Associations

I was sitting in the front pew of the UCD church today, trying to commune with God, when I found myself thinking of associations.

This isn't at all unusual. I think about associations all the time. I'm thinking about them more and more, actually.

I don't have a picture of UCD's church handy so I'm going to swipe one from another website, and hope they don't mind.

You can just about make out the tabernacle there, underneath the Taizé cross and the randomly-patterned stained glass. It's a very simple tabernacle, gold-coloured with a cross on the front. It's much better than the atrocity the church had until recently-- a similar box, but with a chaos of colours on the front as though it had been painted by a toddler.

I actually like Our Lady Seat of Wisdom very much.

As I was saying...looking at the tabernacle, I began to feel certain associations. I seemed to hear the voice of a young-ish, rather bookish woman saying: "I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys..."

Actually, I didn't imagine her saying any specific words, but I imagined her quoting the Song of Solomon.

And why? Because that seemed somehow in keeping with the atmosphere of the place, with the aesthetic.

This atmosphere even had a period attached to it. For me, it was the sixties or seventies in Ireland, or even a little later. I think this was about the period a fairly bookish young woman might find the Song of Solomon to be especially beautiful and quotable. She needn't even have been a particularly religious young woman.



This was a time in Ireland when, although liberalism was certainly making inroads, an ordinary young person might be expected to have a certain sentimental attachment to Catholicism. But the poetry of the Song of Solomon would speak to a new respect for sensuality and sexuality.

Do you see what I'm getting at? Catholicism, to me, is associated with a whole range of different aesthetics and associations. Usually very specific associations and aesthetics. It's like there are different aesthetic or atmospheric strains of Catholic devotion. And I like most of them.

Some of these "strains" are attached to particular periods and places, and some aren't. They're very hard to put into words.

For instance, nineteenth century Catholicism has (to me) a very particular flavour, a certain austere intellectualism mixed with a baroque romanticism. Perhaps it all boils down to the personality of John Henry Newman, and the very specific mixture of masculinity and femininity in that complex figure.

Here's another example. Some years ago, they used to have mid-week Eucharistic adoration in the Holy Spirit Church in Ballymun. It was always to the backing of soft devotional music, guitar music with pious ejaculations sung in different languages.

Regular readers will know that I am not a fan of internationalism. But I liked the internationalism of this backing music. I was a friendly, non-threatening sort of internationalism. There were "swirly" sounds between the music.

The gleaming gold monstrance harmonised very pleasingly against the warm colours of the church. The whole experience was very soothing. It made the love of God seem very tender and healing.

Another example is the sort of atmosphere invoked (for me) by the groups of statues you sometimes see outside Irish Catholic churches; that is, large white statues, often showing Calvary scenes, usually quite weather-beaten.

Tenderness and softness don't come to mind here. Rather, heroism and purity and sacrifice. Hardness. But it's just as moving and elevating an "atmosphere".

Here's the thing; I find it very difficult to approach God except through the intermediary of one of these atmospheres, one of these aesthetics. It's not for me to say whether this is a good or a bad thing. But, unless convinced otherwise, I'm assuming that it's not a bad thing.

I'm grateful for these associations. They point me to God.

There's a much bigger point arising out of all of this. I suspect that I am not unique or special, and that many (or even most) of our loyalties, beliefs and even our quests come from associations such as these-- whether in religion, politics, working life, love, or any other realm of human activity. How much of our lives are determined by a fragrance, a particular tone of voice, a pattern of light and shadow, that grasped our imaginations at just the right moment?