25 August 2008 - 15:24Holy Chesterton! The flip-flopping of a once non-believer.

-POSTED BY THE BOOKHOUND

Everyone has a story about how they got to where they are. Most just haven’t taken the time to ponder it, much less write it down.

I want to take a moment to give you a bit of insight into a Roman Catholic child’s life…

(I would love to see comments on how many of you remember these sentiments…)

Feigning sickness or death each Sunday morning- I would sit in bed and wait to either smell my mother’s perfume (you’re going to church, move it!), or bacon (get down here for breakfast, move it!), or both (why doesn’t dad have to go to church with us???). More often than not, the smell of some musty alcohol-laced floral would waft up the stairs and alert me that the next scents to greet me would be incense and old people.

On more than a few occasions, I tried to explain to my mother that times were changing, and that watching mass on the television would not only keep my attention, but we could all eat breakfast (thereby maintaining good nutrition), and spend the day together as the good Lord had intended. Apparently, the Lord worked through my mother in mysterious ways, and although I still can not imagine any loving God telling my mom to pass on the message to ‘get my damn clothes on and be quiet’; I’m sure it must have been something like ‘thou must hasten thy speed, dress in grandest robe, and silence; lest ye not hear the blessed voice of your Lord’. Or whatever.

On to mass. Let it be said that before entering the church, the ladies of the congregation begin in what equates to a combination bazaar/tribal dance/talent competition-thing. Naturally, the children lag behind the parents, desperately trying to hold on to that last shred of coolness with the equivalent of a piece of dental floss. The moms huddle. They gather. They smoke that last pre-game cigarette before ushering their broods into the lanes of ultra-uncomfortable seating.

Let’s just stop at that for a moment. What sort of a sadist came up with the pew? Seriously- is it not torment enough that the service for a Roman Catholic compares to a Richard Simmons workout? Is it not enough that one is not even allowed to wear the appropriate sweat-suit to attend? Nope. You see- Mom’s God does not want you to be comfortable. It delights this deity to see you in full on starched poly, sneezing uncontrollably from the church-scent ‘dinge’, and topped of by having your only rest for the hour and a half be a couple of pieces of plywood stuck together. These seats made those padded knee rests seem comfortable…

Anyhow- apparently G.K. Chesterton also felt the irresistible nag to ’skip out’ on church whilst penning ‘Heretics’

Given the tenor of the book, one can only assume that Chesterton is in ‘growth’ phase. We can confirm this, seeing as how his follow up book, ‘Orthodoxy’, finds Chesterton doing an about-face.

It’s refreshing to read an author who was so willing to dig deep into himself to find faith. To be the sort of humble we just don’t see anymore. Check out this report to see that we just don’t have the religious ’sticktoitiveness’ that we used to.

What with all that’s been made available to the masses since his time; it’s no wonder people just aren’t as compelled to spend any amount of time on religious introspection.

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