In which I receive good news.

I've neglected the blog lately, but that's not to say I haven't been keeping up on my reading and learning and experiencing. Here's a quick update:

St. Joseph proved to me that he was only getting warmed up when he threw me a small opportunity for some typing work on the feast of St. Joseph the worker. About four weeks ago, I resigned myself to moving out of the area to find work. I didn't want to leave the parish I'd just joined and I didn't want to leave my family, who are all still around here, but I was quickly running out of ways to make my loan payments. I looked at catholicjobs.com and applied to be an English teacher at a Catholic high school in Fairfax, Virginia. That Thursday I got a call from a company that makes closed captions. They found my resume online and asked if I'd like to come in for an interview. I drove out the next day. The office is a little less than 90 minutes from home. They called me the next Monday and offered me the job!

I'm in my second week at my new job, and I love it. The work is good (and it applies to my English degree), the people are super nice, the drive isn't even bad, and it's a schmancy grown-up job with insurance and vacation days and 401Ks and all that stuff I don't understand. I honestly believe I wouldn't have had this opportunity if my friends (and my friends' moms) and my priests hadn't been praying for me. Prayer can do wonders. I feel like this is where I belong.

And speaking of the parish I just joined, it's official: A lady from my parish called me and asked if I'd like to help decorate and make meatballs for Father M.'s going-away open house. Now I'm a real member.

I received a package in the mail on Saturday from E., who you may recall is studying in Rome. The package contained a lovely letter and a holy card with what I'm assuming is the scene from the Bible that features my favorite Latin construct, although I don't know that E. knew that. Lucky guess? Higher power? Anyway, it's the part where the woman says to Jesus, "Do not touch me." "Noli me tangere." That literally translates to, "Do not wish to touch me." I've always enjoyed nolo and volo.

The package from E. also included a beautiful rosary, with beads that look like ripe red berries, as a "welcome to The Church" present. E. says this rosary has been blessed by Pope Benedict, which is pretty cool. I was telling all this to my brother on Saturday at his birthday pool party. My brother is not Catholic, but nevertheless brought me a lovely rosary from Notre Dame when he visited Paris this winter. (He said to me, "I didn't know what I was doing, so I picked the pretty one," and I said, "That's what I do!")

Brother Mine seemed to be interested in what I was telling him, but that opened me up to derision from some of my friends. Unprovoked, they mocked my way of life (i.e. I have no desire to go to a store that sells sex toys), and one person likened a papal blessing to Tinkerbell's fairy dust. When I said I wanted to learn Italian and visit Italy in the next year or two, one friend said, "Wait, do you only want to go to Italy so you can see the Vatican?" as though the words tasted bad in her mouth. "Seeing as I have a friend who lives there," I said, "I thought I might stop by."

This incessant and uncalled for attitude is present in just a couple of my friends, but it's been grating on my last nerve. I endured it this weekend, but I was frustrated. I was fully prepared to give in to anger--or if not anger, a calm request that they shut their mouths--the next time the subject arose. In a mood to vent, and too shy to ask Father N.'s advice after Mass, I used the "Ask Father" link on Fr. Z.'s blog. And here is what I saw tonight. Fr. Z. actually answered my question! That was kind of cool. Even cooler was the advice he gave and the supportive words a bunch of people in the comments gave me. Fr. Z. says to let them see how joyful I am in my faith. They'll realize what they're missing eventually. He also says to keep up with my reading to make sure I can defend my faith when I'm confronted with misconceptions about Catholicism. It'll be tough, but I think I can manage not to resort to angry retorts. Is there a patron saint for that?

In other news, we had Ascension (Thursday) Sunday last week, and Pentecost this past week. I guess in the old calendar, Pentecost came with an octave like Easter and Christmas. Makes sense that it would. Does that mean the priests at Extraordinary Form Masses are wearing red vestments this week while the priests at the Ordinary Form have already switched back to green? I know green is supposed to be the usual color, but to me it's always jarring. The priests were wearing white when I first started going to Mass, so in my head that's what they wear by default.

Sacrament Bingo

It's been a crazy week for our diocese! Rome announced earlier this week that our bishop would be taking over a diocese in Illinois. Until then, he's apostolic administrator. After he leaves, a new apostolic administrator will be appointed until we get a new bishop. Which means we're currently bishopless (even though Bishop is still around) and it could be months or a year or who knows how long until we get a new one. And we don't know if someone will be transferred in or if one of our diocesan priests will be ordained bishop. All the seasoned Catholics are speculating about who might be ordained, of course, but I've never met any of the hypothetical candidates, so I have no opinion.

