There's Something About Catholicism #6

Soul Searching

Part One

After my accident, I became increasingly aware of my interest in the afterlife, and seeking comfort for Samantha's death, I fell back onto the roots of my Catholic faith which I was very grateful to have. One Sunday morning, out of the blue, my mother asked if I wanted to come with them to mass. Very strange as I had not shown any interest in God, or at least I hadn't shown it, or thought I had. I'd been reading different things on the internet however, not exclusively Catholic things or sites, predominately Evangelical Christian but not fundamental.

One Catholic site I found however, and still use to this day - Saints.SQPN - features an alphabetised list of Saints and Blesseds of the Catholic Church. I looked up many of the commonly known Saints, reacquainted myself with them and their stories. One of the Saints I looked up perhaps to have had the biggest impact on my life wasn't one of the common Saints, but my chosen Confirmation Saint, my Patron Saint, Saint Stanislaus Kostka. I could tell you all about this wonderful Saint that isn't as well known as the Saint's Augustine or Francis, but that is not the aim of this post, so I shall just briefly touch on his life and legacy so as to make sense of my continuing story.

Stanislaus is known as "the boy saint", born to Polish nobility in the 1500's. He is the Patron Saint of last sacraments and broken bones. Now understand this, that I have never broken a bone in my body in my entire life. Kids are always climbing trees, falling over and commonly breaking arms, sometimes legs and other bones, but not I. Now here I was, flat on my back most the time having broken a major bone noone wants to fiddle around with - the spine. Almost miraculously I am walking and without noticeable signs of having been in a car accident, even the scars on my back are quite neat, minimalistic and faded with time. Being the Patron Saint of last sacraments as well, I could see that somehow, I would like to think in some way, a link into Samantha's death.

Back to my mother on Sunday morning, I did end up taking up her offer and went along. This was the first time I'd been to mass since I'd left Catholic College, which was in the start of 2002. I found it quite easy and familiar remembering most of the layout of the liturgy, even remembering many of the responses and most of The Creed.

Still, I felt I was missing something. The congregation were made up almost entirely of older people my parents age and older. Very few young families, rarely a young couple or individual young person like myself with their parents or on their own. I decided to go searching for a younger, vibrant crowd, outside and away from the Catholic Church. I knew what it was that I was missing, and it was soul and passion, but with time it would reveal itself, make itself known to me.