Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Sick Pilgrim

Home
Catholic
Dark Devotional: Haunted by God

Dark Devotional: Haunted by God

Last updated on: January 23, 2021 at 1:21 pm by guest writer

Dark Devotional: Haunted by God 2021-01-23T13:21:59-05:00 guest writer

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

Four years ago, I parked my wheelchair behind the rows of pews in the mostly empty church before the baptism of one of my nieces. I bent my head in silent meditation, so it seemed to any on-lookers that I was lost in prayer. Was I though?

I don’t think at that time I’d prayed in a while, at least not to Anyone I thought was listening.

This church with its gothic architecture, marbled columns, and high-vaulted ceilings was within walking distance of my Catholic high school. It felt like home. Echoes of who I was filled this place. The pious little Catholic kid. But I’m not that kid anymore, I thought, sitting back there behind the pews…

The Pews

I looked at the wooden bench in front of me, nostalgic for the days I was able to sit on a pew’s uncomfortable seat, hold my knees on the cushioned kneelers, and stand at attention for the reading of the gospel.

I hadn’t always been confined to a wheelchair. I used to do all the proper maneuvers.

Stand-sit-kneel.

I was very familiar with the aerobic exercise of Catholic Mass, especially here at this church. The stained glass windows, pious Virgin Mary statue, and welcoming Jesus sculpture, with embracing arms, an exposed heart, and peach-colored skin, are all visible from every pew.

A random memory of playing a game during Mass reignited. We’d grip our buddies’ hands so tightly during the “Our Father” that we hoped to make them wince.

Now I was the one who winced. I shook my head and clinched my eyes shut.

I missed those days, in a way.
But I reminded myself not to dwell on the past.

The Choir Loft

Behind my wheelchair, I turned my head to see the choir loft, reached by green-carpeted stairs in a closet out of sight. Up there, I’d sing to the Lord whenever it was my grade-level’s turn to sing for school Masses. We’d belt out awful renditions of “America the Beautiful” and “On Eagle’s Wings,” unaware of our terrible singing, but we didn’t care. Being able to carry a tune was never a priority for our mandatory choir.

Nearly forgotten echoes of our janky hymns reverberated as my eyes trailed the long center aisle from the back of the church.

The Center Aisle

Near the back entrance of the church, I recalled the ghosts of the high school class of 2004, gathered there before filing up the long aisle for my graduation. I dreaded taking this walk.

Since I was diagnosed with Friedreich’s ataxia in my childhood, I wasn’t able to walk well at the time of my graduation, at 18. So I was terrified to walk down this center aisle.

Too proud to get a walking aid, even though I needed one, I expected the God of my childhood to take care of me.

Still, I imagined myself losing my balance before all the proud parents, snapping pictures and taking videos of this important day in their children’s lives.

“Help me make it,” I had prayed silently, desperately, when it was my turn to march up the aisle.

My cousin Mallie noticed my fear, and swiftly took me by the arm, without even asking. We walked down this church aisle together, like young members of a wedding party.

I don’t think I even thanked her. But because of my cousin Mallie’s help, I walked to the front of the church.

That day I learned that Jesus would not part the heavens and come to my rescue with a climactic miracle. I learned that it’s okay to get help from others. Help doesn’t come in a chorus of heavenly trumpets. Sometimes help can come in the form of your cousin.

Or, as I realize now, help can even come in the form of a wheelchair.

The Altar

My eyes followed the long aisle to the elevated stage in front of the church. There, a round sculpted altar draped with a purple cloth stands–and behind the altar, a white statue of a somber and muscular Jesus, hanging on a cross with dogged acceptance in His eyes. Even regal during his execution, He is the king of this castle.

What does this altar and the statue overlooking it mean to me now? I wondered.

My relationship to God/Jesus in my teenage years was stronger than the way most kids related to Him. This was probably due to Friedreich’s ataxia, sapping more of my abilities the older I became. So as I grew and learned to trust in my own capabilities less, I saw much truth and relief in relying on a God much greater than I–One who looks regal and welcoming in spite of suffering.

I loved the white stony expression on Jesus’ face. He endured his crucifixion peacefully, even nobly. I vowed to do the same.

One of the highlights of my faith journey was when I was asked to portray Jesus Himself in a skit for a retreat in high school. This was one of the greatest honors for a Catholic high school senior, especially for me.

During the skit, the devil-character saw a handful of worshippers seated blissfully at Jesus’ feet, then led them away one by one to introduce them to things like alcohol and drugs. Then Jesus heroically sought out his flock and invited them back to blissfully worship at His feet. The skit ended with the group almost entirely back around Jesus, except one lost soul who rejected Jesus’ attempts to welcome her into the fold again.