Speaking of ordination, today was the ordination of a new deacon and a new priest! It was a beautiful Mass (granted, it's really hard to get me to say any Mass isn't beautiful, but still). It was a very crowded, very big deal. There were maybe forty priests concelebrating, and yes, the bishop was allowed to ordain the two young men even though he's not technically our bishop because the ordinandi promise loyalty to him and his successors, which is a key point.

I think the most moving part of the Mass was during the litany of the saints, when the deacon-to-be and priest-to-be lay face down before the altar. And also when the newly ordained were being greeted by their fellow priests and deacons and everybody broke into a very long round of applause. I've read that applause during Mass is discouraged, but I think in this case it was totally justified.

T. has been in town this week for the ordinations, which is why I haven't been keeping up with the blog very well. I've been spending a lot of time at the local Tim Horton's. Mmmm...coffee. The night before last, I drew up my Sacrament Bingo card on a napkin. I split Holy Orders into the deacon, priest, and bishop varieties and plugged them into a 3x3 bingo card with the other six sacraments. It's very exciting to see or participate in a Catholic sacrament for the first time. After today, the only ones I need now are a baptism and ordination of a bishop (which I could very well see in the near future).

Someone else was thinking along the same lines. As we were all heading down to the undercroft after Mass today, a lady appeared out of the crowd and gave me a hug and said in my ear, "Another sacrament, huh?" I have no idea who she was, but I'm guessing she recognized me as a n00b, if you'll forgive the internet lingo. Otherwise she's psychic, which seems unlikely.

Oh, also, Harold Camping's (incredibly unlikely!) Rapture was supposed to be today, which I pretty much forgot about because I was too busy going to Mass and having lunch with friends and enjoying the sunshine with my mom and cousin.  Life is good.

Tomorrow is the fresh new priest's first Mass at the fancy dancy church in town. I doubt I'll get chance, but maybe if there's an opportunity I'll get a blessing from him. I would have today, but, as I think I've mentioned before, I'm rather shy. LK will be there. Perhaps she'll bolster me. A blessing from a new priest does come with an indulgence, after all. Kind of an incentive to get over one's shyness, right there.

You know what's awesome? The Church. It's all so great.

Yet another thing I thought I'd never do.

I have been ridiculously tired lately. I've always had a pretty bad caffeine habit, but I think I've had more coffee since Easter than I've had in all previous years combined. I'm not even kidding. I remember T. saying once that I should try to get to daily Mass. Daily Mass in our parish is at 8:30 a.m. at the latest. And I said, "I love church and everything, but that is really ridiculously early." I live half an hour from everywhere, which includes my church. In order to get to Mass by 8:30, I have to set my alarm for 6:40, which allows me, in an emergency, to hit the snooze button three times and still get to church on time if I put my make-up on at stop lights.

Here's how I know this: I've been going to daily Mass. I never thought I would get up that early, especially when I don't have to be at work until noon, but ever since I found out how truly awesome Mass is, I've wanted to go every day. Of course I can't afford the gas for that, so I go on days I work since I have to be in town anyway. Hence the newfound love of coffee. I don't get up and moving early enough to get my caffeine fix before the one hour fast starts, so I yawn my way through Mass (I'm not alone: Father M. has a rather contagious yawning habit) and enjoy every minute of it. Have I mentioned how awesome the Eucharist is? And then since I don't have to work until 12, I usually pop over to Tim Horton's for a delicious cup of black coffee and a lovely, cheap breakfast. Then I can go to the library or take a walk or learn Italian until work.

Days are so productive when they start early! But I'm a natural night owl, and even when I've been up for eighteen hours or I have to get up early again the next day, I have a hard time going to bed at a decent hour. So it starts all over again with the snooze alarm and the yawning and so, so much coffee. Case in point, it's about 12:45, this is my third blog post of the night, and I have to work tomorrow, which normally means I'd be getting up at 6:40ish. The reason this is my third blog post is because I had a huge gap between posts this week: by the time I got to my computer, I was too exhausted to think. The only reason I'm still awake right now is because I had half an energy drink with dinner and it's only just wearing off. I feel like I should sleep until 10 or so tomorrow, just to catch up and start the week off right. But I feel guilty, because if I have an opportunity to go to Mass, why wouldn't I take it?

I know I'm only obliged on Sundays, but to me, Mass is a privilege. We don't all grow up with regular sacraments. I never knew what I was missing until I was allowed to fully participate in them. I might should catch up on my sleep, but then again, that's what coffee's for, isn't it?

