Elaine made reference to a Fritos story that we talked about when she was visiting me here at St. E. the other night.  Since very few of you will have any idea what that meant, i thought i would explain.  A few theologians among you might find it interesting.

Growing up strict Catholic, one thing you could not do was eat meat on a Friday.  I was a picky eater, and did not care for fish at all.  That meant my main sustenance on Fridays consisted of Fritos and cheese sandwiches.  It was a meager selection no doubt, but I found it adequate.  Then it all went wrong.  I was walking home from school when I saw an empty bag of Fritos on the sidewalk and thought the packing said "Turkey crisp and tender."   It actually said "Truly crisp and tender."  But i was convinced it said Turkey Crisp and concluded Fritos must have meat in them.

Well, the following Friday there was the traditional bowl of Fritos on the table.  I said, "Mom, we can't eat this, Fritos contain meat!  She said they did not.  I said i knew they did, i had just read it on the package.  To which she said, "if you think Fritos contain meat, don't eat them!"  Words of Doom.  I was hungry.  I ate the Fritos on a Friday.  Mortal Sin! It didn't really matter that Fritos did not contain meat, the doctrine was if you thought they did, it still counted as a mortal sin to eat them on a Friday.  So I went to bed each night dreading where i would find myself if I died before I woke.  

Going to Catholic grade school, the first thing we did every morning was go to mass and take communion.  If a person went to communion with mortal sin on them, every communion became an additional mortal sin.  I was too shy to be the only person in the pew not taking communion, so up i went with all the other kids.  I was also too shy to go to confession and so it just continued and continued.  All of this of course was incredibly unhealthy and the general spiritual problems underneath all this have left permanent marks.  Here is an entry in my journal from a few months ago.

"When I woke up, I thought it would be good to start the day with
thanksgiving.  So I thought, “what am I thankful for right now?”  The answer
that came to me immediately was my very comfortable bed.  The morning was
cool, I was nestled into a pile of soft pillows, and the blankets over me
felt soft and good.  But then another thought entered: that it did not seem
quite appropriate to start the day thanking God for my bed of all things –
surely there were much nobler, more splendid things that should have the
priority – redemption for instance.  But a wealthy husband may give his
beloved wife many fine and expensive gifts, costly jewelry, a beautiful
house, or an expensive car.  Does that mean the wife should not deeply
appreciate the little acts of love she receives – a note, a teddy bear on
Valentine’s day?  In the same way, in my comfortable bed, I found a
demonstration and affirmation of God’s love this morning.    It was God who
surrounded me with the cool, comforting air of the morning, the pillows I
was nestled into, and the soft, warm blankets.  God’s love was in every
stitch of the sheeting.  I was breathing in God’s love with every inhalation
of breath.  So my first thoughts were the correct ones.  In everything we
should give thanks.

But where did this other thought come from then: that things had to be done
in a proper order, and in a certain way? At its heart, it is the old monster
of performance based acceptance with God.  The deeply-seated feeling that
God is reluctant to receive me, and if I have any chance of coming to him, I
have to “get it right.”  So where did this come from? The formality of my
Catholic training of the day, the failure to bond closely as a child and
thinking they only way I could be accepted is if I achieved excellence, or
maybe from a thousand other small influences of which I am totally unaware.
Wherever it comes from, it stands in the way of my fully appreciating the
love of God, of being able to relax in his presence, of being myself before
him and not putting on some false mask and stilted performance carried over
from my past.  The apostles overall did not feel this way.  They were with
the Lord night and day.  They pitched their tents with him in the
wilderness.  They did not stay away because they felt uncomfortable around
him.  They ran to him, they longed to be with him, they felt great hanging
around with him.  This needs to be my goal as well.  To be so confident of
his love that I can relax in his presence, that I can delight at the feeling
he is near, and take great comfort in it.  What can I do to begin this
process of drawing near and delighting in Him.  For one thing, I can begin
by thanking Him for my very comfortable bed when that thought occurs to me
upon waking."