I am a creature of habit. I’ve been getting up at the same time for so long, I wake up quick enough to turn off my alarm just as it starts. Noon rolls around, and my stomach suddenly wakes up and demands lunch. Ready for dinner at six and bed at midnight. Rinse and repeat tomorrow.
Some of this is part of my inherent personality. Some is tied to my parents and their own tendency toward habitual behavior. But some of this I think is tied to being raised in a ritualistic religion.
For the first 18 years of my life, I was a practicing Catholic. Mass was a weekly affair in our house; we always went early Sunday morning. This was clockwork, regardless of the time of year or location. If we were home, we went to St. Mary’s in Hemlock. On vacation it didn’t matter where we went, we’d find a church to attend mass at.
Within mass itself, you find another layer of habits. Every single mass follows the same sequence of rituals. Processional, introduction, liturgy of the word, liturgy of the Eucharist, communion rite, conclusion, recessional. All year round, this order of events is largely unchanged. Even when the events change, additions and subtractions happen as part of a yearly schedule. There are few surprises being a Catholic.
Even now, nearly a decade removed from regular mass attendance, these rituals still speak to me. The religious meaning is gone, but the familiar sequence of events feed my need for regular habits. I find myself easily falling into a pattern of standing and sitting, chanting and singing, completely subconscious.
My love of habits was not born of religion. But being part of a ritualistic religion seems to have enhanced my natural tendency toward forming habits. It was such a large part of my life that its effects last long after I left the faith.
-That is all.
