I can't remember the last time I did not go to Ash Wednesday Mass. Can't remember. Must have been the 80s. Really.The photo is from last year, when I already didn't believe in what I was doing. Why was I there? Habit. The sublime order of the liturgical year, which is encoded in my DNA somewhere. My body even seems attuned to it. I have often complained (like in comments on this endless thread from 2009) that I find it impossible to leave the Church.
And of course it isn't impossible, but on some other level, of course it is. This is what I have trouble explaining to people.
Someone suggested that I replace the Christian rituals with Buddhist rituals. Alas, one of the things I am trying to expunge is clinging to ritual itself, which is exactly what I am trying to avoid. I have clung to rituals of some kind my whole life; rituals help me make sense of the passage of time, they help mark these passages in an introspective, moral fashion, examining my conscience. What, I would ask, have I done since last year? And the passage of time, these careful yearly markings, would cloak me in feelings of safety.
As one leaves the Church, this feeling evaporates. It is like you are exposed and naked; I get the unwelcome mental image of a naked woman (me) descending the steps of a huge and beautiful cathedral, completely defenseless and at the mercy of the elements. That is how it feels NOT to go to Ash Wednesday Mass, NOT to go to today's Fat Tuesday pancake suppers.
But I have a movie-series to tend to, I have other places I must be tomorrow. It is a lot like an old Twilight Zone episode--I know if I can go the entire 24 hours, I will have it in the bag. But this day, Ash Wednesday, is somehow even more compelling (to me) than Christmas or Easter, since it is about doing penance. Who will forgive me? And why am I so focused on forgiveness to the exclusion of other aspects of Christianity? These are questions it will take me years to answer... and I know the answers are not where I thought they were.
It is my task to answer them.
But first, must resist the hypnotic draw of the ashes.
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
~*~
And speaking of falling down, that made me think of Toad the Wet Sprocket, a band name that I immediately spotted as having been named after a Monty Python routine. At the time the song came out (1993), I was riveted by it. Years later, as it became something of an alt-rock staple, I decided it was about my daughter. Now, I realize that it was actually about me, stranded within Christianity (in what I now call my pseudo-Opus Dei period), trying so hard to conform and fit in with secular Carmelites and people like that. Who was I kidding?
And so, it is a perfect song for today, as well as today's blog title.
Toad the Wet Sprocket - Fall Down