She sits me down at a table with her friends and conversation flows back and forth amongst the group.

“Hey Jack, you’re a pretty smart guy, right? Nick! Tell Jack that watch thing.”

That watch thing?

Nick was a well-meaning guy. Friendly, approachable and with non-threatening looks; he unclasps his wristwatch and lets it drape over his fingers. He faces it towards me, leans in and begins his practiced storytelling.

“Look at my watch. Clean piece of engineering, right? All these little cogs and gears that fit together so perfectly and with so much purpose. Definitely made by a really talented guy, wouldn’t you agree?”

I thought he was trying to sell me his watch. Either that or this was leading towards some kind of sinister prank that they play on the new guy in the group. Personally, I thought his timepiece was rather cheap and generic.

Then, it gets weird. The more well-traveled readers already know where this is going. He starts launching into a Creationist spiel. Starts telling me about how all these things on Earth are assembled in just away that they work perfectly and how it must be the work of God. You know the story.

After a few minutes of this, Nick falls silent and the group waits for a reaction from me. The others are not Christian fundamentalists, they’re not here to convert me. Those bastards were waiting for a confrontation. Perhaps this was like a mini-intervention from Nick so they could get him to stop him from trying to convert them all the time.

“So what do you think?” she asks.

I draw in a deep breath. “I’m not touching that with a 40-foot pole.” I laugh to myself and I leave the table.

I’m not Catholic, if you’ve forgotten. I’m probably not enough of anything to claim membership of any religious movement. I’m spiritual but I shy away from organized groups of anything. In addition to religious groups, I also avoid groups based on sports, hobbies, politics, geographic localities and the vast majority of blog networks. Given the choice, I would opt-out and unsubscribe from my marketing demographics too.

But the point is I attended the 5:30pm mass at Seattle’s St. James Cathedral because my girlfriend planned to attend and I joined her out of curiosity. We were a little late getting there and walked in at the start of the second gospel reading.

St. James Cathedral 18 by Bob Cerelli’s Photos

First off, the inside of the cathedral is freakin’ gorgeous. As soon as I entered and breathed in the huge space, I realized I’d never really set foot inside a “cathedral” before. It’s always been the humble-but-cosy churches in the suburbs.

I can’t remember the last time I attended mass. Probably some time in the sixth grade. Maybe seventh. Back then, it was like spectating. Like when your best friends go to their sports training or their music lessons and you’re just looking in at them, observing their rituals. Sitting here now in the last pew of the church, I felt a much greater distance. A gap that had grown far wider than time alone could have forged.

There were so many foreign things that I felt. The way the priest would sing parts of the service where I had only ever heard it spoken. The immensity of the space and the profound acoustics did magical things to the union of voices. The fact that we had fold-down cushions to kneel on rather than the floor itself. The various rituals that I had long forgotten or never learned in the first place.

My father’s father

I greeted my grandfather and again I was a little surprised by how young he is in his photo. I knew him as a much older man. I met some uncles and an aunt; maybe for the first time since I was too young to remember or maybe for the first time ever. My father has an older brother who died of asthma. My mother has two brothers and a sister that died on the boat over from Vietnam.

I saw my uncle again, the one that died of a heart attack at age 42. The void he left in the family is so real that I feel as if I could run my fingers across my chest and feel a scar.

A New Beginning

I’ve felt a little alone lately. That day, I talked to people that don’t talk back and it’s a very lonely feeling. And I can’t help but feel a speck of that loneliness when I talk to the people in my everyday life now. I feel like I’m on a plane of existence of my own. I worry about immigration, customs, deadlines and itineraries and everyone else is quietly thinking about the season premiere of 24 or what game they should next buy for their Xbox.

I guess I’ve been forced to be self-obsessed for the past few weeks and frankly, I’m bewildered and disappointed that people aren’t as obsessed with myself as I am. It feels like everyone I know has something joyous and delightful happening in their lives and I would love to celebrate it and be a part of it in whatever capacity I can except right now I need you to drop everything and focus on me for just a minute.

And that’s a shame; it really is.

Our school priest was a funny guy

I grew up around Catholics. I went to a Catholic primary school and a Catholic high school. I may not have believed in Christianity but I thought I understood it. I respected the ideals and I admired the strength and community that it gave to people. I was even a little envious of the sense of belonging and acceptance it provided.

These days, I only see Christians in a negative light. I see bigotry, close-mindedness and children being held as martyrs (held by both sides of any issue, admittedly). I see bible verses selectively trumpeted as political slogans and an Orwellian brand of hypocrisy that makes me lose all hope of rational debate.

Jesus Walks

There’s a lot to dislike about what is being done in the name of God. There’s so much to dislike that I have forgotten all the good. I’ve grown ignorant of the charity and healing that is done in the name of being a good Christian through principles taught by the bible. I may not believe in God but I believed that His followers do good in the world and that their faith was an asset to them and the people around them.

Day by day, my faith in them wanes.