In the week before Easter this year, Holy Week in the Catholic Church calendar, I went to mass on Holy Wednesday, on Maundy Thursday, twice on Good Friday (Stations of the cross and the Good Friday re-enactment of the crucifixion of Jesus service), on Easter Eve Saturday and on Easter Sunday. It’s the first time I’ve done that since I was a teenager, since my mother made me.Going to mass was obligatory in the Naidoo household – no argument. Church on Sundays, and on high and holy days were mandatory, a date cast in stone by my mum and dad who believed in heaven and hell and fire and brimstone and a merciful and a wrathful God. I went back to church 18 months ago to the surprise of many of my friends. Not surprising since, for the last 30-odd years, I have announced my religious status (with a shrug) as not-so-holy Roman. I told anyone who asked that I was more spiritual than religious, a fashionable thing to say. I’d say I believed in universal goodness, in the power of self in whit...

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