As a practicing atheist, I've been accompanying my wife to church services in Baltimore on the last Sunday morning of every month for the last few years. My wife likes to make the one-hour drive from our home in Arlington, Va., because this church, close to Lexington Market, feels to her more welcoming and homey than what she experiences back at her local place of worship. Also, she says what the priest in Baltimore preaches during the Mass often sounds more relevant to her life experiences. The church is named for St. Jude, patron saint for hopeless cases, which some of my acquaintances might believe makes me the ideal candidate for services there.
I'm never thrilled about schlepping to Baltimore since I'm the one doing the driving on the racetrack that is the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, where on early Sunday mornings everyone apparently believes they can drive 100 miles an hour without being ticketed by the highway police. Not to sound sacrilegious, but maybe the reason everyone drives so fast is because they're late for church.
What seems ironic is that on our way up to the St. Jude Shrine, we pass near the Maryland Live casino at Arundel Mills Mall and the new Baltimore City Horseshoe Casino, which I suppose for many people is another cathedral where one can pray.
But I agreed to drive my wife to Baltimore in the spirit that it's better to give than to receive, which my wife tells me is what attending Mass at St. Jude is all about.
The dirty little secret is that no matter how strong I declare my disbelief in the power of religion and prayer, I too get something out of going to St. Jude. When we first arrive, I join my wife in a separate prayer chapel, off the rows of pews, where we put a few dollars in the charity box and light candles for the dearly departed or for family members and friends who might be suffering and seek hope for answers to their prayers. How I react to the situation surprises me because momentarily I stop being so self-involved and think about other people who might need help. I can't honestly say I believe that lighting a candle for others will miraculously ease their suffering, but I'm willing for those few seconds at St. Jude to suspend disbelief.
What touches me especially in this chapel is watching people recite a prayer as they touch the paintings on the wall of St. Jude and other religious icons, as if that connection will give them inner peace and strength to get through difficult days. I haven't felt the impulse to reach out and touch the paintings myself, but if such prayer helps others, I can't sit there all holier than thou and judgmental and say it doesn't work for them.
But let's not get carried away about what going to church does for my spiritual health, or the lack thereof, because I never actually stay with my wife for the Mass. Instead, I head over to a hotel cafe on Baltimore's Light Street where I read the Sunday paper and drink hot chocolate to pass the hour until it's time to go pick up my wife back at the church after the services are over. In fact, that cafe has become my own personal sanctuary where I can reflect on the whole idea of what I just witnessed back at St. Jude, which feels so different from the material world where those without belief in a higher power might even be at a disadvantage in finding ways to cope with everyday life.
I'm not about to shred my atheist identity, but now even I sometimes look forward to going to St. Jude on Sundays for the simple reason that being there makes my wife feel happy that she's able to pray for her extended family and for other people who might be in need, which makes me feel good too. And that can't be bad because it serves as a constant reminder that I don't have to be religious to see what's most important in life.
Eric A. Green is a retired federal government writer and editor and is now a freelance writer in the Washington D.C. area. His email is Rgreen61@verizon.net.