Bad Catholic

The Prodigal's Return

Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been several years since my last confession because, well to be honest, I am a bad Catholic.

That’s not to say I’m lapsed; in my opinion, there’s no such thing. Catholicism is much like Hotel California, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.” If you’ve been baptised in a Catholic Church, then in their eyes you’re considered a member for life. In order to formally defect, an errant Catholic has to notify the bishop at their local diocese in writing.… But who has time for that?? What with the cost of stamps these days.

I’m not a bad Catholic in the sense that I commit deadly sins. I do not steal or kill. Okay I occasionally take the Lord’s name in vain and although I don’t covet thy neighbour’s ox, I am envious of their flower beds. I consider myself a bad Catholic because, although I believe in God and often attend mass, when I speak with other members of the congregation, people mostly older than me, they appear to have a certain ethereal quality, borne from a collective understanding of the faith that can only be acquired when you commit to a subject or teaching over the course of many years.

That’s not to say I haven’t served time as an apprentice. My Irish parents had pictures of “himself” up on the wall and various statues of the Virgin Mary standing guard over dressing tables, plus the obligatory bottles of holy water brought back from Ireland. I also attended Catholic schools, one of which was a convent. Therefore, I absorbed the religion and developed a healthy respect for it, while also acquiring a lifelong fear of nuns.

However, during my college and Uni years, many of my friends made a conscious decision to turn against Catholicism and even went as far as declaring themselves Agnostic. Others expressed a preference for spirituality, which as far as I could see, manifested in them developing an unhealthy interest in scented candles.  I didn’t go that far. Yes, I naturally criticised the church when stories of historical sexual abuse came to light, and debated their teachings when I disagreed on doctrines, but to me, Catholicism is like a childhood friend, one I was extremely close to at the time, but who over the years started listening to the wrong sort of music. We grew apart and lost touch – no great falling out, just one of those things.

In fact, I recall overhearing our parish priest once, when discussing the topic of lost flock, declaring, “They come back. They always come back.” And I did. But it took thirty or so years. During that time, I attended the funerals of friends who died young, saw loved one’s struggle with illness, and raged against items on the news - unspeakable acts of cruelty which made me question the existence of God.

It took the global pandemic to tempt me back to the pews.

As the saying goes, “There are no atheists in foxholes.”

In times of extreme fear or stress, logic goes out the window. By my mid-forties I had emigrated from the UK to Australia, and with that came the guilt associated with leaving loved ones behind, specifically my mother. I consoled myself with the fact that I was fortunate enough to make regular return visits, but all that changed when the international borders closed.

I’d prayed before then. I prayed when my father was terminally ill and other times too. It can’t hurt to ask, right? Praying, for most of us bad Catholics usually comes in the form of persuasive bargaining. “If you could just do what I ask this time, I swear I’ll go to church this Sunday/smile more/moan less.” That sort of thing. But God works in mysterious ways. In the case of the dying, he isn’t a celluloid superhero with the ability to save lives, and he doesn’t care much for cases of unreciprocated love (in retrospect I’m glad of that). There are no guarantees with prayer.

So, I’ll admit that my return to the Catholic faith was a selfish one. I needed assurance from a higher deity. I wanted God to know I was back, and this time I was going to be a better friend. So what if we didn’t agree on everything? We’d just focus on the good stuff and ignore our differences.

My peers are bemused to hear that I attend mass on a weekly basis. No surprise there as most of them are heathens and will burn in hell, but let’s face it, Christianity has never been fashionable and we’re often held up for ridicule in mainstream media, second only to Scientology. While they have mega star Tom Cruise flying their flag, our poster boy is the errant Mel Gibson, a man who has very publicly gone off the rails, to the point that he's best described as being a really really bad Catholic.

While religion has been a weapon of war over the years, faith is a personal source of comfort to many. No-one can say for sure if the pearly gates really do exist, but what’s the harm in hoping for an eternity of happiness? And if that means I must strive to be a good person in return for an access all areas pass to the afterlife, then I reckon that’s a fair deal. So dear God, while I can’t promise piety, I’ll strive to do my best. I’ll make it to church on a (fairly) regular basis, and while I’m there, if you could just move my prayers to the top of the pile?