Faith, Hope, and Love Making

Apologies to rob for the double-up, but this is time-sensitive and postcounted. 

To Donna and any other theologically minded gheorghies: I tried. 

I still have a soft spot in my heart for the Episcopal faith. While my actual faith is routinely tested and not very successfully, I still love the notional principles and the general gist of what I believe it’s supposed to mean to us human types. 

My great grandfather was an Episcopal priest (lucky for me they could marry), while my grandfather on the other side of my family went to Yale divinity school in the 1920’s and was a career minister and a devout Christian and great dude til he left us at age 97. It’s in my blood. 

When I was in high school and took one of those “what career you should choose” tests, the top return was Clergy. You probably all figured. 

While I was confirmed in the Episcopal church, my attendance and passion for all things “the cloth” has waned considerably since those days. I still try to drive thoughts of hypocrisy, fallacy, and far-fetchedness from my head when I consider anything religious, and Donna’s writings help, but there are too few Donnas and too many folks who... well, they’re not Jim Jones, but they’re closer to that assclown than they ought to be. 

Also, I’m lazy. I like to snooze away my bachelorrific Sunday mornings. And my ex, a very good Catholic, always took care of the instilling of scripture into my girls’ lives. Well, she and their fantastic Catholic School. I do have my grandfather’s huge Bible that’s well over a century old (pictured below), and I occasionally used to have “Home Church” with my girls. Occasionally. 

Anyway, I still get the emails from my hometown parish. They’ve muddled through like many faith-based organizations during these trying times. And I thought to myself this morning, maybe I’ll tune in! I opened up the liturgy attachment just before the 9am service to see what I would be in for. Bad idea. Here was the second reading, the Epistle from 1 Corinthians. 

Look, I’m on the fringe anyway, good people. I’m divorced, which for Pete’s sake, of all the faiths in the world, the Episcopal faith has to understand. And therefore, I’m considered a fornicator, on those blessed occasions. I’m in a relationship now, so it’s not like I’m cavorting out there like some mad hanky-pankster, but I’m still a sinner for lying down with my woman. And I don’t think anyone in their proper mind can legitimately support me rushing back to the altar for “the charm.” 

Shun fornication! Well, I tried. My dad, the son of a preacher man, returned to active parishioner status two years ago at age 73 after a Moses-like exactly 40 years of abandoning the practice in toto... I’ll make my way out of this desert someday, perhaps.

I did a little digging into the Biblical meaning of fornicating and how it’s regarded, and I landed here, which made me laugh. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and giving this sinner a chuckle on a Sunday morning is a nice wink from the Big Guy or Gal up there. I’ll take that.