Sense of Life #2
From The Memoirs of Casanova by Giacomo Casanova (New York: G.P. Putnam and Sons, 1950), pp. 64 & 65 (ePub edition):
Despair brings death, but prayer does away with despair; and when a man has prayed he feels himself supported by new confidence and endowed with power to act … God ceases to be God only for those who can admit the possibility of His non-existence, and that conception is in itself the most severe punishment they can suffer.
In those sections of his memoir, Casanova (yes that Casanova) perfectly captured my predicament. Prayers, effective or not, made me feel safe. When my prayers were answered I’d be jubilant, when they weren’t I’d be like, perhaps God doesn’t think its time but I’d keep keeping at it anyway. I could reveal my deepest concerns and pleasure to the ears of the divine. I could discuss my day with the divine while on my jogs just like I was talking to a friend and laugh at certain missteps in that conversation. I knew that I had a being watching over the affairs of my life and I could chalk up any good fortune or mishap to this being’s will. While I write this my eyes are moist because nothing has been able to replace that intimacy. A friend who wasn’t judgemental, who could laugh at my folly and cheer me on when I was in the throes of despair. I always felt like when God was in the picture, I was forever connected to an inexhaustible power supply. Even when my friends drove like maniacs in my late teens, after warning them to reduce their speed, I’d just give up and tell them that if they crashed the car with me in it, I can guarantee them that I’d walk out unscathed because I had a unique contract with God. Perhaps I was animated by all the miracles I had read in the bible and felt that by extension, I had been bequeathed a strong heritage: the wisdom of Solomon, the strength of Samson, the courage of Esther, the foresight of Noah, the conscientiousness of Joseph, the will and vision of Nehemiah, I could go on but you get what I mean. When you’re steeped in the faith, there’s a messianic quality that envelops you, you start thinking like a prophet. Fear is gone just like with Daniel in the Lion’s den or his friends in a pit of fire. I understood right away, when Kanye said in one interview that there was a time when he didn’t feel like a hero which was contrary to what he had been brought up to believe, which was that he could do anything he set his heart to do. Especially when what powers that belief doesn’t hold much valence anymore. There is a disorientation that happens, a lashing out if one is not careful. So one would run to God and God would be awfully quiet and in the depths of one’s despair, one becomes clueless as to what to do. You feel like it’s your crucifixion and you also instinctively know that you won’t be raised on the third day. 🍂
My mother was at a church service when she went into labor. Since she couldn't get to a hospital in time, I had to be born in that church. My Nigerian name means “God’s seal or divine seal.” In essence it means that I am God’s property. That God’s mark is upon me. The name brings mom so much pleasure and when she calls me that, I know I have either done something to make her happy or she has good news that she wants to share with me. I grew up as a devout Christian. I even preached from the age of 11 to 14. I was Muslim from the ages of 18 to 25. I celebrated Christian and Muslim holidays and till today, I have strong reverence for both religions. They are also the two dominant religion in Nigeria. It became a running joke among my friends that when they saw me after a few weeks, they would ask, 'Are you a Christian or a Muslim today?' I enjoyed reading the sacred texts of both religions and contemplating the ideas presented in them. However, I haven't read either for some time now, and that makes me feel a certain way. I was, and still am, baffled by certain Muslims or Christians who claim to be adherents of their respective religions but haven't read their sacred texts cover to cover. I just assumed that these people didn't know what pleasure they were missing out on. My mother wasn’t bothered by my switch from Christianity to Islam. For some odd reason, she trusted my judgment. Who knows, perhaps she thought I hadn’t strayed too far. It was just another Abrahamic faith, so there was no need for major concern. She had been a Christian Scientist when she was in her 20s because her brother had been one for decades. Mary Baker Eddy was the founder of the church. I had read some of Baker’s writing and found it really fascinating. Mary Baker wasn’t really a fan of meds or hospitals because she believed that through prayer, the body could heal itself. In short, mind over matter. Even now as an adult, I still find it hard to visit hospitals or take medication, even when recommended by professionals. Because, in one corner of my heart, I still believe that "it will heal itself." However, I know that's a foolish thing to do. Occasionally, when my uncle came to visit, he would leave me copies of the Christian Science Monitor, which I always enjoyed reading. I even hoped to attend Principia College one day. Alas, my mother eventually became evangelical, and my plans changed. 📿
Before becoming evangelical or pentecostal, Mom had occasionally attended other churches because she was invited by her friends for special occasions such as weddings, christenings, or funerals. On my dad's side, they are all Catholic, and my father, along with some of his cousins, went to seminary school. As much as I enjoyed going to church with my dad, I also enjoyed going to church with my mom, whether it was during her Christian Science phase or her evangelical phase. For those who know me personally, I still wear a beautiful blue rosary around my neck, whether I'm inside or outside the house. I find it quite soothing, almost like a talisman to me. On both sides of my family, there was a strong respect for religious freedom. However, my paternal grandfather would have preferred for all of us to be Catholics. He referred to non-Catholics as Protestants, and at that time, I didn't understand what he thought my mom was protesting about. She was the kindest and gentlest woman I had ever met. He reserved the word "pagan" for those who didn't believe in anything. It saddens me greatly that I am losing my faith in God or religion. It would hurt my mother even more if she knew. I am thankful that my grandfather is no longer alive because I can't even imagine what he would have thought about it. My father would say it’s just a phase, and that I would snap out of it. I thought so too, but that hasn't been the case for years now. I drift in and out of faith. When I am in, it just doesn’t feel the same anymore. It's like I am living with a lover that I have fallen out of love with, and it's not really the lover's fault. Out of sheer respect for myself and my lover, I have to part ways. Yes, we occasionally make love and hope that maybe it would fix things, but somehow the relationship keeps deteriorating. The loss of faith can be fragmenting, disorienting, enervating, and just plain injurious if faith was the bedrock of one’s life. I don't know how I slowly lost faith. Perhaps I will find the courage to trace it back because as I write this, it’s too painful to want to recollect. I just want to think of happy moments before delving into the what and why's. As I too at this moment am not privy to that information unless I dig deep.🎲
Thanks for reading. If there's anything you'd like to chat about, or if you have any questions, feel free to shoot me an email. I'd love to hear from you. :)