That night I became a practicing Catholic. I went to the Easter Vigil on Saturday night and watched as two people received Confirmation and First Communion. I knew I wanted that to be me. On Father’s advice, I spent the rest of the semester writing down questions and pestering T. and E. for answers during all of our free time. I learned to pray the Rosary and to say The Creed and what it means to genuflect. I read any book I could get my hands on. I attended Mass every Sunday and waited and waited for RCIA to start in the Fall.
I had a lot to learn. I’m still learning. Every day I discover something new about Catholicism, almost as if The Church is a kaleidoscope. With every turn there’s a new beauty to behold.
One full liturgical year (plus one week) since my first Catholic Mass, with seven months of RCIA, one terrifying confession, two nerve-wracking Rites of Welcoming and Election, and one Chrism Mass (during which I carried the balsam and managed not to drop it) under my belt, I stood before the bishop at the Easter Vigil and professed my faith in unison with another candidate. Then we were joined by a third person for the Sacrament of Confirmation. We had practiced this with the parochial vicar that afternoon. I knew exactly what to do and had Father N. the pastor and Father M. the vicar near at hand, with supportive smiles and hand motions to direct me. I had my sponsor’s hand on my right shoulder for encouragement, and I told myself I wasn’t nervous even as my fingers clenched the fabric of my dress. As the bishop spoke, I flashed back to my seventh grade choir director informing us that if we locked our knees during a performance we’d surely pass out. I tried to subtly unlock my knees.
The bishop laid his hands on my head, and I was calmed and ready. I was the last of the three of us to kneel before him. He pronounced my name, paired for the first time with my saint name, and said, “Be sealed with the Holy Spirit,” as he anointed me with Chrism oil. It smelled fantastic. “Amen,” I replied.
“Peace be with you,” he said and shook my hand.
“And also with you,” I said with a confident smile.
Those of us who were confirmed were charged with presenting the gifts. Father M. directed us to follow the candles and incense and crucifix to the back as a hymn swelled up from the congregation and choir. “You did great,” he called over the music when he handed out bread, wine, and the collection basket. He directed us where to stand and reminded us what to do when we reached the sanctuary. “The hard part’s over,” he said, and we smiled.
If I thought being received into the Catholic Church through Confirmation was the greatest experience ever, nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for my First Communion. Or, for that matter, for any subsequent communion. Early on in RCIA I had struggled with the concept of transubstantiation. I read everything I could that would explain the sacrifice of the Mass; I spoke to people and asked questions; I wanted to believe but was afraid that I didn’t. How could I just know Jesus was really actually present in the Eucharist as easily as everyone else seemed to know it? T. asked one night if there were anything he could do to help me, and I, in tears, said for the first time, “Pray for me.”
After that I went to adoration at my alma mater. In that chapel, in the presence of the Lord, I felt the beginning of something greater. It was beyond thought, and I knew I would just have to have faith, and so I did. And then everything came to fruition at the Easter Vigil when the bishop placed the Body of Christ on my tongue and I sipped the Blood of Christ from the chalice. Back in my pew, I knelt just as I always knelt during communion, but this time my life had changed.
I cannot possibly sufficiently describe the feeling of receiving the Lord. It’s like inside-out warmth, like music, like light, like Love personified. There’s nothing so beautiful, so tremendous, so breathtaking. I know now how everyone else seems to just know Jesus is there and what that means for us. How could I not know it after that?
It’s been a wild ride since my decision to join The Church. I’ve been welcomed, embraced, ridiculed, and forced to defend my faith, sometimes all in the same day. Apologetics isn’t easy when you’re only just learning, but at least it’s all fresh in my mind this way. Some people in my life, such as my family, have been nothing but supportive of my decision, even when they don’t quite understand why I would want to be Catholic. Others, namely the Catholics I know, have been overjoyed. Still others have been less than enthusiastic. I lost some relationships because of my decision, but I wouldn’t change it for anything, because I’ve gained so much more, including new friends, a new understanding of the world, a new respect for The Church, an opportunity to be truly in the presence of the Lord, and an ever changing kaleidoscope of beauty.
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