I ran to the tower where the church bells chimed...

...and I hoped that they would clear my mind. They left a ringing in my ear, but that drum's still beating loud and clear.

I went to Mass with my mom yesterday back home.

I've been thinking lately that maybe church is what's missing. Maybe I just need to rebuild my relationship with God and the Church to figure out my life.

The thing is, I think I already have a pretty good relationship with God. But that means that I have my own beliefs...which are not necessarily the same as an organized religion's.

The priest focused his homily on foundations. The Gospel reading was Matthew 7: 21-27 - foundations. The wise man builds his house on rock, unlike the fool who builds his on sand. We're supposed to build our faith on the teachings of the Church, and it'll become our rock. With the Church as our foundation, we can't go wrong.





Right?

But I have my rock. My rock is made of the people I love. My rock is the belief that God is love - all-encompassing, unending, unwavering love. As Father Greg Boyle, S.J., said, "This is a God who's too busy loving you to be disappointed." I think God loves every person. He created us all, didn't he? Didn't He make us exactly the way we were to be made? So how could he possibly NOT love us? God loves us. That is my rock, my foundation.

Then why is the Church grinding my rock into sand?

How is it, then, that if we are supposed to love our neighbor, if God truly loves us...how does it possibly add up that we can't let love happen? Why can't people I love so much love each other?

Yes, this is turning from a religious rant into an LGBTQ rights rant.

Love is love. You can't tell people I love that they can't love each other based on which gender they are. You can't keep them from loving each other by withholding the ability to marry. That's not how love works. The heart works, regardless of a piece of paper. But it would be nice to allow them that sanctity, the ability to prove that they will love no one else the way they love each other for the rest of their lives.

Also, this is becoming a save-the-world rant.

We just sit there in the gorgeous brick building, filled with heat or air conditioning that's so plentiful we complain about it, listening a man wearing a robe stitched with sparkling gold-colored threads, under a crucifix hand-carved of bleached wood. What good is any of that doing for the world? Why do we have such nice things when so many people have none, and why are we enjoying them when we could actually be doing something worthwhile?

I felt like I needed to leave partway through Mass. Just run, drive away to where no one could hear me, and scream. Scream in frustration at living such a privileged life and not realizing how much I don't deserve until now. Scream in fear for the rest of my life, afraid to lose this. Scream in confusion, not knowing where to start to make sense of it all.

So all in all, going to church at home made it worse. Thankfully, I'm at Creighton, where a lot of people seem to feel similarly. A lot of those people happen to be my friends.

I think I need to start going to St. John's more, but not St. Patrick's.