What was it about the classes at the Beda that made me jump back like a scalded cat. I could have screamed in rage and frustration, insult and betrayal.
And yes, it woke me up.
Woke me up, challenged me to reconnect with the project that has always burned within me, yet has been semi-dormant these last years; overshadowed by bereavement, by parenting, by wanting to move on from my work as a psychotherapist but not seeming to find a way forward . . . except the doors of the Church were open. Open all the way to Rome!
For refuge, I had entered the doors of the Church and I had left my critical faculties outside. You don't care when you need refuge. The near unchanging rhythms of the Church was what made sense. Made sense until in the seminary classes I was forced into thinking.
Help! A monarchical system? Celibacy? Infantile psychology? Very limited dialogue?
What do I value? What do I commit to? Wake up fast! And back and back until I hit a world that makes sense. Where I started from forty odd years ago. Marx and Freud amongst others. Check the maps. Start from where you are. What else can you do!