Being ‘bad’ on Good Friday

These last few days, Qawra and Bugibba were invaded by thousands of 20-somethings who descended on the island for four days (or more) of partying known as Lost & Found (Malta) organized by DJ Annie Mac.

When I saw them running around last week, clad in bikinis and shorts in obvious party mode, I had to do a double take. Easter tourists in this area are usually made up of sedate pensioners strolling gently along the promenade, or frazzled parents with young kids who grab a quick holiday during the school break. I eventually learned from Facebook (where else) that there was a music festival on, as people started complaining about the noise and disturbance while others frowned disapprovingly at such an event taking place during Holy Week.

These are the moments when I feel I have an alter ego: on the one hand I can act all sensible and grown up, sympathizing with those who were unhappy with the whole idea, but on the other hand, my mind flashed back to 30 odd years ago when I was their age…. and I had to smile at the recollection. I’m sure many of you remember those days too, when all you could think about was having fun and your biggest decision during Easter break was where the next party (or, in our case, disco) was going to be. I can still remember that feeling of depressing ennui on Good Friday (what on EARTH were we going to do all day?) as my parents demanded we respect the sobriety of the occasion and we glumly had to do what they said because… well, just because they said so.

But much as everyone likes to look back at the past with rose-tinted glasses, yes, there were still plenty of rebels who flouted convention even in those far-flung days. Hands up all of those who remember that the Beachaven in Xemxija traditionally launched its summer season by opening its doors on Good Friday? The first time I announced I was going to this my Dad almost had a cardiac arrest. He was very traditional man in that way, and was shocked at my blasphemous decision.

After that, Gozo became the mecca for all those who wanted to escape from their parents and what (at that age) feels like the stifling atmosphere of obligatory religious duties. To our parents (who never would have dared do such a thing) I’m sure we must have seemed like wild heathens and they wondered what they had done wrong… but they not need have worried; we were just being young. Eventually, you do grow out of this need to do the exact opposite of what your parents want you to do.

Personally, I really don’t see anything wrong with this kind of rebellion because it’s good to get that kind of thing out of your system when you’re young. It’s good to question the religion you have been brought up in, to ask why we have to fast, or give up sweets for Lent and why you have to do the seba’ vizti, and what is the point of repeating those prayers parrot-like at each station of the cross. Questioning these traditions is healthy, because I think there is nothing worse than doing something simply because it is expected of you by your family or society or because “we’re Catholic and that’s it”. If you don’t question you don’t learn and you don’t open your mind to the possibility that there are other faiths and beliefs out there and that yours is not necessarily the best one or the only one that counts.

By questioning it does not mean you are belittling it either (I do not agree, for example, that just because someone is a lapsed Catholic or a non-believer, that they should ridicule those who are devout). But those who are devout also have to realize that not everyone shares their religious beliefs. I’m assuming that those thousands, for example, who are in Malta right now for Lost & Found are not Catholic, so why should they care that they were partying on Maundy Thursday or Good Friday? Sorry to be blunt, but that’s the way it is. Last time I checked we were not a fundamentalist country which imposes our religion on visitors.

I hate imposition of any kind which is why I used to get very, very irritated at people who high-handedly brought religion into the workplace by holding Mass at the office during Holy Week, or a few lecturers I had at University who used to start their lecture with a prayer and the sign of the cross… where was I, I often wondered to myself, feeling like an alien? This kind of thing jars with me because I don’t want religion to be rammed down my throat. Let me pray when and where I want to pray, which could well be while I’m driving home and seeing a beautiful sunset.

What usually happens, in fact, in the lives of people who were born and raised strictly Catholic like we were, is that you go through phases throughout the years when you deliberately turn away from the religion in which you were immersed without your consent. Then, gradually, at definitive points in your life (in some cases, it is when people have kids of their own), you gingerly feel your way back to your roots, to ponder and try to really understand all the rites and symbolism which you were blindly taught to follow and to examine whether this religion still has some meaning for you.

Ultimately, I think, it is not about whether you have treated Good Friday like any other day, whether you spent the day partying or whether you spent it in thoughtful reflection and dutifully going to church. It is about finding a measure of equilibrium in your own life, ideally without having to thump your chest in self-righteousness or the overwhelming need to judge others for their choices.