Conversion - Final Part - "Taking it on Faith"

Within weeks of beginning to attend Catholic mass, that old curiosity rose up in me. I began reading books on the Catholic faith trying to answer my own questions. After some research, it began dawning on me that this was, indeed, the church I'd been looking for. My whole adult life, I'd sought the church that was close to Jesus Christ. The Catholic Church's commitment to the traditions of the church had a plus for a seeker like me; it allowed me a glimpse into the church that existed closer to the time of Jesus. I found myself in regular email and phone exchanges with Father Sam, who eventually convinced me there was no shortcut to Catholicism, and I should join the RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) class starting in the fall.

I enjoyed the class and learned a lot, but a lot of my questions had already been answered. Yet one niggling issue persisted.

A few weeks before the Easter Vigil where our class would join the Church, our RCIA leaders  asked, "Are you ready to commit?" I said to the class that my biggest concern was about transubstantiation.  I was just not sure that I could accept that the bread and wine truly became the body and blood of Jesus Christ. Father Sam was present for that class and he looked at me with a very open expression on his faith and said, "Some things you simply have to take on faith."

I was --of course -- unsatisfied with that answer, but I mulled it over each night as I was trying to sleep. "What does that mean? Why do Catholics always cop out with 'It's a mystery'? Isn't this too important to just "take on faith?"

One morning I woke up to read my daily readings and had an epiphany. There were many, many things in my life I'd taken on faith, countless things. My whole journey to Catholicism had been an act of faith. There was a certain irony in needing to know definitive answers in matters of faith. I decided to stop holding so tightly to my "need to know" and allow God to illuminate the path for me.

That decision changed everything. As it turned out, my annulment papers did not come through in time for me to join the church with my class. At Easter Vigil, I was in the pews as my RCIA classmates were baptized and welcomed into the church. As I watched them receive first Holy Communion, I knew I was ready.

For the next six months, I continued to stand in the congregation and watch my classmates receive the Eucharist as God finished preparing my heart. Finally, on the feast day of my confirmation saint, St. Therese of Li Seux, I called Father Sam.  "Still nothing?," I asked, feeling impatience rise in me. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I was just looking up your number. Your annulment papers came through."

I joined the Church that weekend with a confidence I'd have never had -- but decided I did not need! -- at Easter Vigil.

Today's gospel reading sums up my journey to Catholicism well:

 "And I tell you, ask and you will receive;

seek and you will find;

knock and the door will be opened to you. 

For everyone who asks, receives;

and the one who seeks, finds;

and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. "

(Luke 11:9-10)

I am still a seeker, but now instead of seeking the perfect church, I'm seeking the perfect expression of my faith. I am committed to growing in perfection whilst knowing I'll never achieve it. But I will keep knocking.

Part One of my story
Part Two  - Midnight Mass
Part Three - Crucifix Ephiphany
Part Four - Seeker
Part Five - Signs and Wonders
Part Six - Annulment

A Load of Bricks

Sometimes, the most helpful thing is to know I am normal. I'm normal, you're normal, we're all "normal."

In this case, I'm referring to sin. One morning in Lent, I had an epiphany. I wasn't sleeping well and I woke up around 4:00 AM, so I decided to pray Lauds, the Liturgy of the Hours to be said on rising. As St. Basil the Great said, "It is said in the morning in order that the first stirrings of our mind and will may be consecrated to God and that we may take nothing in hand until we have been gladdened by the thought of God. . . "

On this particular day, I was very gladdened. Somehow in the midst of my readings I came upon an excerpt from the Vatican II documents in which we are reminded that sin is a human problem common to all human beings. The light bulb came on.

So often I beat myself up for my sins. I feel guilty going in to confession saying the same things time and again, "I gossiped. I did not keep my Sunday obligation. I took the Lord's name in vain," etcetera. I think that by now, I should be better than this (read: perfect). It is not so much the nature of my personal sin that bothers me as the repetitiveness of it.  I feel like a little child who has done something wrong (again) and is waiting for her parent to mete out the punishment she knows is coming. Or the cartoon drawing of the man, sweating, head down, straining forward, with a load of bricks tied to his ankles. Finally my turn comes and instead of the chastising I have set myself up for, I have a trans-formative experience. Again. Never once has the priest said to me, "What? Again? What is the matter with you?"

