My friend Lana lost her paper for school in her computer. She looked and looked and it was nowhere to be found. She asked a coworker, who is known for his computer literacy, to help. He informed her she had a virus and the paper was hopelessly lost and to just forget about it and start over. Not what you want to here after hours of agonizing work. So she called her brother who couldn't stop laughing at her long enough to help her, she hung up on him. Then Lana thought of me and a coworker. She had laughed at me when I buried St. Joseph in the yard of the house we were selling, it sold in ten days. Lana also laughs at a coworker who prays to St. Anthony when she loses things, things she usually finds, by the way. Still stung by her own brother's laughter Lana did what she knew was crazy, she prayed to St. Anthony and threw in a prayer to St. Joseph too, just in case. Several hours later Lana looked in her computer and found her paper hiding in a place she hadn't looked. Not only did she find it but she found it with the last changes intact. Of course there is probably a whole geeky computereze explanation for this. There is also a whole "purely coincidental" explanation for this. And the Catholics in the crowd are crowing with delight over there explanation for this.
The irony is that Lana does not practice a religion although she is deeply spiritual. If she did practice a religion it certainly would not be Catholicism. The very idea of praying to some dead MAN who doesn't even have GOD status would never pass her litmus test of what is right and holy. She has serious concerns and questions about the whole male, paternalistic, religious structure in our world, rightly. She and I met at a Unitarian fellowship, the farthest religious distance from saint praying that there is. She doesn't attend church or even the Unitarian fellowship anymore. So she called me and told me her story and asked me to blog it.
So this is my blog about Lana and her paper and saints and religion and losing it and finding it again. I hate losing things and I love finding them, I'm no saint but certainly a sinner, and the more I learn about religion the less I think I like it or understand it or know it. Lana thinks I am following a more spiritual path than when I was younger. I think she thinks so because I joined a church and I work in a church. Certainly I am surrounded by all the trappings of a middle of the road Christianity which demands less of me than it probably should or perhaps allows me to demand less of myself. I don't particularly care for religious fanatics or fanatics of any kind but there is something awe inspiring about someone who is so convicted they let go of the conventions most of us observe. In it's current incarnation, middle of the road, middle class, white, male Christianity, there is not even a whisp of the fanatic. In this incarnation there can be found many wonderful, generous, hardworking, dedicated, selfless individuals who take the message they are given and make as much of it as they can without the essential questioning and doubting of people like myself and Lana. These people are not fanatics, many of their deeds go ignored and unnoticed. They do not work for recognition or reward in any earthly fashion. They are trying in the best way they can to follow the word they believe in.
Out of this same tradition come people who use the same words to justify their own self centered preoccupations. Many of them are eventually found out and cast out. They use the work of God to work their way in the world. Their work is for recognition and earthly reward and they don't seem particularly concerned with what awaits them after this life. Religion is an arena where they have learned to play the game for their own gain.
Then there are the Lana's and the Diann's, the doubters and questioners. We try to do the best we can with what we have, we hope there is something more than what we can see, we trust we will eventually get it but we don't get it most of the time. We know what we don't agree with or believe in or like about religious schools of thought but we also know we weren't given the job of writing the book. We are limited by our own humanity and we accept it. We try to do the best that we can with what we have but we aren't really sure if it outweighs our own limitations or sinful natures. We are probably a lot like most everyone we know, travelers on a road without a map, which is really bad if you are Lana because she gets lost with a map.
So how do we of weak mind and weak spirit figure out the explanations for those events in our lives that are unexplainable? When confronted with miracles we doubt our own eyes, we grasp for logical, rational explanations, we pretend we don't notice. If we pay attention at all we are overwhelmed with the sheer wonder and joy of mystery, we celebrate extraordinary outcomes of ordinary time, we turn our faces towards the sun and feel the heat of wonder. These feelings are so scary and unfamiliar that we turn away once again. Who deserves the joy, the wonder, the extraordinary. We are creatures of our own habits, little hobbits in our little hobbit houses, afraid of the world beyond our front doors. Safe in our ignorance.
So Lana, here's my advice, for what very little it's worth. Do good, feel good, celebrate every little miracle that comes along. Allow yourself to enjoy the mystery no matter how scary or unfamiliar the plot line. If saints help you find your paper - GO Saints! If sinners warm your heart - GO sinners! We only get a few glimpses of the wrinkles in time, you got lucky. Don't study too hard. Love, Diann
