quelque fois

Sometimes I think about the Gospezillio. By "sometimes" I mean, "many times per day." I wish it would pervade my thoughts enough to motivate me beyond reason.

People talk about "religion" and Catholicism all the time and it drives me crazy with frustration and sadness. There is a deeper and broader loss there - in religiousness - than I know of any where else.

As I sat this evening in my French class, watching a short film about a boy whose Catholicism was not an option and also nuttin but a thang. What is that? How ironic is it that the institution or set of beliefs that should be telling people about the Son of God (and all ensuing joy, grace, immortality, etc.) is instead leaving them with everything that opposes what Jesus stood for. Someone needs to tell the Catholic church what "the Pharisees" is code for in modern language.

In that class, I thought, I will NEVER stop assailing against religiousness and dead Catholicism [here I specify to accomodate those who are Catholic Christians] until it is reformed or until the day I die. The next thought (after a few more angry ones) was, Should that be some kind of long-term mission field for me?

I want always to tell people who are stuck in motions and misunderstanding Jesus' sacrifice that -something- -is- -missing-. Agh, I get fired up just thinking about it now. It never ceases to stir passion in me to tell the truth and help set the captives free. They're captive!

If you're Catholic and you're reading this, come get mad at me: I challenge you. I have decided that holding my tongue is something I shall ease up on when on this subject. Some truths need to be said. This is my people group, in a way. Then, so are the people who live downtown.

Now, when I say that, I mean not "people in the centre of the city where most business is done" because in a city like Guelph, ON (population: 170 000), "downtown" consists of about a 12-square block area. This is small. This is smally small small -- I cannot even convey to you the minisculosity of this so-called downtown area. [Note: "Minisculosity" is not a vrai mot.]

In a city like Toronto (or New York, Montreal, and so forth) downtown is a mother of a place, almost a city itself. I cannot count the blocks of Toronto's downtown area for two reasons: (1) My travels there have not been exhaustive and (2) I could not even visualize it all in my head if I had. As for Montreal, well, it is slightly smaller than Toronto (there are 500 000 less people in the entire city -- bam! that's three times more than Guelph's total population!) but the downtown area is still something that just seems to go on forever. [If you are more familiar with one city than the other, equate Queen Street with Rue-Ste-Catherine and Bloor Street with Boul-de-Maisonneuve, perhaps. Any suggestions on Yonge Street?]

During my first and second years of university when I lived at home, I would frequently bus into the Tobes. The Greyhound route stops at Union Station (the biggest station of transportation since EVER -- go see it; it's disgusting) and from there, it is a sixty- or seventy-five-minute bus/train or streetcar ride to my mother's house. More often than not (especially when my sibs and I moved to Lakeshore Blvd) I would take the streetcar because it seemed faster (there were no interchanges, as opposed to three with the subway/bus route), especially at the time of day I usually travelled. Often I would reach downtown T.O. around 23h30 or midnight and that is the time the downtown starts to come alive. I watched out the window which, on the streetcar, offers an almost too close view of the streets and I experienced all manner of negative emotion based on what I saw.

People are dying and I see it most clearly in the heavily populated areas of large cities. People are dying of addiction to things that bring only death. Sex is always the first one on my mind, then comes drugs and alcohol. After that, all that is left is broken, selfish relationships which do a great job of tying other addictions in and bringing about the very destruction of a person's soul.

All I can see is hurt when I look out those windows and the worst part is that I know what is needed to heal them, one and all. We discussed this same thing this afternoon during our discipleship group meeting. When thinking about the end of the world (and how it should be an encouraging thought - something to look forward to), I seconded someone else's posit that the world is a failing and corrupt place. "It's like figuring out what is wrong with the world is like answering what two plus two is," I said. "Everyone says it is x and spends their life solving for that variable. We," indicating all the in the room and all in the Body, "know that the answer is four - we've known that since the beginning!" With increasing conviction I concluded that, "We can scream all we want, 'It's four, it's four!' and no one listens." The analogy I was going to pull was that oh-so-simple one of the proverbial brick wall being screamed at. Believers have been screaming at unyielding brick walls since Antioch but, on the last day, the wall will come crumbling down. (Imagine! Just from a few millienia's worth of screams!) At the time however, I said, "When the time comes that every knee bows it will just be like, 'Finally..!'," with an emphatic relaxing of my body as if to say, "'It is finished' -- and now completely."

In the back of my head, I could not help but wonder: is this a selfish approach? Am I searching for my own vindication? I should not seek after what will be the hugest "I told you so" moment in history but rejoice (as if practicing for the after-party) in knowing that every tongue has finally confessed.

From downtown: "4" is a way out. "4" is not only being taken from an environment that wants to destroy you but being placed in one that will prosper you into eternity. Consider redemption and reconciliation and try not to be moved. Consider being regarded as valuable and irreplacable and try to remain unchanged. x equals 4 and I wish to be a professing mathematician.