I know well the passage in Romans 3:23: "All have sinned and are deprived of the glory of God." Yet somehow it had not sunk in. I somehow was not getting the "all." The important part of that passage comes next:

They are justified freely by his grace through the redemption in Christ Jesus
whom God set forth as an expiation, through faith, by his blood, to prove his righteousness
because of the forgiveness of sins previously committed,

through the forbearance of God - to prove his righteousness in the present time, that he might be righteous and justify the one who has faith in Jesus.

Whew. It's a breath of fresh air, isn't it? One more time, I am human. Even better, one more time I am forgiven and ready to go back into service. There is a spring in my step as I prepare to follow the advice of Galatians  6:9:

"Let us not grow tired of doing good, for in due time we shall reap our harvest if we do not grow weary."

4

Opening the Heart

On Ash Wednesday, I said I was praying to open my heart. Be careful what you ask for!

I did have a great many opportunities during Lent to practice vulnerability and open hearted-ness. I became more self-aware of this issue in my life and began to catch myself more quickly when I was putting up my defenses. However, it was landing in the hospital during the last couple weeks of Lent that really drove the lesson home.

It is a surreal experience to be a patient in the ICU when you are conscious, breathing independently and ambulatory. The ICU experience is not really set up for the "walkie talkie" patient, as the staff called me.  With IV meds, a heart monitor, a pulse ox and a blood pressure cuff constantly on, I was really tethered to the bed, so even toileting required calling for help. In addition, every time I moved, my heart rate soared, so they really did not want me to move and they certainly did not want me to try to do anything on my own.

Over the years, I have learned to be more collaborative. I have trained myself to ask for help and include others in decision making. In all honesty though, it is rarely my first instinct. Becoming a team player has been a matter of intensive training for me.* So life as a fairly independent "walkie talkie" had challenges in the ICU. Here's how it looked:

I drop a book on the floor. Ask for someone to please come pick it up.  My meal has arrived. Let the delivery person raise my bed and adjust the table and open the dishes and put the straws in the drinks. My phone is low on battery. Ask someone to plug it in (across the room because ICU patients usually aren't able to use electricity) and then ask for help again to get it back, et cetera, et cetera, all day (and night)  for 9 long days. Attempt to do all of this cheerfully and without apology or arrogance.

Only the Master Designer could implement so perfect an exercise to allow me to open my heart. Yet what I noticed was that once I stopped resisting, I was actually very good at it. I had a few visits which I cherished, and some precious people phoned, but the rest of the time, I lay quietly. It was indeed good "for my heart." I had a lot of time for meditation. I read a bunch. I laid still. I visited with the staff, learned about their lives, got a sense of who they are. I prayed for my children and my husband. I let people help me. I was calm, serene even. It was amazing.

It's a little harder now, back at home, several weeks later. I do need to occasionally remind myself of what I learned. Having a new job has aided that remembrance, though, as several times a day I still need to ask for help. I have had a host of new people come into my life in the past 2 months and I notice how much love I feel for them. It's hard to quantify but I am loving people more and letting it shine more than I was before Lent, I am certain of it.

I can't help but appreciate the irony that when what I was working toward was opening my heart and then I finished the Lenten season in the hospital with heart issues -- you could call it spiritual heart surgery.

Rend your hearts, not your garments,

and return to the Lord, your God,

For he is gracious and merciful,

Slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love,

and relenting in punishment.

(Joel 2:13)

*Learning to be a "team player" has been facilitated over the years by a number of big-hearted people who gently taught me lessons on teamwork while showing respect for my dogged independence.  There is a huge list of such teachers but on my mind at this moment are Paul Tischler, Sharon Parish, Peggy Jarrett, Richard Perry, Brad Brown, Sue Oldham, Briggy Kiddle, Father Sam Hose, Adam Stern, Stephen Rushton, Sheena Pyke, Richard Cox, Tom Morely, Father Edwin Kagoo and Will Kidd. I know the learning wasn't always graceful but rest assured, I still remember and am still learning from your love.

