? If God is dead, readers, then we might as well bury truth with Him. And to hell with those who say differently. Then again, perhaps I am being hopelessly sentimental. Am I though? It is an objective fact that if there is no God, there are no ojective standards by which we can guide our lives. If there is no God, there is no objective reason we should do anything. We might as well spend our entire lives jacking off in a closet, because, in the grand scheme of things, that's just as productive as winning the nobel peace prize or finding a cure for cancer.
As I meditate on these things, and I ask you to forgive me for my rambling, as I'm a bit fuzzy today and am suffering from horrible writer's block, I am reminded that I have to give you a tip on how to be a better Catholic, which would be this.
1. Go out and do something nice for someone who is rejected and "unwanted" by society. Show them the love of Jesus. That is all for this week.
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