Why I am a Catholic Pt. 1

About 3 weeks after joining the Catholic Church, someone asked if my journey thus far was filled with grace.  At that point, I had to answer, frankly, no.  It was instead, filled with much anxiety, some fear, some sadness.  I was coming face to face with the reality that many people have huge antipathy for the church.  People that I care about were reacting badly.  I was being challenged and grilled.  There were some who simply could not conceive that God would lead me to the Catholic faith.

I cannot pretend to know God.  But I have spent the last 10 years earnestly seeking to do his will.  That desire has led me to places I would never have ventured if I was following my own will.  I stayed at Grace Church because God called me there.  I began working for CareNet because I discerned that God was asking me to.  Frankly, I have stayed at CareNet because of that, too.  And I stayed at Grace for 8 years because that is where I felt God wanted me to be.

Until it wasn't.

Until one day I sensed that something profound had changed.  I sat in a dark church in Weston, MA and felt the presence of Christ in deep and real way and realized that he WAS present in the Blessed Sacrament behind the altar.  And I heard, deep in my heart, the words that have changed my life so profoundly.

It is true.

And suddenly I was flooded with a profound sense that this moment was going to be a demarcation point for my life.  This moment was the one I was converted.  This moment, I was going to remember forever as the one in which I accepted not just Jesus... but the church HE established.  The church through which he works in the world.

It is true.

And as those words resonated in my heart, I understood that if the Blessed Sacrament is true, then so is everything else the Church says about herself.

The moment of conversion took place in the dark church.  Actually living it out will take a lifetime.  I am finding that Catholicism is deeply challenging and more joyful than I could ever have imagined.  It is HUGE.  Polarizing.  Yet encompasses profound polarities.  I am utterly alone in the walk, yet part of something that has spanned centuries and actively involves billions of souls, living and dead.  It is rigorous and challenging, demanding much and giving everything.  It is a rhythm of life that opens me up to something so vast, so profound, so beautiful I can only grasp a tiny bit.  Yet it is like the entirety of the church exists in the Eucharist at St. Catherine's Church on a Tuesday morning.  That sweet, simple, spare event that transcends time and place... 25 folks who worship together and participate in something so grand, so massive it is impossible to conceive of it.

I am Catholic because I am a Christian who seeks to follow Jesus.

Love Fest

Yesterday I went to a meeting at which most of the people were Catholics.  Some knew of my recent conversion and were very encouraging.  A co-worker from many years ago was there.  She was a nun in a former life and is still active in the church.  She remembers me when I was unmarried, wore a stud in my nose and had no use for religion whatsoever.  Though even then I was fascinated with people who led religious lives, especially nuns and monks. 

I leaned over at one point and whispered into her ear.... C, I was confirmed in the Catholic Church last month.

She was amazed, of course.  And happy.  And when she found out who my priest is, she confided that she thought he was wonderful and that I was very lucky that God brought me to his parish.  (I couldn't agree more....)

It was wonderful to be surrounded by Catholics.  But even so, I have to confess, I have found a certain amount of isolation in this journey.  Lifelong Catholics love their faith, but don't really understand the conversion experience.  And non-Catholics can't even begin to know what this is like.  The fear and doubt which is slowly giving way to a level of joy I can't even begin to describe.  Tears may be the only way to express it, frankly.

Every day I wake up thanking God that I am a member of His Church. Every day.

Wednesdays

At my little parish, Wednesdays are our priest's day off.  Well deserved, of course.  He works the other 6 days a week, so I can hardly begrudge him the time away.

For me, though, this creates a little dilemma.  Most Wednesdays, sleeping late wins.  It is the day I start work at 12:00, so it is a luxurious morning of doing nothing.  On those weeks, it is usually the only day during the week when I am not in church.

Some days, though, I get up and head to another local parish for Mass.  There is a church right down the street with Mass at 9.

In either case, I start the day with scripture and prayer, reflecting on the Grace that God has given me.  Thank you, Jesus.  Thank you.

Like a storm

When I was a kid we used to summer on my grandmother's island in Georgian Bay, Ontario.  It was a beautiful place, all rocks and moss and stunted trees deformed by the west wind.  There was a beach of garnet red sand and little wooden cabins with chemical toilets.  (Read buckets filled with pine sol).

On many summer afternoons, storms would roll in from across the lake.  We could see them coming from miles away, fierce gray bands moving ever closer.  The air would crackle with electricity.  Lightening would start to flash.  Once we saw a whole bank of clouds rolling sideways like an ocean wave in the sky.  And one year a tornado hit like a freight train and knocked down a third of the trees on the island.