Jesus sorrowfully returned to his group of worshipers as the song that silly skit was set to ended with “Could you tell me how could it be any better than this?”

Pop Christianity at its finest.

I doubt that skit saved any souls, but that background song haunts me to this day.

“You are the strength that keeps me walking,” was the line in that song that pierced me to my soul. Since walking was becoming increasingly difficult for me, I’d sing this line to myself many times. It became my mantra, and I formed a prayer from it that was related and even simpler.

“Keep me up.”

I’d say this prayer to myself whenever I’d have to walk some distance. I said this prayer more and more as my ability to walk kept regressing–from walking independently to having trouble maneuvering stairs to being unable to run, and finally, to needing support to walk after high school graduation.

Even after my fervent prayer the night of graduation, God didn’t send me a miracle.

Baptism

My thoughts were interrupted as the door next the altar opened, a jarring boom in the hushed place. The priest, bedecked in a red and white cassock, marched to the back of the church, near my gathered family. My niece’s baptism was about to begin.

My quiet time was over. No untrained choir nor lyrics from cheesy skits lingered in the air. No more memories to get lost in. Just me and my wheelchair, alone behind a pew.

I’ve been in a wheelchair for over a decade now. My prayer, “keep me up,” went unanswered.

Maybe my doubts that sprung up because of that aren’t evil, aren’t even unchristian.

Maybe they keep me authentic.

I raised my head and wheeled myself over to my family.

God Still Haunts Me

For most of my life I believed wholeheartedly and completely in everything Catholic. Believing so devoutly, and clinging to God for comfort, never allowed me to honestly question His existence.

Now I do. Is He real?

Even if He doesn’t give me the miracle I wanted, or show up in cracks of thunder exterminating my doubts…

Was He there? In the choir’s shitty songs, watching the skit where I played Him, somewhere in the love and willingness of my cousin to help me walk?

Or am I giving credit to a myth?

I’m not sure. Even though I doubt God, I believe very much in his echoes. Things like

honesty, fairness, nobility, and above all else, the good.

So I guess the shift from a Catholic schoolboy’s beliefs to the beliefs I have now isn’t that contradictory.

Life in the years since high school has been a gradual acceptance of more disability. I held onto my faith strongly at first, but piety began to taper. If you look at all of my past writings on Sick Pilgrim, you will see a guy ceaselessly haunted by God.

And my hope is that you see authenticity too.

So God, if you exist, you and I are going to have a long talk one day.

Sincerely,

Pest

Matthew Lafleur is former Cajun correspondent and first Horsemen of the apocalypse, Pestilence, for Sick Pilgrim. These days, he writes less about faith and more about striving for a good life, especially while diagnosed with a rare, debilitating condition. You can check out his blog here, though he may pop up every now and then with a gift contribution to Sick Pilgrim, If the current authorities allow.

Previous Post

January 20, 2021

Prayers of the Faithful on Inauguration Day

Next Post

January 24, 2021 When a Good Catholic Girl Goes Bad

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Advent Approaching Mystery art Book Reviews Catholic Ghost Story Catholicism community Confession Current Events Dark Devotional Deconstruction Deconstruction Fellow Travelers I Want To Believe Interview Laudato Si Lent Mary Matthew's Letters Movie Reviews Music Reviews Our Charism Personal Essay Pilgrims Pope Francis Popular Piety Prayer Publishing Richard Beck Saints Satan Sheed and Ward Sick Pilgrim Charism Sick Pilgrim Chats Sick Pilgrim Events Sick Pilgrim Travelin' Medicine Show Sick Pilgrimage to The West Sick Pilgrims Small Joys Spiritual Autobiography Spooky Files of Ave Maria Magazine Spooky October Spooky Pilgrim Spooky Pilgrimage Strange Journey The Inklings Things Keeping Us Going Trying to Say God TV Reviews Uncategorized women in the Catholic Church Wonder Podcast Write the Vision

Select a Month February 2022 January 2022 December 2021 November 2021 October 2021 September 2021 August 2021 July 2021 June 2021 May 2021 April 2021 March 2021 February 2021 January 2021 December 2020 April 2020 March 2020 February 2020 January 2020 December 2019 October 2019 September 2019 July 2019 June 2019 May 2019 April 2019 March 2019 February 2019 January 2019 December 2018 November 2018 October 2018 September 2018 August 2018 July 2018 June 2018 May 2018 April 2018 March 2018 February 2018 January 2018 December 2017 November 2017 October 2017 September 2017 August 2017 July 2017 June 2017 May 2017 April 2017 March 2017 February 2017 January 2017 December 2016 November 2016 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

Who was Paul's companion on his first missionary journey?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Silas Luke Barnabas Timothy