THE CHURCH IS PART OF ME
by Maura Hanrahan
It’s always been there, the Catholic Church, through my four decades of life. It nurtures me, annoys me, enlightens me, angers me, saddens me, heals me. It comes and goes, or rather I come to it and leave again, wandering away, occasionally storming away.
This is –I am sure self-help gurus would say– the picture of a dysfunctional relationship. The push-pull, the waves of disparate, conflicting emotions, the apparent instability of what we have together, the Church and I. Given the Church’s track record on women, some feminists (and I belong to that club as well) might liken me to an abused woman who cannot shut the door on her tormentor.
But it is more complex than that (and you can call that statement rationalization if you want). For the most part, the pain has been worth the joy. In fact, the pain has even been worth the nuisance factors and boredom that are intrinsic to every relationship.