The weather could be frightening.  But it was also thrilling.  We would stand, as kids, in the pouring rain, laughing when the hail drove us back inside... or daring each other to jump in the lake in the middle of the downpours, getting called back out by our concerned parents when the lightening got too close.

My conversion to Catholicism has been a little like that.  A summer storm in the midst of what is usually a peaceful spiritual landscape.  I am both excited, thrilled, and a little afraid.  I stood and watched the spiritual storm coming from miles away... and as it got closer, there were moments when I wanted to run in fear, but more moments when I wanted to stand in the pouring rain and sing and shout for joy.  Laughing and splashing and shouting for joy.

Jesus.

You have come into my life like a storm.  I am soaked to the bone.  Sometimes I want to run and hide.  But mostly I want to shout for joy.

Corpus Christi

On Saturday I went to St. Catherine's and we celebrated the feast of Corpus Christi.  It is the celebration of the Eucharist.  I told Nguyen that the homily was the best I have yet heard at St. C's.  Nguyen laughed and said that I say that every week.

Perhaps.  This time, however, it might just be true.

Fr. Friedrichs was somehow able to capture the awe inspiring mystery, the great blessing, the incredible gift that the Eucharist is for us.  Christ gives himself to us with nothing held back.  It is almost more than we can bear to think of.  More than we can fathom.

I sat and wept through the whole homily.

I am just over a month in as a Catholic and I can tell you, it still amazes me that I can take communion in the Catholic Church.  Every day I think "Oh, good!  I get to go to church tomorrow!"  And every day I go to church and nearly have to pinch myself because I can't believe it is true.

It was the Eucharist that called me to Catholicism.  It was the deep mystery of Christ's presence that beckoned.  And as Fr. Friederichs says, I am unable to wrap my head around the stunning truth that Christ gives himself to us so completely.

Nothing held back.

Lord, sweet, sweet Christ. Jesus.  I pray that I, too, will hold nothing back from you.  I pray that I will give everything to you.  I thank you for the glorious gift you have given us in the Eucharist.

True, that.

Perhaps it is because of the Eucharist that I am beginning to catch a glimpse of the depth of my unworthiness lately.  I have not earned Christ's love.  In my flesh, there is nothing I can do to earn it.  It is by his grace alone that I am loved.  He gives it to me freely.  I have always known this, but lately it has become more real to me.

Calvin said that humans are so utterly depraved we are incapable even of accepting God's love.  His theory is that the only way we can have faith is through predestination.  We are so deeply depraved that we cannot even accept God's grace by our own free will.  And likewise, cannot lose that Grace once it is given to us.

I don't buy the predestination theory.  I believe that we have been given the free will to accept or reject God's Grace.  I do, however, agree that I am essentially unworthy of God's incredible love.  It makes the gift of his love even more amazing.

I think this has become more clear, more evident, since I started participating in the Eucharist.  Each time I receive the body, blood, soul and divinity of Christ, I am reminded of the stark contrast between the Eucharist and me.  That contrast has been a strange sort of blessing in that it reveals the true depth of God's love, his grace, his willingness to love me beyond anything I could imagine or deserve.  It is a love that glorifies God and saves me.

Which is why participating in the Eucharist either leaves me feeling like I can't wipe the goofy grin off my face... or fills me with such a sense of awe that I can't stop weeping.

Pentecost 2013

I am clinging to the sacraments.  Today I decided to go to confession.  I showed up at church at 4pm and sat in the nave.  As my priest came in I asked if I could make a confession.  He showed me where to sit and how to know when it is ok to come in to the little room.  (At the appointed time the door will be open when he is free.)

There was another person there to confess, but I was there first, so I went in.

I had a few things I needed to share.  I asked for counsel and absolution.  I was humbled and saddened by my sins.

Afterwards I went to the little dock on the pond nearby and sat for awhile to think and pray.  I recited the prayer of St. Francis aloud... and psalm 103, both of which remind me to keep my mind off myself and consider how I can be of service to others.

And then I went back to the church for the Pentecost service and cried through the entire thing... mostly for joy and gratitude for the fact that the depth of my sin is matched and far surpassed by the expansive love of God's forgiveness.

Come Holy Spirit.  Come.

