We bind ourselves to the One who, in the binding, sets us free


By Rdusatko (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

By Melissa Musick Nussbaum

Reblogged from the National Catholic Reporter

It had been a long journey; perhaps it is always long. My sister and I say Becky converted to Judaism, but Becky corrects us. “I didn’t convert,” she says, “because I had nothing to convert from. I was nothing. Now I’m Jewish.” By which she means Something. By which she means joy.

By nothing, she means, sadly and truthfully, the mall gods we have trained our children and ourselves to worship. She means the economic exchange we call Christmas. She means the pilgrimages to spas and gyms in a quest for eternal youth, if not eternal life. She means truth sought on a blue-lit screen and celebrities revered as priests. She means sex with a computer and friendship in a bottle. She means a life stripped of times and seasons, feasts and fasts, by which she means one damn thing after another.

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