Aug. 4
I have been having trouble lately, with just things in general and an acquaintance suggested writing down what bothers me. I have never written in a journal before so I don't really know how to begin. I suppose that you're just supposed to start writing what ever comes to mind, so that's what I'm going to do. There is something that happened two weeks ago that I have wanted to bring up.
It was during mass and I moved methodically behind the podium, as I always did. Placing my hands on either side of the large bible that laid there I looked out upon the throng of faces, which sat silently, watching my every move. I stood silently for a single moment and then began with my sermon. This week I was speaking about how we should all help our neighbors, friends, and even people we don't know. Practice random acts of kindness I told them and read the story of the Good Samaritan. A story they have all heard hundreds of times. It went smoothly, as always, but the mass moved very slowly and I was relieved when I got to the benediction.
"Go in peace to love and serve the Lord. Amen." I intoned, my mouth moving quickly over the words. Words that mean so much to so many people. Words that I don't even pay attention to anymore. They have merely become a script for the actor, myself, to say. Every Sunday I stand there in front of that congregation, my congregation, offering hope and salvation from a God that I'm not even sure I believe in.
Yet some how my sermons continue to inspire the members of my congregation, though how this happens is beyond my understanding. For some reason I can do some serious preaching yet my own faith is seriously lacking. It's extremely infuriating. I wish I could be more like the members of my parish. They seem to find it so easy to believe. Anyway, back to the story. After the service I would stand out in front of the door of the church and shake the hands of the people as they left. My sermon received compliments from a great variety of people, including several older members, who were hard to please when it came to this kind of thing. The kind who think they know everything about religion, simply because they are older. Mrs. Jones, one of the most critical old bats you would ever meet told me that it was an inspiration that one so young as I could be so gifted in the way of God. I accepted the remark with a fabricated smile and a word of thanks, even though inside I was seething. Why couldn't this 'gift' cure me of my lack of faith? Something like this should be all or nothing. Anything in the middle simply tears you apart inside. You don't fit in with those who are unbelievers or those who do believe. You're all alone with your indecision. Its not as if I don't want to believe, I genuinely do. But I just can't seem to find it in myself. I can't understand it. Sometimes I consider taking some time off to try and find out why I continue to remain in this place. But I never do. I know it's not my place to question my lot in life and so I always return to my office, day after day. It's my duty to be here. It's what my father would have wanted.
It's what I want.
Aug 16
It's been two weeks since I have written last. I know you're supposed to write in a journal every day but I just haven't been in the mood too. I don't know why. Oh well, at least I'll have something to write about.
Sometimes I see my parish members on the street or in the grocery store. They always greet me cordially and often stop me to talk. I really don't mind talking to them, sometimes I even enjoy it, but they act as if it's odd that I'm out of a church setting. As if I never go out anywhere.
"Oh, Father Gabriel, it's so nice to see you out and about. You look very healthy today. I see your buying bananas; they give you lots of potassium." I feel like they're patronizing me. They act so surprised to see me shopping for food, almost as if they think I don't need to eat. They don't see me as a normal person just trying to get along in life. No, I'm the kind of person that parents tell their children to act like. I'm the role model of the community. It's hard to live up to everyone's expectations of me. But dealing with parents isn't really all that bad. The parents are one thing; their teenage daughters are something else all together. I see the 15 and 16 years old girls of my congregation looking at me, their faces carrying noticeable blushes. I don't think they realize that they aren't hiding it very well. I guess can't really blame them though, since I am only a few years older than they are. What they feel is a natural thing and I know enough not to bring it up. It's hard being my age and being in this profession. I have become a classic case of the inaccessible lover.
And that brings me to Misa. I only recently met her when she came in one afternoon when we keep the church open so that people can come and pray. I was walking up the main aisle and there she was, kneeling in the front row, praying her heart out. The moment she looked up at me with those sad eyes, I felt a strong connection to her, I can't really say why. I continue to feel very deeply for her despite the fact that it is forbidden by my profession. I don't know for sure, but I think that she feels the same way about me, which doubles my guilt. I have tried my hardest to deny what I feel, but the more I try the more I think of her. She is so beautiful, with her long black hair, and those big green eyes. I could become lost in them, if I was ever allowed the chance. Sometimes I think about what it would be like if we could be together. I think about the young couples that come to church hand in hand, who look so happy together. I wish we could be like them. Life is so unfair! I'm only 18 years old and I'm already doomed to a life of solitude. It depresses me to no end, knowing that I will never be able to love anyone on more than a professional level. And not being able to tell anyone about how I feel makes it a hundred times worse. It hurts, it really does. The congregation has the priest to confess to, but where does the priest go when he wishes to do the same? At times I feel so very lost. I'm very glad now that I look my friends' advice and got this journal. Writing it down is really my only release. It's the only way I can externalize what I feel. Priests are supposed to be without sin; models for those around them. There's no possible way that a person can be like that and remain sane. Believe me, I've tried.