I think I just talked myself out of nine hours of sleep. What have I become?!

I get by with a little help from my friends.

I only work part time, and luckily I'm still living at home post-university, because it's really tough to find full time work. I've picked up a little typing work from a very nice man at church, and otherwise I've been applying anywhere where I don't think I'd be totally miserable. (At first I only applied to places where I thought I'd enjoy the work. I'm this close to expanding my search to include jobs I'd hate but would pay the student loans.) But it seems like lately when I've had a day off, I've been heading out to interviews or taking assessment tests at different companies. I really think I owe a lot of that to the prayers other people have been saying for me. St. Joseph seems to have stepped up for me in a big way, and I know a lot of my friends have been praying that I'll be able to find work, and I appreciate every word said on my behalf, and I thank the Lord for all the caring people in my life.

It's really made me realize that we can't always be all strong and independent. My parents are wonderful. Mom lets me live here without paying for rent or food unless I'm going out to eat of my own volition (that's a great word; it's from the Latin). On days when I'm especially broke, like that one day of the month when three of my four loan payments are due all at once, she'll give me a little money for gas or to get a bite to eat if I have a long day. Dad makes my car payments and pays for things like tires and wheel bearings. I tell my mom I want to be able to take care of myself, pay my own loan payments, etc. when she offers more, and I think that's a healthy attitude to have, to a point. I still have to be willing to accept her help when I need it. I'm lucky to have a mother who offers so much.

The same is true in my spiritual life. I've been looking for full time work for a year now, and at first I couldn't even get interviews even though I thought I was especially qualified for some of these jobs. Plus I write a mean cover letter. I wasn't asking for help, though. When I prayed, I didn't ask for help with my job search. I figured it was trivial compared to some of the problems other people are bringing before the Lord. But now that I've taken to asking St. Joseph for a little help, and my friends have offered to pray for me to find decent work, I'm getting more responses and more interviews. Of course I still have to get out there and do the legwork, but God helps those who help themselves. A recruiter from a company even contacted me! And I think I'd actually like working there!

I'm reminded of my former struggles with the concept of transubstantiation. I couldn't read or think my way out of it. An excellent understanding of what goes on during the consecration at Mass wasn't enough. I had to pray. I had to let others pray for me. I had to ask for the gift of faith. God offers us so much if only we're willing to accept it. Yeah, we have to do a little legwork, but isn't it worth it when it all begins to work out? Nothing is too small to take to the Lord. We have to be willing to admit that we can't always do it on our own, and He'll give us a helping hand. All we have to do is ask.

Incidentally, if anyone's looking for a full time proof reader, I'd be willing to schedule an interview. Or maybe someone could pay me to blog about awesome things.

We live in exciting times.

I haven't posted in a few days, and oh! the goings on in the world of Catholicism! On Friday, the feast of Our Lady of Fatima (of which I am only peripherally aware), Universae Ecclesiae came out. I've been doing a little reading on that, mostly on Fr. Z's blog, and I even listened to a podcast he made in which he read the whole text and explained a few things. Apparently this document is going to do very good things for people who enjoy the Extraordinary Form Mass. I am one of those people. I think it's just beautiful. The Ordinary Form is beautiful too, of course, but there's something about that EF Mass.

I thought it was very interesting that UE said that any group of people, even a group from separate dioceses, could get together and request an EF Mass, but not if they denied the validity or sacredness of the Ordinary Form (I'm paraphrasing). It really drives home the idea that these are two forms of the same rite, two parts of a whole. Universal Church, and all that.

I've also been learning a little more about the corrected translation that will be implemented this Advent. At first I was a little cantankerous about having to learn all new responses and such during Mass when I've only just learned these ones, but I see now that if we're going to have Mass in the vernacular, then it should be as close to the original text as possible, and what we're using now isn't as accurate as it could be. Because what we say and hear is going to affect what and how we believe (I can't take credit for that one; I'm kind of addicted to Fr. Z's blog). Most people can't just pick up the Latin and find out what the original words are: we have to rely on what we know, unless we know someone fluent in Latin (and probably Greek and Hebrew wouldn't hurt either). I don't think my venerable college Latin professor would want me calling him up with queries all the time.

Plus, when I complained last year that I would have to learn what goes on at Mass only to turn around and relearn a bunch of stuff, E. pointed out that I'd have the advantage, because everyone else is going to be stuck in their ways. I'm fresh out of RCIA with a mere one liturgical year under my belt. I got this.

