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!