I'll meet your fear and raise you an hour of self pity

I am working through some things right now, most of which have to do with my conversion.  The fact is that following Jesus is, by definition, a willingness to pick up the cross.  I know this.  I anticipated this.  I saw this clearly on that cold day last November when I stood in the cemetery at Campion Renewal Center and meditated on the 5th Station of the Cross: Simon carries the cross.

And yet, when it actually comes, spiritual struggle is something of a surprise.  Maybe it is my pride that dupes me into thinking I am going to handle it better than I do.

Anyway, today was a heavy day.  I woke up feeling burdened by some conversations I have had over the last couple days.  It is clear that this transition to Rome is not going to be easy.  There is going to be pain involved, along with the joy.

So, I pulled out the Spiritual Tool Kit and ran through my list:

1. Read the Bible
2. Said the Rosary
3. Went to Mass
4. Spent an hour in Eucharistic Adoration
5. Called my spiritual director

Cried a lot during all of those steps but came away feeling stronger, better, safer.

Jesus, you have given us these things as gifts.  I am so grateful for all of them.

I could probably use some prayers right now.

And pray for unity in the church while you are at it....

When I realize how much I miss you....

...It only takes a couple of minutes to remember that I will meet you tomorrow.  Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity.

A stranger in a strange land

Today was the first time I have attended Grace Church without receiving communion.  I wasn't sure how it would go.

It did feel strange, just sitting there while everyone else got up to receive.  But as I sat there, Nguyen and Noah went forward and I took the opportunity to pray for them, for union, communion, One.  Noah said I looked sad, and it may have been true that part of me is sad that we can no longer receive as a family.  But it encourages me that they take communion.  It wasn't that long ago that Nguyen would not have.

During communion, I slipped to the back of the church to use the bathroom and when I came out, Noah was sitting near the coffee table.  He regularly does that, heading back to help prepare for coffee hour.  We sat together and talked quietly during the end of the service, then stood together to sing the closing hymn.  It is ironic, really, that this is the first time we have sung together in years.  (He always sits with the rest of the youth group on the other side of the church...)

God is opening new doors.

Late have I loved you....

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would have not been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.

St. Augustine

The weight of the past

My aunt has moved to RI and a couple of weeks ago I spent an afternoon unpacking boxes in preparation for her arrival.  I put her clothes in the closet, unpacked her kitchen tools, pots and pans.  I hung some of her decorative items and moved a few pieces of furniture.  And then opened a box labeled ''T  Ang".  It took me a moment to realize it was the urn of her step son's ashes.  There was another box labeled with his mother's name.  And finally, a bigger box with several items, including the urn of my aunt's late husband, who died just a few months ago.

That is a lot for a widowed woman to carry around, if you ask me.  An entire family boxed up and moved from place to place.  Between them they have come from Newton MA, Florida, and New Jersey and have all wound up in my aunt's house in RI.

I think this is one strange little consequence of our moving away from communities of faith.  We have now been tasked with dealing with our dead on our own.  There is no priest, no parish, no group that comes alongside us and helps us deal with our loss.  In my aunt's case she is too overwhelmed to really know what to do with all these ashes.  She has vague plans, but it all seems like way too much for a seventy something woman to manage on her own.  As I was mulling it over I wondered if it was too late to ask a Greek Orthodox priest to help put all these folks to rest.  Or perhaps we can buy a plot at Swan Point and have them all interred together.

Nguyen says he wants his ashes spread in the little lake in his home town of Dalat, in Vietnam.  I wonder, though, if I am going to want to travel 15,000 miles to arrange that.  Or will the kids?  Is it really fair to ask that?

I honestly don't care where I am buried, as long as it is in hallowed ground somewhere.  Sprinkle holy water on my casket (or urn, if my survivors insist) and cover me with the beautiful earth that God created.  Say a prayer and walk away.

I am going to bore you to tears

Let's face it.  No one really wants to hear conversion stories.  Mine are exciting to me... but I am pretty sure they aren't that exciting to YOU.

I feel lonely in this, to be honest.  I want to just sit in a puddle of tears and tell you all about how different I feel today.  How today is completely different from, say, the day before yesterday.  How I feel like I am going to crawl the walls if I can't somehow let this joy out.  I just want to cry for joy.

I went to church this morning.  I felt exactly the way one would going to see their Beloved.  My heart was racing.  My stomach in knots.  I could not believe how excited I was to walk in, knowing that today I would get to take communion.  Today, tomorrow, the next day, forever.  And I do believe, forever.  I don't know what theology says about this, but I am imagining that in Heaven we are in a perpetual state of Communion with Jesus.  Isaiah describes it.  So does the book of Revelation.