Sacrament in search of theology

I've just been reading up on the sacrament of confirmation. I did a little googling on my own to find out what would happen during my confirmation at the Easter Vigil. On Palm Sunday, T. gave me this really great book of prayers which included a section on the sacraments and it outlined everything everybody was going to be saying, so I knew from reading the prayers that it had something to do with the Holy Ghost coming upon me. Maybe? I've always been a little fuzzy on the Holy Ghost anyway.

It recently occurred to me (as in about an hour ago) that I don't remember learning about what confirmation actually is in RCIA, even though I know we spent six weeks on the seven sacraments (for the curious, Holy Matrimony and Holy Orders were combined into one class). I have the sneaking suspicion that the one class I missed on the day I had food poisoning was the confirmation lesson. Just my luck.

So I've been reading, because that's what I do, and it seems as though I basically knew the hows and the whats when it comes to confirmation, but I didn't really know the whys. And I always like to know the whys. According to the encyclopedia on the Catholic Answers website, my confirmation was sort of a completion of my baptism, in the sense that one can't age unless he's already been born. The Holy Ghost is given to the recipient of confirmation to strengthen him and to make him a soldier of Jesus Christ. (It sounds a little like the armor of God.) The article states the following effects:

Confirmation imparts (1) an increase of sanctifying grace which makes the recipient a "perfect Christian'; (2) a special sacramental grace consisting in the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost and notably in the strength and courage to confess boldly the name of Christ; (3) an indelible character by reason of which the sacrament cannot be received again by the same person.

 I'm told even though I didn't fully understand the ins and outs of what was happening, it still counts. Which is nice, because I knew enough to know it was kind of a big deal. I feel a little sheepish that I didn't truly understand the purpose of the sacrament at the time, but even then I considered the night I was received into The Church, confirmed, and allowed to participate in the Eucharist for the first time to be the Best Day Ever. Now that I know more, I can appreciate it even more. Hopefully I can live up to the purpose of the sacrament.

Bonus feature: I have an Easter hat that will forever smell of chrism oil. An ongoing outward sign of the Best Day Ever.

It was only a matter of time.

It finally happened yesterday. I knew it couldn't be avoided forever. One of the perils of taking communion on the tongue: one of the extraordinary ministers of Holy Communion definitely touched my tongue. With his finger. But I don't know him, so I'm just going to assume his hands were clean. I have this thing about germs, you see.

It's really not the end of the world. A guy touching my tongue isn't worse than sharing a chalice with half the people at Mass, which I've done without a problem. (Unless he also touched everyone else's tongue. If I get sick I'll know why.) I find that I'm really all about the Eucharist, and little things like that that would normally bother me don't make much of a difference. I mean, we're talking about the Body and Blood of Christ, pulled straight from the crucifixion into our time, if I understand what I've read. In the grand scheme of things, Jesus dying on the cross makes my day-to-day neuroses about as troublesome as a dust mote.

Communion on the tongue is one of those things I surprised myself with, much like my decision to do face-to-face confession. I thought for the longest time that I would never ever let someone put the Body of Christ on my tongue. Surely I'd take it in the hand, and of course I wouldn't take the Precious Blood after everyone else had had their mouths on the chalice (and don't give me that propaganda about wiping the chalice or the alcohol content killing the germs). But one night in RCIA when we were discussing how to take communion, it suddenly occurred to me that I would be doing it the old fashioned way. (Not that there's anything wrong with communion in the hand; far be it from me to start some sort of argument. I've seen people get pretty fired up over it.) It's easier this way, anyway. I'm left-handed, so I feel like I'd probably do it backwards and screw everything up. And you know how I am about not wanting to mess up with any of these new fangled Catholic-y things.

Gospel Shod is a terrible title.

This blog is currently operating under the title "Walking Shoes." This is for three reasons.

1. I'm really bad at giving things titles. It's a character flaw that I just have to learn to accept. I'm a writer, you see, and I can crank out a short story or an academic paper or a blog post in no time. But a title? It's agonizing. The same goes for usernames. I'm just really really bad at titles, so I apologize for the crappy title of this blog and for the crappy post titles found herein.

2. But why did I settle on Walking Shoes of all things, you ask? I didn't just pull it out of a hat, although that might have been easier. Last summer I helped out at the Methodist church's Vacation Bible School, as usual. The theme for that week was all about the armor of God. You know: the Helmet of Salvation; the Breastplate of Righteousness; the Sword of the Spirit; the Shield of Faith; the Belt of Truth; and the feet shod with the Gospel of Peace. It made me think about how faith is a journey. I've been on a crazy awesome journey for the last year or so, and it's not over yet. Anyone will tell you you've gotta have the right shoes for a journey. Just be glad I didn't call my blog "Gospel Shod". Because I almost did. Not even kidding.