Saint Unawares

Once in a while, a saint enters our lives, completely unbidden. Such was the case yesterday.

Gabriel and I go to Mass together on Tuesdays after his therapy. He's usually quite restless and distracted but still . . . it's our special time together. Each week he asks to light a prayer candle and each week, I say "no" because it requires going to the office in another building and I want to get him directly back to school.

I don't think I mentioned that after our fateful Ash Wednesday experience, I sent both Gabriel and Tinker back to Mass with Paul because it seemed really clear that they needed some practice in how to behave properly in church. He said they were well behaved; I'm pretty sure they knew they would get another chance to practice if they weren't. Sometimes going to a huge church with 5 services on Ash Wednesday really comes in handy!  Gabe was sick on Sunday, so he got to stay home from church.

So you can imagine it was with a bit of trepidation that I approached yesterday's Mass. I did not mention Ash Wednesday or anything about proper behavior, just held his hand and walked with false bravado to our usual spot in the front row.

Well, apparently that practice paid off because he behaved perfectly. He knelt, he prayed, he kept his hands in his lap, he attempted the responses; he shone! At the conclusion of daily Mass, our congregation adds a couple extra prayers including a short litany of the saints. When it concluded, before rising, I said, "St. Gabriel, pray for us." To which he sweetly added, "St. Benjamin, pray for us; St. Marguerite, pray for us; St. Peter Chanelle, pray for us; St. Allison, pray for us." (I didn't tell him that her patron is St. Clare and there is no "St. Allison" . . . yet!). Then I lead him to the painting of St. Gabriel and he was able to finally read his own name on the painting. We were both on cloud nine as we turned to leave.

Just as we started out, a nun who shared the front row with us stopped us. She asked Gabriel if he knew what giving alms were. He said something about the homeless. (I had no idea he knew this!) She offered him a dollar she was supposed to offer as alms (explaining that she was about to return to her mother house) and asked if he would be responsible to either give it to someone in need or to get a prayer candle for someone's benefit. He said he would and proudly accepted it. Then she offered him a dollar of her own money for his own use. He was so proud and put it in his pocket. We thanked her and the moment we turned our backs, he said, "I want a prayer candle, Mom."

How could I refuse? As we walked to the office he said, "I want to say the prayers for Maggie and Bennie." What a doll. I have no idea what he prayed but I helped him light the candle and he knelt down a few minutes, crossed himself, and got up.  What a sweetie.

It was the perfect ending for a little guy who clearly was making a true effort to do the right thing. I do not know if we will ever see that nun again but she made a huge impact on our son. You never know when your word of encouragement will lift the heart of one who needs it!

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Editor's note:  This actually happened on February 20 and somehow I forgot to release it for publication.  Go figure. It's not like I'm distracted or anything.  But since I'm here anyway, you must check out this amazing blog post.  The pics are fab and I felt so touched.  It was as if all our babies were kissed.  Be blessed.

And a Little Child Shall Lead Them

If it is possible for me to break my Lenten sacrifices before I leave the church grounds, I will do it every time.    It's that aforementioned rebellious nature. Therefore, I try to construct sacrifices I can't goof up on while the ashes are still snowing off my forehead!  Most of my plans for this year fall into the latter category but as a family, we took on "bear wrongs patiently." (In case you can't decide on a sacrifice check out this Lenten Resolution Flow Chart!)

Since I made threats to all three little children at one point or another during Ash Wednesday Mass, thus goofing up before we even got to the Eucharist, it's safe to say this is a sacrifice tailor made for me. My personal spin on it is "refrain from criticism."  Of course I have to correct and train my children, but the criticism is not needed.  Criticism is a bad habit. I plan to break the back of that habit during Lent.