Aug 19
I saw Misa again today, this time on the downtown bus. I sat next to her and we chatted about this and that, nothing of to much importance. I think we are both trying to avoid becoming too involved with the other. It hurts less that way. No matter the subject she's still the only person I really enjoying talking to. She looked so lovely with the sun shining off of her hair, a smile accentuating her pale face. Seeing her reopened my wounds, but I don't care. Simply being able to sit next to her is worth it... I wish my father hadn't pushed me into this! He never listened to me; never asked me what I wanted! I would never have chosen this life. Never. This wouldn't have happened if Mother were still around; she listened, she cared. She wasn't Christian like father was. Back when she was here father never made me go to church or pushed me to believe in God. I miss her so much. I notice that I think about her a lot lately, you know, what it would be like if she hadn't died. How different my life would be. It's becoming harder and harder for me to remember what she looks like, and that really scares me. I don't want to forget her; I loved her so much. I wonder where she is now? I. I think that this is part of what makes me so doubtful about this religion. If what Christianity says is really true then my Mother is in hell right now. I simply CANNOT understand how such a wonderful and kind person as her could be damned for all eternity just because she didn't believe in one person. I simply can't force myself to believe in something like that. I wonder how many others have wondered the exact same thing? I don't know what to do. I want to do something, anything, to stop this pain. But I have no one to guide me. I feel as though everyone has forsaken me.
Aug. 25
I feel a bit better today. This week has gone by pretty smoothly so I'm in a much better state of mind. I was really down on Monday though and I saw Misa on the street. She seemed to be worried and said that if I ever needed anything that I could call her. And then she gave me her phone number! I nearly fell over right there. I put it in a safe place in my wallet so that I wouldn't lose it. I've been thinking about things a lot lately and they don't seem so very bad anymore. I think I will go and call Misa tonight. I'm coming to realize that even if we can't be together than at least we can be friends. And that is better than nothing at all.
I have been having trouble lately, with just things in general and an acquaintance suggested writing down what bothers me. I have never written in a journal before so I don't really know how to begin. I suppose that you're just supposed to start writing what ever comes to mind, so that's what I'm going to do. There is something that happened two weeks ago that I have wanted to bring up.
It was during mass and I moved methodically behind the podium, as I always did. Placing my hands on either side of the large bible that laid there I looked out upon the throng of faces, which sat silently, watching my every move. I stood silently for a single moment and then began with my sermon. This week I was speaking about how we should all help our neighbors, friends, and even people we don't know. Practice random acts of kindness I told them and read the story of the Good Samaritan. A story they have all heard hundreds of times. It went smoothly, as always, but the mass moved very slowly and I was relieved when I got to the benediction.
"Go in peace to love and serve the Lord. Amen." I intoned, my mouth moving quickly over the words. Words that mean so much to so many people. Words that I don't even pay attention to anymore. They have merely become a script for the actor, myself, to say. Every Sunday I stand there in front of that congregation, my congregation, offering hope and salvation from a God that I'm not even sure I believe in.
Yet some how my sermons continue to inspire the members of my congregation, though how this happens is beyond my understanding. For some reason I can do some serious preaching yet my own faith is seriously lacking. It's extremely infuriating. I wish I could be more like the members of my parish. They seem to find it so easy to believe. Anyway, back to the story. After the service I would stand out in front of the door of the church and shake the hands of the people as they left. My sermon received compliments from a great variety of people, including several older members, who were hard to please when it came to this kind of thing. The kind who think they know everything about religion, simply because they are older. Mrs. Jones, one of the most critical old bats you would ever meet told me that it was an inspiration that one so young as I could be so gifted in the way of God. I accepted the remark with a fabricated smile and a word of thanks, even though inside I was seething. Why couldn't this 'gift' cure me of my lack of faith? Something like this should be all or nothing. Anything in the middle simply tears you apart inside. You don't fit in with those who are unbelievers or those who do believe. You're all alone with your indecision. Its not as if I don't want to believe, I genuinely do. But I just can't seem to find it in myself. I can't understand it. Sometimes I consider taking some time off to try and find out why I continue to remain in this place. But I never do. I know it's not my place to question my lot in life and so I always return to my office, day after day. It's my duty to be here. It's what my father would have wanted.
