A LITTLE SHROVE TUESDAY WITH SYRUP

A friend recently commented that she thinks I have a strange relationship with religion. She's right, of course.

I was raised by an agnostic and an atheist. My maternal grandmother, a Scot, was a Protestant daughter of an original practitioner of Mary Baker Eddy's Church of Christ Scientist, and this same grandmother was also married to an Irish Catholic who denounced his religion. She was the only one of my relatives to actively attend church for religion's sake. My father's family I'm pretty sure erred on the side of Protestantism, as well. 

I'm not sure I'm any purer in my intent: I started attending church as a teenager because the youth group was crackerjack. They went places and saw things and did community service and had fun and lots of the kids from school with whom I sang attended this one particular UCC church. It all seemed relatively tame to me, though it went over like a cement-filled lead balloon when my parents found out I had signed on.

I've had an on-again/off-again relationship with the church. But, I'm also a creature of tradition. Despite being anti-religion, Christmas was always a huge deal in my house growing up. We even had several creche set ups, a few that were rather elaborate. Thinking on that, I'm not so sure my parents were as big nonbelievers as they presented. I also remember going to a Protestant church once when I was very young, but I tried to throw a boy out a window at Sunday school, so we were probably asked to find another pew.

Some of it stuck. 

I enjoy the whole Advent tradition and go to great lengths to make sure I have the correct colors of candles. I don't actively practice Lent (but probably should as I could use a break from several bad habits), nor do I get ashes on Wednesday, and I vaguely remember my mother mentioning Maundy Thursday in passing. I take advantage of the school's early release on Good Friday, but I don't practice any good church behavior because of it. 

However, and this is where my friend's confusion comes from: I am a huge fan of Shrove Tuesday. Huge fan. Like, go out of my way to make sure I have the correct ingredients for it and everything, which is ironic since the point of Shrove Tuesday is to use up all of those ingredients. 

For those out of the know, Shrove Tuesday is Fat Tuesday. It's Mardi Gras. It's the day when we get to eat up all of the things our ancestors traditionally did not eat during Lent. Things like eggs, butter, sugar, fat, and other rich, tasty foods. Basically, it's pancake night in my house. Pancakes represent all of those things I am supposed to be giving up (if I lived centuries ago), and pancakes are circular, which is actually a pagan symbol of the sun returning for Spring.

Oh, sure, I'm also supposed to examine all the things wrong with me and what I should repent. That would take more than one evening and forty-odd days. But, there isn't anything so wrong with me at the moment that a good old pancake dinner won't cure. Besides, this whole Shrove Tuesday thing was unknown to me before -- you guessed it -- church youth group. 

So, yes, I do, indeed, have a strange relationship with religion, and that's okay by me. Are there other times that I eat pancakes for dinner? Absolutely. There's just something anticipatory about the whole Shrove Tuesday event for me, even though I make pancakes just for myself. It's a little like lighting the Advent candles even if I'm only having a plate of microwaved nachos for dinner. My intent may be a little sketchy, and my execution may lack flair, but the end result makes me happy without causing harm. 

That's probably about as close to heavenly behavior as I'll ever hope to achieve.