It's my training ground, for certain. The only place that tests me more than church is the ballpark. Safety is a huge issue at the ballpark when older girls are playing. The only place you are really safe from foul balls is sitting on the bleachers. Therefore, I cruelly insist that my little ones "sit" when the batter is up. Since 90% of all the other little ones at the ball park are allowed to run around nilly willy, this is excruciating for my Littles. I say over and over, "Go to your seat," "Please sit on your bottom," or "Where are you supposed to be?"  I make it okay through the game but the minute we head to the parking lot for a sandwich, all my patience drains through my shoes.

Saturday was no exception. I was alone with the kids as Paul was away being inspired by Matthew Kelly and Alli was at a discernment retreat at the Cathedral. As I corrected Tinker, my tone turned sharp and I said rhetorically, "What is wrong with you?" She smiled and ran off but The Blitz stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, an encouraging look on his face.

"Bear wrongs patiently, Mom."

Chastised, I said, "Oh, you're right buddy.  I need to bear wrongs patiently."

"That means, 'don't be mean,'right, Mama?"

"You're right again, buddy."

"K Mom. Well just try again, okay?"

I thank God for my children. They are my best teachers as well as my greatest joy. I greatly needed that reminder about our family sacrifice, but even more, I needed the reminder to "just try again." Lent is about making perfect my soul, but I am not going to be perfect getting there. The prophet Isaiah had it right, we need that little child to lead us!

(Photo credit: Lily Parish)

Rend my Heart: An Ash Wednesday Reflection

 I have been waiting for Ash Wednesday for about a month. I am impatient with the dreariness of winter; I long for the warmth in the breeze and that beautiful golden-green that signals the very first moments of spring (al a Robert Frost). "Lent" literally means "spring" and I relish living in a part of the country in which the two events actually coincide.  

In December I became aware of a blind-spot of mine: I have a rebellious nature. (I can hear you laughing! Of course you knew this! I am the last to know and that's why it's called a "blind-spot," smarty!) I took this revelation to confession and Fr. Jonathan sweetly asked, "What are you rebelling against?" This I could not answer. Fast forward a few weeks, many hours of prayer and a couple of conversations with my astute support partner and the answer was abundantly clear: I rebel against vulnerability. Or to put it another way, I close my heart. As much as I am being lighthearted, it is a terrible and painful admission for me. Since then, for weeks, truly, I have been praying for open-heartedness, abundant love, abiding love, for perfect love.

I love the words from the first reading today, "rend your hearts and not your garments, and return to the Lord, your God."  I can visualize that tough old covering being "rent" off. I see progress. As always, just identifying a blind-spot tends to make us work on it. I was sorely tested in Mass today though, I promise; all three little ones were putting me through the ringer and I was grateful for the Lord's prayer in which we forgive others because never did I need it more! I managed to genuinely pass the peace with them but I'd be praying for forgiveness again before we got out. Yet, in other days, I see that I am more willing to be open-hearted, to love unconditionally, to let others in. Not as much as I'd like, but progress.

I know I have it in me to be vulnerable. I can remember instances-- days and weeks -- in which I opened my heart, both to beauty and to pain. In More to Life, they call it "letting in the lifeshocks."   I remember inspiring jubilation and terrible, heart-wrenching hours, both met with that simple vulnerability. What amazes me now that is that I can see in both extremes (and all that occurred in between) that regardless of the raw emotion, when I was able to let go the reins, such incredible, sweet tenderness was present. I was able - in those times - to feel a peace and assurance that is not present in my daily life. Remembering these times encourages me and quells my fear.

So enter Lent, which I like to call "the spiritual work season." I am ready to roll up my sleeves, put myself in the paths of lifeshocks, and knock the devil on his keister! I know that it is evil, not love, that makes me close my heart out of fear. And when I do, I don't always notice. It's not a loud, clanging door, like when the wind catches the screen. It's more like the heavy sliding door of the confessional; it just eases closed without a peep. It is not until later that I realize I have fortressed my heart again.

I have chosen my Lenten sacrifices of course, the measurable, accountable kind. But my true sacrifice will be one that is much harder to measure; I am giving up my protectiveness. I am going to stop worrying about what will happen if I truly let God hold the reins in my life. I am letting go of the illusion of control. In fact, I am suddenly reminded of something my friend and mentor Richard Perry said once, "God has given me every moment of choice . . . and not a single moment of control."

