You didn’t eat meat?

“You haven’t eaten meat today?” my sister Pat asked me with concern in her voice when we spoke earlier today.

Though we weren’t regular church-goers, I grew up in a Catholic family, where we had a house full of “holy pictures,” prayed each night with Rosary Beads, and ate fish on Fridays.

Even forty years after the death of mum and dad, we still continue the tradition of eating fish on Fridays when I’m home in Lismore.

And in particular, I seem to recall eating meat on Friday, especially Good Friday, was considered a mortal sin. A mortal sin, as opposed to a venial sin which was less serious, something you did unconsciously.

Even though I would still say I’m a “Catholic,” I have very little involvement with the church.

I’m one of those “pick and choose” Christians many people involved in various churches would dislike. My attitude is nothing is absolutely certain in life, nothing can be so black and white, so I’m happy to pick up the peace and love aspects of Christianity, and use them as guiding principles for how I live my life.

I could do that without necessarily believing in Christianity. And if I were born in another part of the world, I would probably have a different model of faith. But I was born in Australia, grew up in a Catholic family, and that’s why that’s the way I am. I might be right, I might be wrong.

Most of my friends and family are now non-believers, like most of Australia. But I also have friends who are very strong believers. I don’t think I’m “hedging my bets” by holding onto my Christian faith; I just accept “I don’t know.”

“I’m not into all the Peace Be With You stuff in church these days,” I told some friends today. I also really hate much of the music played in churches, these days.

A few years ago I did one of those online polls, and the conclusion reached was that I would probably feel more at home with The Quakers. As I understand it, their “church services” involve lots of quiet contemplation which I would probably enjoy. “But I think they believe in some weird shit, too, which is why I haven’t gotten involved with them, even though there’s a Quaker Meeting room on Devonshire Street not far from home,” I told my friends.

The fact that I’m not all that social as a person, more introverted, prompted my friends to invite me to a project they’re involved in which has seen the creation of a labyrinth.

“Annandale Creative Arts Centre (connected to Newtown Mission) has crafted a labyrinth for peole to walk through and engage in private contemplation, reflection , journaling. Perfect for people of faith who are introverts wanting to reflect on their spiritual journey” my friend wrote, telling me about the project.

“It was like a really great physio session, both spiritually and physically,” I told my friends.

Like with some of the exercises set by my physiotherapist, I had to carefully consider my moves, and often make quick and sharp turns. My physio would be pleased I didn’t knock any of the stones out of the way.

After walking around the labyrinth, my friends gave me a lift back to Surry Hills, and I popped into a local restaurant for something equating to a late lunch or an early dinner.

What did I have? A Japanese beer and some oysters with salmon roe.

I’m not entirely sure it’s what’s generally thought of as a meal for Good Friday, but it definitely wasn’t meat.