So I’ve spent approximately all day at one church or another. Today was the Pioneer Club 20th anniversary extravaganza at the Methodist church in a neighboring town. I’m a proud alumna of Pioneer Club and for the past six weeks or so I’ve been substitute teaching the third and fourth graders there. They’re pretty much adorable. I hit up the 9:30 Methodist services followed by the anniversary program, followed by a luncheon in the church basement. (At the Cathedral they call the basement the undercroft. That’s an awesome word to add to my vocabulary.) For the second time this week, I ended up discussing theology with my former pastor.
I’m not the greatest apologist (had I known I was going to need it, I would have taken that class at school), but I think I did all right with clearing up a few misconceptions. I’m utterly convinced that other Christians aren’t Catholic because they have all these crazy ideas about The Church that just aren’t true. If people were willing to listen or to ask the proper questions or even just to do a little googling, I think a lot of people would realize the problems they have with the Catholic Church are over issues that don’t actually exist.
Of course the same goes for you cradle Catholics out there who have no idea what Protestants believe. Don’t even get me started on the crazy Protestant Bashing I heard in college. A word of advice: you won’t be able to defend your faith properly if you’re operating under false assumptions about the people against whom you’re defending it.
After the luncheon I headed out to my parish for the Divine Mercy Sunday festivities. I was able to catch the last hour, during which a pair of nuns led us in singing the chaplet, which was really beautiful. There was Eucharistic adoration, and the cathedral was packed. It’s always lovely to see a full church. After the chaplet I went down to the undercroft (awesome word) for my second ever confession. The good news: it was far less terrifying than my first ever confession. I was still nervous, though, and kind of a mess. I had never met the priest before, but he was really nice and gave me some advice on how not to be confession-phobic.
This was yet another new and exciting experience for me, what with the make-shift portable confessionals around the perimeter of the room. Luckily I was expecting it (by the sheer coincidence that I’d seen a picture of a large group of priests hearing confessions in this manner), but I still almost turned around and left when I got to the door just because the whole I-have-no-idea-what-I’m-doing thing makes me really nervous because I don’t want to screw anything up. I’ve done face-to-face rather than kneeling both times, which surprises me, because for the past year I’ve thought I would never do face-to-face. I’m fairly shy, so I always assumed I would prefer the anonymity, but sitting right there with the priest makes it easier for me to preface everything with, “I have no idea what I’m doing,” and then he can walk me through the process.
I made it back upstairs in time for the benediction, which was of course beautiful (you’ll find I think a lot of things are beautiful). And then it was back to the undercroft for refreshments. Since I was by myself I had to buck up and make friends, so I sat at a table full of older ladies who happened to be from my parish. They were really nice and welcoming, and we got to talking about books, which is always a good time for me. Father N. appeared behind us and told them they better not be corrupting me. He watches out for the newbies.
I was pleased to make it to the evening Mass at the other church in my parish. I ran into my RCIA sponsor and her husband there, so it was nice to have someone to sit with at church for once. Plus I got to hold their baby for a little bit. He’s a-freaking-dorable. Afterward we were chatting in the vestibule, and L.K., my sponsor, introduced me to someone she knew, as she’s wont to do. The subject of my needing a full time job so I could afford the gas to get to daily Mass came up, and L.K.’s husband mentioned today’s the feast of St. Joseph the Worker. He said I should take it up with St. Joseph. Lo and behold, the man L.K. had just introduced asked what kind of work I wanted. I said I wasn’t picky, and that I’d been a writing major in college, and he said, “I could give you some typing work.” Thanks, St. Joseph!
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