I wrote the following piece for a writing class in which I am currently enrolled. The topic of the class is Writers in Community, and this was our first full essay for the course. I suppose this blurb here is a writer’s note preceding a writer’s note, but this essay was very revealing, and it has inspired me to start a series on here about my pursuit of learning and searching in the world of religion.
Writer’s Note:
Regrettably, I did write this final draft at 4am in morning on its due date, and while revising and adding to the paper, I finally saw the flaw in working on a paper hours before it was due. I had always been able to get away with writing papers before the deadlines in high school and in my STEM classes, but this class has taught me more than any before how fluid of a process writing should be. I should be taking advantage of my resources and my peers to really dig into my writing, but instead, I have to sit with my thoughts and questions in the cold, dark hours of the morning. If anything, this paper, and our in-class discussions have finally opened my eyes to the constant revision that writing undergoes.
Anyhow, when revising my paper, I really had to tackle my The Lord of the Rings analogy. I needed a stronger introduction that pertained to it, and honestly, doing Journal #3 for this class helped immensely. In that journal, I focused on writing an informal dialogue comparing religion and The Lord of the Rings. It helped me come up with more ideas for the comparison and ultimately led to the introduction and metaphors you will read in the paper. I am still not very happy with the introduction (this is a section I would have taken to the writing center), it still feels too forced to make the connection between LOTR and religion, and I know a more eloquent comparison can be made. Incorporating the interview proved difficult when trying to keep in mind that I had to tie the paper back to LOTR and analyze my discussion with Abby. This could be a much longer paper, and I would love to spend time writing more about my beliefs on what religion is and how it doesn’t align with Catholicism.
I am proud of my Big Brother allusion in paragraph three, however, and I think the ideas in the paper flow well without harsh transitions. I was a student who got very entrenched in the formatted writing structure we were taught in middle school, so anytime I can break away from cheesy transitions is an improvement to me. Writing the draft before interviewing my friend was insightful too because I was able to compare and contrast my original Catholic nomenclature with the terms that she shared with me.
Overall, I enjoyed writing this paper more than I thought I would; I am truly remorseful to be concluding it for the time being. I know that the ideas could be more fortified, and of course, no writing is perfect, but I am proud of the progress that I made from my rough draft to this final piece.
Lord of the Rings and My Concept of Religion
Consider a text that includes ancient battles, legendary prophetic heroes, and ancient myths whose reality wanes in the present, albeit conveying morals that transcends time due to the seemingly unchanging nature of man. Word choices such as “ancient”, “legendary”, and “myths” connotate a piece of fiction writing that likely contains no elements of truth at all, such as the fantastical world of J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Silmarillion. The collection of stories in The Silmarillion lays the foundation for Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings adventures thousands of years before Frodo receives the One Ring, and it has often been likened to be the bible of the Lord of the Rings fanbase. Despite my introductory sentence being written about The Lord of the Rings “bible”, the terms “ancient”, “legendary”, and “myths”, could very much find themselves in sentences describing a number of religious texts around the world.
In no way do I intend to offend any religion by using the word “myths” to describe ancient texts- I am a religious cynic with her heels dug into historical accuracy and science. I view these seemingly impossible religious stories as tales intended to be metaphorical and educational with insightful morals that apply to every person on earth, despite the time period.
My cynicism in religion can be traced back to how it was presented to me as a child. Even though both of my parents were raised in the South, religion wasn’t forced upon me; my parents never threatened me with eternal damnation or the Big Brother eye of God. Religion never came up in our conversations, and we only stepped foot in churches on Easter or when we visited my grandparents. In middle school, I had a few longer stints of going to youth groups, church camps, and mission trips at an interdenominational Christian church in Omaha, but my mom became unwilling to drive me to church as she got busy shuttling around my younger siblings. In retrospect, the hypocrisy that I witnessed between my peers at church was horrifying, so I’m thankful for severing my ties. Many of my “church friends” attended school with me. At church, I would see them committing their lives to God and living in His name, but at school they would turn a blind eye to those who needed help or a friend. This cognitive dissonance coupled with my science-inclined mindset quickly tore down the appeal and comfort I initially found in Christianity.
Despite the environment fostered by the people of that church, I was, and still remain, fascinated in the history and tenants of Christianity. In bible school, children are typically taught the bible through the whimsical stories in the Old Testament. Many of these sound so far-fetched and unrelatable compared to the world in which we actually live, and, as I got older, the connections and historical truth of certain characters in the New Testament baffled me. I struggled to understand how it could rain for forty days and forty nights all over the earth, but when there was historical evidence about the tension between the Romans and the Jews, I felt more connected to what I was reading. On my eighth-grade mission trip, I asked to chat with my pastor about some questions I had pertaining to the bible. Unbeknownst to him, I was not struggling with my faith in a way that concerned me, but rather I merely intended to put his historical knowledge of the geography and ancient peoples of the New Testament to the test during hours of discussion.
To continue the pursuit of my religious information grabbing, I wanted to expand outside of Christianity. Elkhorn, Nebraska, the town I grew up in, featured a well-funded Catholic school and church, so many of my friends in high school practiced the religion, including a friend named Abby Seibel whom I interviewed about her experiences for this piece. Besides the existence of the papacy, chanting, and communion, my knowledge of the Catholic church walks the line of ignorance. To expand my view on Catholicism, I attended a mass service at Saint Thomas Aquinas Church, referred to as the Newman Center, on September 8th, 2021.
