Voice in the Wilderness

“I am a voice of one crying in the wilderness” (John 1.23). To be a young adult and a practising Catholic in 2010 is an isolating experience. Something is missing. I will admit it. I believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church but even this collective identity leaves me feeling empty and unfulfilled. Yes our Church is universal. Yes we are a global family. Yet sitting at the back of church on Sunday or in the week and adding up the ages of those in front of you is quite a bleak moment. You realise that most people present are old enough to be your grandparent and there are very few who could be of your parent’s age.

To be 22 is to be that sole voice “of one crying in the wilderness”. I am by no means an ageist. I understand and value the richness of a parish community, which depends upon a combination of all our experiences. While there is not always comfort in numbers, there is, above everything, Christ and knowledge of his presence- even where others are absent.

The Hard Talk

One lesson I’ve learnt when talking about the faith in a secular capacity is that it is not so much having the words to say, as having the opportunity to say them. The Mass- our closest link to Heaven- is simply beyond words. Yes our Roman Missal gives us the words. There isn’t, however, a script of our devotion. No word can describe that tear you shed experiencing the warmth of Christ and as Catholics we experience everything 3D. We are there with Mary at the foot of the Cross. We are with John at her side. We are looking with Christ’s eyes upon the cross of suffering. We are in the pietas. Catholicism offers this all-encompassing witness to Christ. I am so grateful for this gift of being a Catholic.

In a coffee shop in Birmingham centre I found myself trying to explain the Easter Triuduum. This was not exactly light banter for a mid-afternoon snack stop, but I was asked to explain what we do. “Where do you go for those few hours this week? You call it a holy week, but I do not see how it is different or why it should be different to any other week.” I didn’t have the words to say. I didn’t want to sound matter of fact. There is the washing of feet, moving the host to a side chapel before we sit and watch with the Lord- I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I couldn’t do my faith justice. I couldn’t do the Lord justice.

The highest point of my faith practice did not suit casual conversation. Am I making any sense? It’s not these acts that matter, it’s the way in which they are carried out. We are imitating the last moments of the human life of Christ. A gentle (pitiful?) nod of understanding finished the conversation. Thanks for sharing this with me. I understand better now. They listened! I thanked them for asking and for actually listening- in a secular world having someone listen to ‘the things we do’ is half the battle.

A Culture of Erasure

There have been trying moments while at university. Atheism was promoted at the highest levels of the university. Atheism is embedded in its structure and organisation. My Head of Department proclaimed his atheist mantra “We are all atheists”. I squirmed. I wanted to leave the lecture. Most people laughed. I detested the label- atheist. I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. That man standing up at the lectern with his gospel of atheism does not know me. Only the Lord knows me fully. There was more to come. Even the student union newspaper told me ‘Don’t Keep the Faith’. Being a person of faith I was unwanted, set apart and in hiding. I was told Faith is, at the best of times, to be hushed up and at the worst- non-existent.

Finding My Feet

This encounter with militant atheism was a true turning point for me: my hibernation was over. I simply grew tired of following everyone else. I rejected that whirlpool of mainstream culture. I didn’t like what I was becoming. I am a person of faith- you’d better get used to me. I am liberated in my Catholicism. My witness to the faith since then has affirmed to me that God is, in fact, a God of surprises. Working for a theatre organisation I endured the jokes about condoms, priests and death-worship. There was a blessing to be had even in this moment. God hadn’t been mentioned in the office before. “We don’t do God.” You do now. A colleague stepped out of the corner. “Oh, I’m a Catholic too by the way”. Stunned faces. A revelation. “I go to Lourdes every year too.” I saw a Catholic coming out of the woodwork. There is a lot to be said for comfort in numbers. Where there is one, there are sure to be more. I rediscovered from this that we are, after all, a global family but we are so caught up in the pressure of having to look, speak and act as though we do not have faith that we lose ourselves in the crowd.

A Crucifix when clubbing

I always try to wear a religious symbol. We have a responsibility to be visibly Catholic not as showmanship but as a conversation starter. My friends now notice if I am not wearing my crucifix or rosary beads when out on a Saturday night. “Ryan, where’s your cross? What’s happened to you?” It’s not just a ‘nice necklace’. You get weird looks when wearing a crucifix. You get those sympathetic looks as if they’re saying ‘Don’t worry you will grow up soon’. People will point and snigger. This symbol turns heads and registers a glance. This symbol makes talk. There is no conversion yet there is that turning of the head. On a bright Sunday morning after a night out my close friend asks where I am heading to. I was off to Mass but was reluctant (embarrassed?) to say. Thank God I did speak up. “I want to come with you. I am a Catholic but I’ve not had anyone my age to go with”. United by our experiences and now by our faith, being at that Cathedral it felt like we were two lost souls heading home.

I have faith in the youth of the Church in 2010. There is no room for pessimism. The committed young adults I know explode with Catholicism and are eager to deepen their spirituality. Where faith is found it is more considered, vivacious and vital than ever before. There aren’t the numbers we once had but if this means young Catholics have to take a greater role then perhaps this is not such a tragic fact.

Ryan Service, a 22 year old youth worker supporting disabled university students is a parishioner of St. Mary of the Angels RC Church, Aldridge and attends the Erdington prayer group in Birmingham.