[“And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know. God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson, Heaven holds a place for those who pray.” – Simon and Garfunkel, Mrs. Robinson]
A kind of domestic joy from faith is familiar to me. I have experienced and have observed family members experience a conflict between the expectations and dogma surrounding life and the material circumstances and pressures within it. You feel like there are things that would be called sins weighing on you, feeling that you have wronged someone or that you have bad habits that always are gnawing at you, and then you hide in your personal space. You cook, you clean up your room, you read in the corner, you’re doing something so you don’t feel what is surrounding you. Maybe the tempering factor that came later for me was the exploration of the circumstances and the causality of guilt.
The personal solace of faith was epitomized by my great aunt. I think of rosaries, of sticks of gums, of a keyboard in a pink room, of jokebooks, and the large green car. She had a very traditional conception of Catholicism and her religious life was extremely tangible. Not to say that dogma is typically accompanied by misplaced indignation and judgement but my aunt was surprising with her lack of condemnation and her gentle nature. She was jolly and had the warmest sense of humour and a resilience. Her grand love that was so freely dispersed to us all showed the benevolence inherent in any conception of humanity and divinity. I always remember how she could not believe in perdition. She reasoned that her conception of God, being one overwhelming with love, would never separate the creation so beloved from all else, would never punish or allow eternal harm. This rejection of a terrible oblivion would chafe the convictions of many believers but her conception of love trumped this. I always remember this vast love.
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