3. And I was reminded of a quote I recently read that was attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, who I think is a pretty cool dude. He said, "It is no use walking anywhere to preach unless our walking is our preaching." Isn't that great? I know we're urged to go out into the world to make disciples of everyone, but I've never been able to be the in-your-face, do-you-know-Jesus Christian. More power to you if you can pull that off, but I'm far too shy. Instead, I always like to say I hope I can help others know Christ just by living my life as well as I can, and hopefully I can be a good example to someone. So I'll continue on this journey of mine, and I'll share it with you, and my walking will be my preaching.

In which I conquer my fear of priests and have a nun-cident instead.

It’s been a long couple of days. I was up at 6:40 yesterday and today so I could get to daily Mass by 8:30 a.m. Obviously I don’t have any intention of ever going to bed at a decent hour, so by this time of night it’s tough to get up the energy to blog it out.  But tonight was our first RCIA meeting since Easter, so obviously I have to talk about it while it’s all fresh in my mind.

RCIA, for those who care, is short for the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults. The three parishes in town have a joint RCIA program, so pretty much everyone in town who joined The Church this Easter (with the exception of those who went through RCIA at my alma mater) went through the process together. We had a pretty big group, what with the candidates/catechumens, all their sponsors, and everyone on the team. We met at my parish, even though we had the smallest number of representatives there: my small group leader; our pastor, Father N., who represented the other two pastors in town; and me. L.K. and her husband attend another parish, and my small group leader made her promise she wouldn’t steal me away.

I looked forward to RCIA all summer. I think T. did too, because he was probably sick of answering my incessant questions as I read and learned as much as I could ahead of time. During an RCIA meeting, we would usually listen to a lecture from the leader about whatever the evening’s subject was, and then after a short break we’d break up into small groups to discuss it. I loved going to class and meeting all the people on the team and all the people joining The Church. It’s amazing how different everyone is, how many different conversion stories there were, and yet how we all came together to join the universal church.

The classes themselves left a little to be desired sometimes. Everything was pretty basic, and I would have liked to discuss some things more in depth, but we had so many people coming from such varied backgrounds that we just couldn’t get into details within that time frame. I usually sat between L.K. and Father N., so when I got bored I split my time between playing with L.K.’s baby and getting into trouble with Father (for some reason the RCIA leader got flustered whenever the two of us contracted incurable cases of the giggles). It kept things lively.

A month or so ago, Father M. joined us for our session and took us to the church next door, where he gave a presentation on the Mass. He not only did a walk through, but he explained why everything happens, what it all means, where it all comes from. It. Was. Fantastic. Father M. teaches at the Catholic school, and he’s obviously good at what he does. Plus we could tell how enthusiastic he was about everything, so that made it all the more interesting. We got a quick tour of the sacristy as well, and he and Father N. answered any questions we had. It was my favorite class all year; I really wish he’d been allotted two classes so that he would have more time to go into detail.

With the exception of Father M.’s presentation, tonight’s class was the best RCIA meeting yet. Everyone who entered The Church was given the opportunity to share his or her Holy Week experiences. I couldn’t stop smiling all night as I listened to how excited everybody was and as I thought about how grateful I am to be a fully fledged Catholic. L.K., who joined The Church last Easter, shared her thoughts on watching me finally receive the sacraments. (She’s really the best sponsor anyone could ask for. I’ll have to dedicate an entire post to how great she’s been the last eight months.) Father N. even said how his favorite part was when the two of us who were received before confirmation made our profession of faith.

RCIA is fairly new to the Catholic Church. There are some staunch traditionalists who would say it’s not necessary, but it really is a great program. If not for these classes, even if I didn’t learn a single thing (which I did), I wouldn’t have been able to make so many new friends or get to know the people in my church. I’m very shy, and I wouldn’t feel nearly as comfortable in all these new situations without a few familiar faces.

Plus I’m now over my fear of priests. It sounds weird, I know, especially since T. and E. are seminarians and not at all frightening, so what’s the difference, you ask? Well I wasn’t afraid of priests when they were just being regular people, but as soon as they acted like priests (blessing a rosary, for instance, or providing information on an official Church matter), I was very apprehensive. Spending time with Father N. and Father M. has made me realize how silly that is. In the first place, they’re really very nice and not at all scary. And when they’re at their most official, they’re acting in persona Christi, and why should we be afraid of Jesus, who loves us? Even during confession, frightening as it is, the priest himself is, in my experience, wonderfully kind and patient.

