One of my academic interests is festivals. It’s an odd thing really, as the great festivals are very Catholic and I am not. I’ve been to Carnivale in Venice and behaved badly. I was drunk and young, but it was not my shining moment. I also went to Mardi Gras in New Orleans pre-Katrina and have felt very wistful about New Orleans as I read and watch the coverage of this year’s event. This despite the fact that my Mardi Gras experience was very lonely in the way that festivals can be incredibly isolating for an outsider. It probably didn’t help that I experienced MG without any mind-alteration. But I wasn’t as young or as stupid then.

My experience with “real” festival has been very corporal, really. I remember the dizzy drunk sensation of Venice, the pounding headache of New Orleans, getting my period in the middle of the Palio, surrounded by 100,000 people with no way out.

As I said, it’s an odd thing, I think, that I’m so interested in festival from a scholarly point of view. I’m not one to let go and my indulgences (to some degree) are a thing of the past. Certainly my alcohol indulgences. I like the tropes of festival and the structure of it fascinates me. The experience of it requires more self-release than I’m willing to give over to as I wallow around in the back end of my 30s.

Carnivale and Mardi Gras are two versions of the same festival, of course. The pre-Lenten celebration before the repentance of Lent. Easter is late this year, so Mardi Gras is late. It should come in the coldness of February in my mind, not the bright promise of March. As a kid in a Protestant household, I didn’t spend much time thinking about what I needed to “give up.” I knew that the liturgical season had changed, because my mom wore a different stole over her robe (she’s a minister).

In case you’re wondering; most Sundays Presbyterians wear green stoles–Lent is purple, Easter is white, Advent is purple, Christmas is white, Pentecost is Red. There are other days that are white, and a couple where red is an option (from the worship FAQ on the PCUSA web site). As a kid, I liked it when the colors changed. Now, of course, as an adult (and a folklorist), I recognize the power of color in theological symbolism. Red days are loaded in ways that green days can never be. And purple now makes me think of change while white makes me think of promise.

I don’t go to church much, but I think a lot about the nature of religion in my life and in others’ lives. I often (and this will probably upset some folks, so be ready ok?) find myself in the company of friends who eschew faith and bash it heartily. I understand why, especially given our current political leaders’ screwed up positions on the nature of belief in the public arena and the scary way in which most people in my adopted state manifest their beliefs… Still, I listen to their harsh words and worry about my silence and the way it implies approval of their attitudes. That’s too mild a description really, but I’ll let it go at that.

I was in a meeting last week and a colleague of mine (a guy I don’t like a lot but have some respect for) said to me “if we are judged in the hereafter I want to have done the right thing here.” I was startled. Liberal academic don’t say things like that in public meetings. And yet I found myself (in a meeting about strategic planning of all things) wondering about what it means to be a good person. My honey believes (and she is as moral a person as I know) that what we do in the here and now is all there is. I’m not sure that’s true. She’s very forgiving of my doubts. This weekend we talked some about my criticism of people who have trouble reconciling faith and their sexual identity. She was more right than I was, as is so often the case.

So, here on Ash Wednesday, what do I have to say?

One, that I am glad to have not overindulged yesterday, though I liked looking at the festival pictures (as usual).

Two, that I’m glad I didn’t have to have a filet-o-fish with my Catholic co-workers.

Three, that I forgive myself for excesses in Carnivale in 1988.

Four, that I may no longer NOT say anything when faith gets bashed. Fair warning #2

Five, that I still don’t KNOW what will happen in the hereafter, but I’m hoping that there will be one.

Six, that I hope the hereafter feels and looks like it should (which is nothing like what festival has felt like in my life, at least).

Seven, that promise of better things (whether they take the form of Easter or not) be with all those I love and with those who need it–which is pretty much everybody, I guess.

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