It's what I want.
Aug 16
It's been two weeks since I have written last. I know you're supposed to write in a journal every day but I just haven't been in the mood too. I don't know why. Oh well, at least I'll have something to write about.
Sometimes I see my parish members on the street or in the grocery store. They always greet me cordially and often stop me to talk. I really don't mind talking to them, sometimes I even enjoy it, but they act as if it's odd that I'm out of a church setting. As if I never go out anywhere.
"Oh, Father Gabriel, it's so nice to see you out and about. You look very healthy today. I see your buying bananas; they give you lots of potassium." I feel like they're patronizing me. They act so surprised to see me shopping for food, almost as if they think I don't need to eat. They don't see me as a normal person just trying to get along in life. No, I'm the kind of person that parents tell their children to act like. I'm the role model of the community. It's hard to live up to everyone's expectations of me. But dealing with parents isn't really all that bad. The parents are one thing; their teenage daughters are something else all together. I see the 15 and 16 years old girls of my congregation looking at me, their faces carrying noticeable blushes. I don't think they realize that they aren't hiding it very well. I guess can't really blame them though, since I am only a few years older than they are. What they feel is a natural thing and I know enough not to bring it up. It's hard being my age and being in this profession. I have become a classic case of the inaccessible lover.
And that brings me to Misa. I only recently met her when she came in one afternoon when we keep the church open so that people can come and pray. I was walking up the main aisle and there she was, kneeling in the front row, praying her heart out. The moment she looked up at me with those sad eyes, I felt a strong connection to her, I can't really say why. I continue to feel very deeply for her despite the fact that it is forbidden by my profession. I don't know for sure, but I think that she feels the same way about me, which doubles my guilt. I have tried my hardest to deny what I feel, but the more I try the more I think of her. She is so beautiful, with her long black hair, and those big green eyes. I could become lost in them, if I was ever allowed the chance. Sometimes I think about what it would be like if we could be together. I think about the young couples that come to church hand in hand, who look so happy together. I wish we could be like them. Life is so unfair! I'm only 18 years old and I'm already doomed to a life of solitude. It depresses me to no end, knowing that I will never be able to love anyone on more than a professional level. And not being able to tell anyone about how I feel makes it a hundred times worse. It hurts, it really does. The congregation has the priest to confess to, but where does the priest go when he wishes to do the same? At times I feel so very lost. I'm very glad now that I look my friends' advice and got this journal. Writing it down is really my only release. It's the only way I can externalize what I feel. Priests are supposed to be without sin; models for those around them. There's no possible way that a person can be like that and remain sane. Believe me, I've tried.
Aug 19
I saw Misa again today, this time on the downtown bus. I sat next to her and we chatted about this and that, nothing of to much importance. I think we are both trying to avoid becoming too involved with the other. It hurts less that way. No matter the subject she's still the only person I really enjoying talking to. She looked so lovely with the sun shining off of her hair, a smile accentuating her pale face. Seeing her reopened my wounds, but I don't care. Simply being able to sit next to her is worth it... I wish my father hadn't pushed me into this! He never listened to me; never asked me what I wanted! I would never have chosen this life. Never. This wouldn't have happened if Mother were still around; she listened, she cared. She wasn't Christian like father was. Back when she was here father never made me go to church or pushed me to believe in God. I miss her so much. I notice that I think about her a lot lately, you know, what it would be like if she hadn't died. How different my life would be. It's becoming harder and harder for me to remember what she looks like, and that really scares me. I don't want to forget her; I loved her so much. I wonder where she is now? I. I think that this is part of what makes me so doubtful about this religion. If what Christianity says is really true then my Mother is in hell right now. I simply CANNOT understand how such a wonderful and kind person as her could be damned for all eternity just because she didn't believe in one person. I simply can't force myself to believe in something like that. I wonder how many others have wondered the exact same thing? I don't know what to do. I want to do something, anything, to stop this pain. But I have no one to guide me. I feel as though everyone has forsaken me.
Aug. 25
I feel a bit better today. This week has gone by pretty smoothly so I'm in a much better state of mind. I was really down on Monday though and I saw Misa on the street. She seemed to be worried and said that if I ever needed anything that I could call her. And then she gave me her phone number! I nearly fell over right there. I put it in a safe place in my wallet so that I wouldn't lose it. I've been thinking about things a lot lately and they don't seem so very bad anymore. I think I will go and call Misa tonight. I'm coming to realize that even if we can't be together than at least we can be friends. And that is better than nothing at all.