But now I should possibly avoid nuns. I went to an evening Mass at L.K.’s parish last Tuesday, and this being Ohio, it was raining. I managed to back right into a nun in the parking lot (she was in her car, geez). I don’t know if it was the weather or the fact that she was in a teeny tiny vehicle, but I honestly couldn’t see her, and I really was looking. I couldn’t even see her car out my back window after I heard the thump. There was no damage, but I felt just awful. I mean come on! Three days Catholic, and I’m running over nuns in church parking lots. Catholicism: doing it wrong. And now I keep seeing her everywhere! I hope she doesn’t think ill of me. T. called it a nun-cident. Let’s hope for a dearth of them in the future.

Methodist Musings

I was browsing the Catholic Answers Forums today. I don't have an account or anything, but I like to lurk and pick up fun facts here and there. In the Non-Catholic Religions section, somebody asked which Protestant denominations approved of abortion. "Surely very few, if any," I thought to myself. Of course, among the Protestants and former Protestants, a bunch of Catholics who knew very little about Protestantism took that opportunity to weigh in with their misguided opinions. But there were a couple people who seemed to know their stuff, and one person said the United Methodist Church was partially pro-choice. And I was like, "What? That's false." But this person quoted the General Conference!

I did my own googling, and I found that the quote on the forums was from the 2004 General Conference, and that the 2008 General Conference (the most recent one) had moved the UMC's official stance in a more pro-life direction. This article shows the section on abortion and the changes that had been made to it from 2004 to 2008. It also points out that the UMC's ambivalence on the subject is basically one giant loophole.

Frankly, I was shocked when I read this today. I grew up in/around the UMC, and my former pastor is staunchly pro-life. I don't even know if he knows the church's official stance on the matter. This in itself kind of concerns me, because shouldn't the pastor of a church be in line with his denomination's teaching? (To be fair, the pastor's technically a Wesleyan, but tomato, tomahto, he's running a Methodist church.) Of course I don't fault him for his beliefs, because I share these particular ones (even though every time the subject comes up he seems to think I'm all for abortion, despite my assertions to the contrary). But I mean, what else did he preach about that wasn't in line with the UMC? And we just had a conversation about how it's so important to be properly catechized because one should know one's own faith, no matter what it is. That's what led me to the Catholic Church in the first place: I started reading about my denomination (I guess not far enough to get to the abortion thing) and realized the Catholic standpoint on just about everything made more sense once I understood it properly.

The Wednesday after Easter, less than four days after my confirmation, was the first time since my decision to join The Church that I had a proper theological discussion with my former pastor. He said to me, "So you like the worship service better, but I'm assuming you don't agree with the theology in the Catholic Church." Um...no. That's not the case at all. I explained my being confirmed and having used the words "believe and profess" in regards to what the Catholic Church teaches. I'm pretty sure he's just in denial, because I've been to the Methodist services all of three times in the last year, and only then because I was accompanying my brother. If it were a matter of simply enjoying the liturgy or church hopping, I wouldn't have resigned from all my posts and I probably would have come back at some point.

This isn't the first time I've been accused of taking such a big decision lightly. That's a rant for another day. But let's be clear: I'm very serious about my religion. It's only, you know, a case of everlasting life and death. Kind of a big deal, here.

"The victory is peace."

The bishop had daily Mass today. I was not expecting that, considering I wasn’t at the cathedral and I only ever see him at major events. And the melodies for things like the Sanctus and the Amen were entirely new to me. Threw me off my game.

Something else that throws me off my game: the celebration at the death of Osama bin Laden. Yeah, he was a terrorist, and yeah, he orchestrated the attacks on September 11^th, but he was still a person. I turned on CNN late last night just before President Obama made his official statement. There was a reporter standing outside the White House, and he kept directing the audience’s attention to the growing group of people gathered outside the White house fence. They were celebrating and chanting “USA” and singing the national anthem. It made me exceedingly uncomfortable.

Luckily the Vatican agrees. Their statement today:


"Faced with the death of a man, a Christian never rejoices, but reflects on the serious responsibility of everyone before God and man, and hopes and pledges that every event is not an opportunity for a further growth of hatred, but of peace."