My work for the season is to see how God can use me if I let him. I will let him. Stay tuned. . .

Annulment is Not a Dirty Word (Conversion - Part 6)

This morning my "quiet time" was interrupted by Dear Hubby, then Pepper, then the Blitz and then, frankly, I gave up. I know I have to get up earlier than I did today in order to have that solitude but it was hard to let go because I was contemplating the first reading from not today, but yesterday and this passage in particular:

For what "son" is there whom his father does not discipline?

So strengthen your drooping hands and your weak knees.
Make straight paths for your feet,
That what is lame may not be dislocated but healed.

Hebrews 12:7, 12-13

For some reason, this passage reminded me of my beginnings of RCIA and having my previous marriages annulled. At first, it just seemed like a painful ordeal, a harsh discipline . . . but I am getting ahead of myself.

Shortly after starting to attend Mass at St. John Vianney, I found in myself a profound curiosity about the Catholic faith. I started wondering about the order of the Mass and why things were done as they were. At the time I had no intention of converting but I responded as in all things: I began a process of research.

I started with a book, Why do Catholics do That? which explained some things quite well. I began to see the flow of the liturgy and the rhythm of the Mass.  A friend suggested Scott Hahn's book, Rome Sweet Home.  It was very hard for me to buy this book, I will admit, because I hated the cheesy title (of which I am still not enamored). Nonetheless, I was drawn to learn about why a Protestant minister became a Catholic theologian. So I read the book and related to much of what he said, particularly about his searching for the "true church of Jesus Christ." These books were the starting point of my quest.

Within months of joining the Parish, I had done enough research to know I wanted to join the Catholic church; Father Sam, however, said (basically), "There is a way to do this, and it is through the RCIA process." Even well-researched and convicted people have to go through RCIA, apparently. So I did.

I was sure about most things, but I had one source of concern* and one roadblock.  My roadblock was that my previous marriages had to be annulled. This was a big one for me. I had married to escape the issues of my adolescence. I had been in and out of relationships for years until, in my mid-thirties, I finally realized that I could not change my past, nor my past relationships, but I could change the course of my future. At that point, I began to take true responsibility for my own happiness which included accepting the mistakes of my past and forgiving the other actors in those events.

It is an understatement to say that I entered the annulment process with fear and trembling. Annulment meant revisiting not only my past, but truthfully and fully owning up to my part in all that went wrong. In annulment paperwork, you not only tell the story of what happened in the marriage, you have to tell why you think it happened, what you could have done to repair or prevent it and why it ended as it did. (And not only this, but put it all on paper for total strangers to assess.) Oh and let us not forget, you also have to provide witnesses who may know something about the situations. As gut wrenching and difficult as that was, it was the easy part. The hard part was knowing my former spouses (in their current lives) would also be revisiting our mutual past. I felt terrible about intruding on their lives in this way. Over the time of counseling with Father Sam and working on the annulments, I got in contact with them and had a chance to say,"I'm sorry for my part. I'm sorry for the pain I caused you. I wish you nothing but joy and peace in your future." It was amazingly liberating to be able to say, "I'm sorry" while truly expecting no apology, no admission of responsibility or anything else in return.

[I notice as I write that I want to launch into a defense of the process of annulment. I know it is widely misunderstood and disliked. That's not my role right now.]

I can tell you that for me, the process of going through my annulments was one of the most healing, hopeful, and cleansing experiences of my life. I was able to look back at what had previously been chapters of shame in my life and to realize that I was a regular human who had made mistakes and subsequently confessed those mistakes and that they were over and done with. I was able to close those chapters and accept God's true and complete forgiveness. It was beautiful.

At the time,all discipline seems a cause not for joy but for pain,
yet later it brings the peaceful fruit of righteousness
to those who are trained by it.

Hebrews 12:11

*I will talk about my "one concern" in my final installment of my conversion story.

Part One of my story
Part Two  - Midnight Mass
Part Three - Crucifix Ephiphany
Part Four - Seeker
Part Five - Signs and Wonders
Part Seven - Taking it on Faith