I soaked up the words of scripture.  The prayers.  Today is the feast of St. Catherine of Siena.  It is said that at the end of her life, she stopped eating all food except the bread of the sacrament... and it kept her alive.  I believe it.

The prayers.  The joy in my heart.  And finally it was time to go forward and join, once and for all, my friends at the daily Mass.

After the service a nun, who is a regular at Mass, came over to say that tomorrow she is traveling to India, but that she was overjoyed to get to see me take communion after all the months I have sat there, day in day out, watching everyone else receive.  Days upon days, weeks upon weeks, for months, for years, forever have I longed.  I have longed for so long.

I have longed for so long, not even knowing what it was I was longing for.  

But now, finally, I understand.

Today is the day.

And tomorrow.  And forever.

God, I can't believe the joy.

Blissed out

The service today was beautiful.  Ancient and new, as St. Augustine would say.  Both ancient and new and full of love and joy.  There were two of us being received into the Church... and 4 others being confirmed with us.  So the two of us were called up first to profess our faith.  I had been practicing so I wouldn't trip over the words.   And then the rest of the candidates came forward and joined us facing the priest.  One by one he went down the line and was introduced to each of us by our sponsor, using our chosen name.  Mine is Elizabeth John.  It was only this morning that I realized that it is the name of my father and his sister.  My intent, of course, was John the Baptist and his mother, Elizabeth.  I honor them because I was so late in coming to recognize Jesus for who he was... but Elizabeth and John knew the moment that pregnant Mary walked into their home.  John lept for joy in his mother's womb.  Mary wasn't even showing yet.

Father put his hands on our heads and prayed for the Holy Spirit to enter us.  As I stood there, I actually did feel the Spirit.  I was trembling and felt a little faint.  My head was swimming, but not in a frightening way.  I felt like I was riding a wave of energy towards the Eucharist.  After we were confirmed, I went to the back of the church and helped carry the wine back for communion.  I handed it to Father, bowed, and returned to my seat.

I was the first invited to receive.  I took my time.  I walked to Father.  Rachel, he said, the body of Christ, and placed a consecrated host into my upturned palm.  I lifted my hands to my mouth and took the host on my tongue.  Then I stepped to the side and stood in front of the woman holding the cup.  She raised it to me and said 'the blood of Christ.' She expected me to take it, but for a moment I just looked into her eyes.  We both recognized the wonder of that moment... the moment of my first taste of the blood of Christ.  I lifted the cup and took at taste, then turned and walked back to my seat.  From that point on, the rest is a blur.

Later though, when I was home, I reflected on the miracle that had taken place today.  I have felt a sense of warm love all day, like Jesus really and truly is in me.  Like he is with me in a different way.  And I can hardly believe my good fortune that tomorrow morning I get to do it all over again.  Tomorrow and every day.  To God be the glory.

HOMILY FOR CONFIRMATION ON THE FIFTH SUNDAY OF EASTER (C) 2013

This is the homily that Fr. Friederichs preached for our confirmation

Confirmation, like every sacrament, celebrates something special happening between God and the individuals receiving the sacrament. In this case, we are celebrating because these six people have chosen to leave themselves open for the Spirit of God to touch them in a way that will make it possible for them to live like Jesus. Basically, by presenting yourselves today, Nick, Rawson, Jack, Glenn, Rachel and Vincent, you are making yourself available for God to do good –and maybe even great— things in you as a follower of Jesus and a member of the Catholic Church. Because you are making yourself available that way, this is a great day for you, for the church, for our parish, and even for God. You are giving God a gift –the gift of yourselves-- today even as God gives you the gift of Jesus’ Spirit. This wonderful and personal exchange of gifts is certainly a reason to celebrate.

Our scriptures for today shed light on why we are celebrating as we are. Actually, the scriptures we just heard aren’t specially chosen for Confirmation today. They are the usual readings for this Sunday. But they are perfect for the occasion. They are perfect because they speak about three important aspects of living as a confirmed Christian.

First of all they remind us that God’s care for us is for keeps: God’s dwelling is with the human race….they will be his people and God himself will always be with them as their God,” the second reading tells us. In other words, God will stay with us through thick and thin, whether we feel it or not; whether we walk away or not. God is no quitter when it comes to loving us. That message is precisely what the anointing means that you will receive in a few minutes. The anointing says that you are consecrated to God and God is committed to you.