Hatred should never beget hatred. I know bin Laden resisted capture and most likely would not have permitted himself to be taken alive, but it still feels more like revenge than anything. A lot of people died because of him, but is more death the answer to that? We as Christians don’t live by Hammurabi’s Code. We’re supposed to be better than that. Martin Luther King, Jr. said:

"Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

I have the utmost respect for MLK. He was a great orator and he spread the message of nonviolence. But today Father M. takes the cake for best message. He posted the following as a facebook status: 


"A thank you to all of the brave men and women serving our nation and fighting for our security. As Our Lord told St. Faustina, 'Mankind will not have peace until it turns with trust to my mercy.' Death, however it comes to pass, is never necessarily 'good.' We should never seek violence for violence, or celebrate the death of another as a victory. Having celebrated Divine Mercy Sunday yesterday, it is imperative to remember that we always seek the mercy of God for ourselves and others, and seek at all times to promote, defend, and protect human life. The victory is peace. Peace comes from Christ and his mercy."

As a writer, I like to think I have a way with words. But as a person, on days when I can only convey a sense of discomfort and unease, it’s nice to be able to fall back on people who know how to speak Truth.

St. Joseph doesn't mess around (and other Sunday snippets).

                 So I’ve spent approximately all day at one church or another. Today was the Pioneer Club 20^th 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!

In which I show my geek side.

                Today I’m finishing up the Divine Mercy Novena in honor of Divine Mercy Sunday, which is tomorrow.  This is the first novena I’ve ever prayed (it wasn’t so long ago that I didn’t even know what a novena was). Judging from the name, I thought novenas were certain prayers that you did for nine days, but apparently it can be nine anything: days; weeks; years; or perpetuity, which doesn’t really make it nine anything anymore if you ask me. I’ve come to the conclusion that the Divine Mercy Chaplet is a pretty cool prayer. It’s easy to memorize, which is great for those of us who still have to use a cheat sheet for the rosary sometimes, and the words themselves have a really profound meaning. And I’m a fan of linguistics, so for me the words, “For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world,” just have a really nice ring to them. (Also it’s short. I don’t have anything against long prayers, but I pray before bed, and I’m a little ashamed to admit that I’ve been known to fall asleep before finishing a rosary. Now the rosary makes me yawn. It’s very Pavlovian.)

                Divine Mercy Sunday is one of those things I’d heard of but didn’t really know anything about until, you know, today. I was around for it last year, of course, but seeing as it was about a week after I’d decided to become Catholic, I was more worried about what was going on at Mass and kneeling at the right time than I was about what feast day or solemnity it was. (Is this a feast day? I don’t even know.) But this afternoon I was watching live coverage of the prayer vigil in Rome for the beatification of John Paul II, and they had a little segment on Divine Mercy Sunday and St. Faustina, a Polish nun, who had a vision of Jesus with two beams of light emanating from His heart, “one red and one pale.”

                “Oh, so that’s who St. Faustina is,” I thought to myself. And then the segment went on to say that a painting of Faustina’s vision had been commissioned. “Oh, so that’s where that picture came from,” I thought. You learn something new every day.

                I happened to go to the vigil Mass today because I have to be at the Methodist Church tomorrow for a Pioneer Club anniversary celebration and I didn’t want to wait until the end of the day tomorrow to go. Plus I just like going to Mass, so I’ll probably end up going at the end of the day tomorrow anyway. Father M. had Mass at the cathedral downtown, and he mentioned the Faustina painting, of course. We have a print on display in the church. He said the red light coming from Jesus’ heart represents blood and the white light represents water. These, in turn, represent Christ being both God and Man. There’s a lot of that going on, I’ve found.

                Father M.’s homilies are always fantastic. Today he talked about the readings, when the risen Christ breathed on the apostles, establishing through the priesthood the sacrament of Reconciliation and how this institution relates to His Divine Mercy. He pointed out that there are only three instances in Scripture where it says that God breathed: during creation, when God breathed life; on the cross, when Jesus breathed His last and accomplished reconciliation between God and mankind; and in the upper room, when Jesus comforted the apostles and breathed on them. That, Father M. said, is how you know it was a really big deal.

                I always get really excited in a super nerdy sort of way when I realize how much sense the Bible makes in the context of the Catholic Church. 

The Beginning (part three)

                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.

The Beginning (part two)

             An opportunity arrived after my church purchased a projector. Methodists place a lot of emphasis on music as worship. John and Charles Wesley were two of the greatest hymnists in the world, and my brother and I were in charge of the music in our church. We took our jobs seriously. I was staunchly against the projector purchase, but I was in the minority. With the projector came a hookup for a laptop. With the laptop came poorly made youtube videos set to poorly written contemporary Christian music. Our traditional hymns and live music were summarily replaced.

