I've written a great deal about my stuggle with Catholicism. They pound this stuff into you when you're young and highly impressionable and as you age and begin to question basic truths the lines between but you believe and what you think you believe begin to blur. At least, that's what happened to me.

In the words of Jim Carroll, I was a Catholic boy. I attended mass every Sunday, was baptized as a baby, got my first communion in grade two and was confirmed in grade seven. From junior kindergarten through OAC, I attended Catholic schools and learned about the faith as part of the curriculum. As a teenager, with a developed mind that always looked as deeply into matters as possible, I began to question the foundation upon which the religion I belonged to was built. In my early 20s, I became overwhelmed with this sense I was being hypocritical when I practiced Catholicism, as I fundamentally disagreed with a great deal of the doctrine espoused from the Vatican. I stopped going to mass, even on Christmas Day and Easter.

The funeral I attended this morning included a Roman Catholic mass. As I sat in the pew with a number of friends who were not Catholic, I wondered to myself whether I would participate in the mass as a Catholic or non-Catholic. As the service opened with Amazing Grace, I was still unsure, and then my body went into auto pilot. I found myself participating as a Catholic, kneeling when it was time to kneel, joining in with the Lord's prayer and even taking communion. Even as I found myself resonding in this manner, I couldn't tell if it was because I wanted to or if it was because the customs and routines had been so impressed upon me in my youth my response was a reflex action. I still don't know, but it definitely has me thinking.

There's no natural ending to this entry. I'm really just thinking out loud. I may be a lapsed Catholic, but I haven't given up my membership in the club.