Pater noster, mater nostra

ImageI’m practically the definition of a lapsed Catholic. I don’t go to mass, but I feel vaguely guilty about it, especially at Easter; I can’t help doing a Sign of the Cross when I walk into a church, but I haven’t been to confession in years; I have Opinions on the new wording of the mass that are decidedly mixed because come on, “and with your spirit,” but maybe “consubstantial” is a little closer to the original Latin, I don’t know. I’ve thought about writing at greater length about why the Church and I have been “It’s Complicated” on Facebook for some years now — the Church’s attitudes towards women and the LGBTQ community, my skepticism towards any long-entrenched organization, the Church’s scandals — and maybe one day I will, but for now, it’s not necessary to do so. Though the Church and I may not always get along, I still consider myself a spiritual person and more Christian than anything.

So today we went to the Vatican.

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All roads lead to Rome . . . eventually. Probably. Hopefully.

The joke in our family is that when things go wrong while you’re traveling, you’re burning off karma. Well, maybe it’s less a joke and more a coping mechanism. It is vaguely comforting to think, when your flight is delayed for half an hour for the third time, or when your train breaks down halfway to its destination, or your luggage is missing, that at least you’re going to get off the reincarnation merry-go-round a little faster for the suffering you’re going through now.

Going through Heathrow yesterday has to have been one of the most miserable (although not the most stressful, thankfully) travel experiences I’ve ever had. If we were burning off karma, we’d better half burned off at least a couple turns on the wheel of reincarnation

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