Lost and Found - My Trip to Spirituality
Posted: Sunday, February 21, 2010
by Sara O'Rourke
By now, ripe and wise from nineteen years of living, I have come to know myself well enough to
recognise that part of my character, indellible and carefree, is my lack of direction. Sure, in my world and life outlook, what I see is very much the bigger picture, always looking ahead ten yards rather than a step in front, or, even more immediately, at where I am stood at that moment. However, what I see is not necessarily a set goal I need to reach in a particular way, but rather the fading light of life, the creeping of old age, the thirst that comes when you realise you've wasted years, let moments pass you by, and all of a sudden, you want to dive into that sea of experience.
One of the most powerful things out there, in the strange cosmos that makes us 'ooo' and 'ahh', stellar and magnificent, is the light of hope. I firmly believe that statistically my generation is composed predominantly of atheists and agnostics; presumably the physical result of years of pressing the message that science is truth and religion causes wars, to put it, admittedly, very, very broadly. Yet, it's funny what a panic like my sense of feeling lost will inspire you to be open to - tonight, for the first Sunday since Christmas, I went to church.
Now, perhaps I should own up, here and now, before we really bite into the article, to the fact that I was once, at a much younger age, a regular church-goer. I would faithfully accompany my mum to church every Sunday and at the age of seven I had my communion. Technically, therefore, I was made a member of the church many years ago and hence there could be some innate attachment within which called me forth tonight. What I am asking, however, is whether maybe, just maybe, it could have been something else.
The 'church' in question was not your typical collage of candles, robes, incense and hymns. Forgive my Catholic imagery, but one must draw from one's own trunk of knowledge - personal memory. This one, located in none other than an actual London theatre house, was full to the brim with smiling, normal individuals who were ready to usher you in, find you a seat as close to the stage as possible, and introduce you to other members of the audience. It was very much like going to a show.
What was also new was the 'performance' itself. The music was less flat chamber choir accompanied by trembling organ and more Red Hot Chilli Peppers meets Jesus. The pastors had microphones, video footage, and their words raised the congregation out of their seats to the call of praise. Every hair on my arm was raised in the full thickness of that atmosphere - the energy was both undeniable and inescapable. I felt smothered with the intensity of the faith in that theatre, yet overwhelmed by how welcome I had been.
I had gone to church tonight in the hopes of finding a sense of direction. Having exhausted every other option, knowing nowhere else to turn, my last resort was to turn to that familiar being - God. After all, if having God in their lives has worked for so many other people (evidently) then why not give God a shot, myself? How selfish, I thought, to be standing in this arena of love and joy, praying only for myself.
And yet, here I sit, window open to the sounds of London's sleeping traffic - that low hum, broken every now and again by a siren on a mission - typing away my thoughts. And, what is it that I am really doing and experiencing? Why, I think they call it inspiration.
Let it be clear that I aim not to preach, convert or anything of the persuasive kind. All I know is that I feel a little more at peace now than when I left a few hours ago. I feel a bit more relaxed and a bit more accepting. Psychological games? Perhaps. Genuine? Definitely.
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Top-level comments on this article: (5 total)Waking up to the insecurities of life is a milestone, especially for young adults. Much better than getting lost in some career or another. Unfortunately, when this happens most run to the nearest refuge and settle for some weak finality that dictates the rest of their lives, and ends the wonderful inquiry into life, never venturing deeper into life's mysteries.
Great piece - glad you are thinking beyond while you are still youthful! HE is so able....and capable, Sara. Thanks for giving us this peek into your thoughts and life! Marijo
I'm 29, and I still haven't given up on reality yet. Good for you, though. Your route is MUCH easier.
Hi Sara I enjoyed reading what you had to say. I was born a catholic and without any offence to anyone one the reason I don't go to church is I find the catholic way of doing things is boring.I would love to sit out a full mass but I have tried, and after about 10 minutes I feel the need to leave. I did however go into a Jehovahs witness hall which is at the bottom of my street to see out of curiosity how they conducted matters. They to had microphones etc, not sure about the music though, as I never stuck around long enough to find out. It looks like I am not one for church so I guess I'll continue doing what I always do and say my prayers at home. I am sure God will hear them whether I be in his house or mineKeep wellKacy
Hi Sara.I was raised a Methodist and attended church with my parents (well mostly Sunday school) religiously for many years as a child. I'm not really sure when I began to be disillusioned with it, but it has held to this day.As a child, I always thought that in growing up everything would become clear and make sense. Mainly the opposite has happened ... at least for me. Embracing the unknown and uncertainty has been difficult for me. I'm something of a security freak. And there are days when it all just seems completely pointless, but for me the embracing has made all the difference.Even with set goals and a plan, you can never really know what will happen ... count on a specific outcome. I find it much better to live in this moment right here and right now.I enjoyed your article. It is well-written as they always are. I also enjoyed the little peek inside of you. Well done.Dianne
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