Hello all,

I just upgraded to Wordpress 2.2.1 and I should have visited the Glued Ideas site but apparently it has broken the template. I can’t activate my side bar widgets. Soooo, seeing as this is July fourth week and traffic is bound to be low anyways, I’m just going to spend all my time away from the hoopla and revamp my template and get things straight around here.

See you next Monday.

P.S. Don’t be alarmed by any sudden template changes.

Smashing Pumpkins

“Tarantula,” first single from Zeitgeist

Deftones

Mein

LCD Soundsystem
North American Scum

It’s not that bad, actually.

Unrelated:

Balls of Fury

The Bastard Fairies

I can’t count how many times I’ve been accused of heresy, Satanism, you name it.  So, in the spirit of our friends that have gone, so it goes, I will write in the frame of Thompson and Vonnegut.

The smell is what first hits you.  Then the cold.  Marble doesn’t hold heat very well in a dark place.  It’s dark because there are no worshippers.  The smell is of a particular incense that I’ve not smelled since I left St. Anthony’s. 
     Smack in the middle of an urban shithole called Revere.  Saint Anthony’s is a relic of Catholicism gone by.  Marble walls, stairs, even the baptismal urn is made of Italian marble.  The roof is of that orange clay tile, reminding one of the Tuscan sea cities.  The outside reminds one of a citadel’s walls.  Serving purpose only, with no regard for beauty or flow. 

http://www.saintanthonysrevere.org/paduahome.html

     You enter through two massive wooden doors into a largish lobby area.  To the left is the Sacristy and the Rectory.  Straight ahead is the Altar.  As you walk down the red velvet carpet, the smell increases into your brain reminding you that you are in a most holy place.  Consecrated.  About ten steps down the aisle you realize that there’s a ceiling above you, which is the Choir loft.  Complete with marble Athenian style pews, the choir’s loft also has a large pipe organ, reminiscent of Dracula films.  You look twoard the altar and the lines of candles, “someone’s prayer for someone they’ve no doubt loved and lost.”  Above are the vaulted Cathedral ceilings with their chandeliers made of gold. 

     I was here to receive my first cross as an altar boy.  It was made of wood, and I still have it.  The older boys got silver, then gold, then you entered the Seminary.

I was happy that I was that much closer to God.  Surely He wanted me to help the people of the world, and what better place to start than here?  Such a grandiose stage no one could better ask.  In order to make rank in the Altar boys, one had to learn learn learn.  You had to know the Beatitudes by heart, and every prayer.   I had a problem though.  In my learning I ran across a Beatitude that told me that blessed are the poor, for theirs is the Kingdom of God.  This meant to me that if you’ve got nothing tying you to this physical realm, you are that much closer to the Kingdom of God.  

Father Conte was making preparations at the altar and he saw me coming. 
“Robert, would you help me with these candles?”
He was a young guy, relatively speaking, and the candles were very large Easter candles.  So, I carried the box.

“Are you excited?”
“Yes Father…”

He looked into my elder youngster’s eyes and saw the discontent.  Rather, in my mind I hope he felt it too.

“Is something wrong?”
“Well…I’ve asked my Dad about the Beatitudes, and I’m stuck on one.  He just keeps telling me it’s the knowledge of God”
“Which one?”
“Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”
“Ok, what’s the problem?”
“Well, Father…”   Not wanting to offend the head of the altar boys, I hesitated to ask, but I couldn’t help it.

“If that is true, and it was spoken by Jesus, and his word is the word of God, AND we live by that word, then why am I getting a wooden cross and not a golden one?”
We stopped, and he peered at me through his glasses.

“You’re concerned about materialism?”
“Yes, and no.  I mean that shouldn’t it be the other way around than the way it is?  In my mind the closer I get to God, the more I leave this place.”
“Well Robert, that’s a great question, but for now just stick with it and all the answers will come to you in time.”

 

     The answers have come in torrents.  From the “red carpet” to the Inquisitions.  From Salem, to the Saint Bart’s massacre.  The answers have most definitely come to me, yet I am still not satisfied.  What has happened to the God I loved so dearly?  Why, if we are all His children would a Father that is all loving allow his children to slaughter each other? 

Finished with helping the Priest, I walked back into the Church.  This time on the side aisles.  Confessionals on the side occasionally, but massive marble pillars line the sides.  Between the stained glass windows stood marble statues of St. Anthony, Benedict, Michael, etc.  Between those stood the Stations of the Cross.  (For the layman The stations of the cross are the events of the week prior to the crucifixion.  From the Passion to the Resurrection.  They were in bas relief, and VERY graphic.)

I walked to each looking at the man I so wished to be like.  Even now I don’t think I could beg forgivness for my murderers.  I began to think about the people I knew that were Catholic.  I began to think about how the entirety of my Church was adorned with the material pleasures and treasures, while preaching and teaching about being poor.  It didn’t make sense.  The rituals made sense to me in an allegorical sort of way, but I’ve never been much for ritual.  I’m more of a practice kind of guy.  Even now, I don’t care about memorizing phases of the moon or which aspect of Saturn corresponds to the Waxing of Mercury.  I only care about how I can help people, through my example of

faith.

     In the film Dogma there’s a line that can basically summarize how I feel about religions.

“It’s not what you believe, it’s that you believe.”