                I lamented to my three friends at lunch one day. Palm Sunday was the following weekend. “I don’t want projector music to ruin Palm Sunday,” I whined.

                One of the guys, E., offered a solution. “Come to Mass with us,” he said. He would be serving (whatever that meant), and the young lady, M., would be singing with the choir (she promised decent music), but T. would be free to sit with me (so I’d know when to sit, stand, and kneel).

                I was nervous at first, but my friend T. coached me through it. He explained what was going on when he could and he helped me follow along in the missal. And so it happened that after four years at one of the most Catholic schools in the country, I found myself at the cathedral downtown. I went to Mass and I liked it.

                I had been discouraged at my own church because with the projector music, no one knew the songs and no one was singing along. We were becoming passive observers in our own worship services. There was something participatory and together in the Mass. Even though I didn’t know the music or the words or the responses, I still felt included. I was fascinated by the Liturgy. I wanted to know what the priests were doing during the Liturgy of the Eucharist and why. I wanted to know why the Bishop took his miter off sometimes and why the bells were rung.

                I couldn’t deny that the Catholic Church seemed to have the answers to all my nagging questions. They had the history, they had the crazy stories of Eucharistic miracles and incorruptible saints, they had the scripture references to back up their theology, they had freedom within their spirituality.

                On Tuesday during Holy Week, I sent a facebook message to the three friends who’d gotten me to Mass. “I think I want to be Catholic.”

                We met for lunch the next day. When I brought up my missive, T. and E., the future priests, smiled knowingly. T. said, “What are you doing tonight?” That night I skipped my night class.

                M. was singing with the choir again. E. would be MC for the Tenebrae service. T. met me in the vestibule and took me to his usual pew. I watched E. extinguish the candles one by one as the Easter story was read. We left the church in silence as the choir sang Were You There. Outside, T. turned to me and said, “So what did you think?”

                I wiped the tears from my eyes and replied, “Where do I sign up?”

                "Let's go talk to Father," he said.

(to be continued)

The Beginning (part one)

               The most common question I’ve been asked in the past year is a variation on, “What made you decide to become Catholic?” The tone has differed, depending on the asker. I’ve dealt with excitement, curiosity, hostility, confusion, warmth, happiness, surprise, and disrespect.

                I’ve also asked the question of others. It’s not so surprising to hear the myriad conversion stories when you think about the universality of the Catholic Church, and sometimes I’ve been a little embarrassed that I didn’t have an exciting adventure of religious epiphany to relate. My answer to the question is, in short, “I went to Mass and I liked it.”

                Of course it took a lot to get me to Mass in the first place.

                I grew up United Methodist, although I never attended Sunday services as a child. I made my way through Pioneer Club (a scout-like Methodist program) every school year and Vacation Bible School every summer. After I aged out of VBS, I continued on as a counselor and puppeteer. I lived at home for college and attended the local university, which happens to be one of the most Catholic schools in the country. The people there were very nice, but the charismatic lifestyle was a little off-putting, and most times I felt completely misunderstood as a Protestant. (This was usually accurate, but I came to find that I misunderstood Catholicism just as often.)

                When I was a freshman, my brother and I were invited to sing with the choir at the United Methodist church in our hometown. We began to attend Sunday services regularly. By the time I was a senior, I had become a Sunday School teacher, I had been baptized in the Methodist Church, I was a member of  the Pastor-Parishioner Relations Committee, a regular deliverer of children’s sermons, the new director of Vacation Bible School, and I shared Choir Director/Accompanist duties with my brother.

                I took theology classes and had philosophical discussions at school, but I never went to Mass. I had respect for my Catholic friends’ beliefs, and I was frustrated when professors and students alike would spout misinformation about Protestants, but I never went to Mass. It didn’t matter to me whether someone was Methodist or Presbyterian or Catholic or Russian Orthodox: we were all Christian, so what difference did it make?

                That began to change. I don’t know when, exactly, but little niggling thoughts began to curl around the back of my mind. I spent most of my free time during my senior year with three very close friends. Suffice to say it’s hard to hang out with two seminarians and a young woman who lives her faith without entertaining a few Catholic thoughts. When my Sunday School students asked difficult questions, my answers usually came from my theology classes at school. When I had difficult questions, my Catholic friends always had an answer for me. I thought perhaps I’d raise my future children in The Church, even if I didn’t convert. Then when a friend from my Methodist church mentioned he’d once been Catholic, I thought to myself, “If you’re already Catholic, why would you leave?” This thought brought me up short.

                At that point, I thought perhaps I should go to Mass.

(to be continued)