That same reading also has God saying, “Behold I make all things new.” That’s good news for us. God takes us and the events of our lives and keeps re-shaping them. God keeps picking up the pieces of our lives and uses them to keep us connected with God. In other words, God works with us to maximize our strengths and to minimize our failures. That’s something to celebrate.

Our first reading reflects the challenge of Confirmation. Leaving yourselves available to God won’t always be easy. The text says, “It is necessary to undergo hardships to enter the kingdom of God.” The words “Entering the kingdom of God” are what we might call a code “for aligning our hearts and our lives with the heart of God.” Aligning our hearts with God’s comes at a price. It involves compassion and forgiveness. It insists on reverence for each person and all of life. It requires giving God priority in our lives. It means resisting patterns and values contrary to those of Jesus. Lots of people and patterns in our world will tell us it is foolish to try to align our hearts with God’s heart. So it will require courage and commitment to live by the example of Jesus. That too is what the anointing symbolizes; the strength that only God’s spirit can give us to be strong enough to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.

Our third text is the gospel. In it Jesus, couldn’t be any clearer. He tells us, “As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.” Those words, too, are a challenge. But they are also an encouragement because they make clear that he gives us his love before he asks us to give ours. In other words, his love for us will give us the strength and courage to love the way he loves. It’s a lifelong learning process, this loving as Jesus loves. Your confirmation is a key step in that process, offering you a deeper share in the Spirit of Jesus so you can love like him, more and more, with the passing each day.

This deeper share in his Spirit that you receive today is surely something to celebrate. And so celebrate we do today, as you make yourself available to the Spirit of Jesus. Today we pray with you and for you that you will keep making yourself available for the Spirit of Jesus for the rest of your lives. If you do, it will make all the difference in the world for you. In fact, it will make all the difference in the world, period!

He knew

 5 years ago, my sister in law died of complications following a mastectomy.  It was right before Holy Week.    I remember going to the funeral Mass at St. Kevin's in Warwick.  My older sister in law took me aside and mentioned that I should not take communion.  I was very upset by this.  During the mass, when the time for communion came, my sons and I went up to the front and crossed our arms in front of us so we could receive a blessing.  Emmett didn't understand, though, and accidentally took the host.

Last night, my brother in law, Tu, reminded me of that day.  I knew, he said, that you were longing for communion.  I knew then that someday you would be a Catholic.

Communion

I shared with my priest my fears and doubts.  He listened very attentively, sifting through my words for signs of God's Grace.  I am bereft, I said, that I might never again take communion with my sons.  It brings me grief that I will no longer be a member of their church.  I am afraid that maybe I have made this choice of my will, not my Father's.  I am asking God to be clear, to reassure me that it is HIS will that I am obeying, not mine.  If that is so, then I can be at peace, even in the grief and doubt.

And you, Father, listened earnestly.  You listened and then spoke.  And your words were full of Grace.  That the breakup of our family's faith is a reflection of the sin of the church in shattering the Body of Christ.  That our little family is a microcosm of the centuries that the Church has been broken... into pieces ever smaller and more fragmented.  But, you said, just as the breaking is true of the Body, so is the fact that it cannot be entirely broken... The body does have union, if not full union.  And when I go to the altar for your Body and Blood, Lord, I will be praying that I am also in union with my sons and husband, who receive you in another time, another place, another church... but it is still your body, now and forever.  I will rest in that.  And for the rest of my life, pray for unity in my family and in the church.

Arranged

I went to the Vespers service today at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament.  It was great timing, as I have been struggling lately with doubts.  Am I doing the right thing?  Is this really what God wants?  Is he REALLY calling me, or is this all a figment of my imagination?

As I looked at the beautiful church and listened the psalms being sung in Latin, I thought that maybe my upcoming confirmation is like a marriage that my Father has arranged for me.  I am the nervous bride who doesn't really know my betrothed all that well, but I know my Beloved is from a good family and that it will please my Father to marry him, so I am going to trust that, as is often the case with marriages like this, I will grow to love with a passion and depth I can't yet imagine.  This is the marriage my Father has arranged, and though I am frightened, I am also willing.  And to take the metaphor a bit farther, I am, in a sense, leaving my family, too.  I am leaving my church family for a new one.  I will go back for visits, but things will never be the same.  It is at once glorious and bittersweet.

Soon

It is coming up fast.  Next weekend I am going to be confirmed.  Jesus, it's me and you.  Wherever you want to lead, I will follow.  Whatever you ask, I will do my best to say YES.  My soul is leaping for joy.