Before the service, I contemplated what steps I needed to take to be respectful towards those who frequent the services and the religion. Clothing, where I would sit, and how I carried myself deserved prior consideration. Even though the church was on campus and the service would likely be riddled with college students in athletic shorts and College of Engineering t-shirts, I dressed modestly in black pants and a plain, long sleeve shirt. Although I wanted to see what the people in robes were doing in the front of the room, I didn’t want the other audience members to be distracted by my unfamiliarity with the ritual. As such, I sat toward the back and to the left, slightly behind a pillar. To be respectful during the service, I sat and stood in accordance with the rest of the room, and I did my best to be quietly observant and interested, rather than clearly confused and critical.
When I entered the cathedral (Abby later told me this is referred to as the “sanctuary”), the scale and detail of the room nearly made me gasp. The rectangular room featured fifty-foot high domed ceilings and arches with bright yellow and teal accents. Vibrant depictions of the Saints mosaiced about a dozen ten-foot windows along the walls. Tens of rows of sturdy, dark-colored pews separated the masses from the stage and altar at the front of the room. Although I arrived about eight minutes before the service began, many people were already scattered and kneeling across several pews throughout the room. Walking on the creaky wooden floor felt too loud in this echo chamber of prayer.
When I attended the service, I did not know the titles of the men leading the commencements. Abby informed me that these men are revered as the priest and the deacon. I say men because Abby also shared with me that in Lincoln, NE, women cannot hold these positions. The service consisted of the priest reading some scripture and tenants of Catholicism. After certain phrases, the audience would repeat the ending or a response. I was shocked at how often this “chanting” occurred- I could tell by its frequency that most, if not all, of this service was identical to every other service these people attended. According to Abby, each service has a section called the “homily” that is unique to the service, but I wasn’t able to detect this when I went. The Christian church services I attended focused on a relevant theme that was supported by texts from the Bible or religious leaders; they always varied from week to week and nearly the entire service centered around this sermon.
When it came time to do communion, I watched as, pew by pew, the members shuffled to the front of the room. I couldn’t see perfectly, but I did notice people eating something. The organization of this process amazed me, clearly these people had done this dozens, if not hundreds of times. As curious as I was to observe the communion more closely, I decided against it due to my lack of knowledge about what it meant or who could take it. Abby relayed to me after the fact that only Catholics could take communion. When the priest blesses the wafers and wine, they are revered as the actual body and blood of Jesus, and in order to participate in something so holy, you have to be a part of the religion.
When the service concluded, the robed men walked off stage. Again, the room fell silent. Slowly, people began peeling to the exit doors, and a few remained to continue praying.
I interviewed my friend Abby Seibel about ten days after attending the mass. As I mentioned, we were friends in high school and had fairly similar lives. While she is no longer Catholic, she spent much of her childhood attending Catholic services. Most of our conversation revolved around two points: I would ask her the name of something I simply didn’t know the Catholic word for, like priest, deacon, homily, tabernacle, etc, and, secondly, we discussed why she left the church and how that aligned with my initial impression of Catholicism.
I shared with Abby how I respected the discipline and beauty that I observed in the mass. I could feel the power and commitment that people radiated through chanting and the echoes of their song. She agreed with me and even went as far as to say how she missed the peace and sense of community you feel during mass. Without having to bring it up myself, she quickly moved into why she was no longer a practicing Catholic. As I myself had considered before talking with her, the familiar and nearly identical structure of the services idled her mind. “When you don’t have to think about what you are saying because it’s so rehearsed, you get lost in the motions and don’t think”. Abby, a major in computer engineering, has a phenomenal mind, and she felt it wasn’t being enriched during the monotonous Catholic services. Her experiences with Catholicism as a child did not turn her away from all religions, however. Today, she attends a Protestant church in Lincoln and is very active in their youth groups. She appreciates the informality and humbleness of her church, and there she can glean more insight from the pastor’s directed and purposeful sermons than she could in Catholicism. “It’s a community”, she shared while explaining why her faith means so much to her, “that’s kind of the point of Christianity, and any other religion, really”.
Although I don’t currently practice religion like Abby, I feel a longing for the deep sense of community that only religion can surmise. At present, however, I wouldn’t consider joining the Catholic church because, like Abby and I discussed, it doesn’t seem to allow room for critical thinking and modern adaptation due to the rigid structure of the service.
Religion, to me, means adapting moral tales from the past to incorporate and interpret them into modern times. In The Lord of the Rings universe where The Simarillion acts as a bible for the characters of the main series, they employ such interpretation to devise strategies and to have faith that there is good to be restored in the world based on the texts in The Silmarillion. In our world, the Christian bible should be used to inform us, to give us faith, and to encourage us that, like in The Silmarillion, good exists within everyone. Consequently, the real version of The Lord of the Rings is our very own lives. We are in charge of interpreting the bible’s ancient battles, legendary prophetic heroes, and ancient myths to see how they mesh with the ever-changing world. Based on my conservation with Abby and through my own observations, Catholicism does a poor job of making these modern connections on a day-to-day basis due to the rigidity of its services. As such, Catholicism doesn’t resonate with me on a spiritual level, but the rich mixture of scientifically impossible larger-than-life tales and historically accurate information will continue to pique my curiosity and interest in religion.