Almost My Last Service…

Once RNW, my friend at Postscripts From the Catholic Spitfire Grill, shared her thoughts on being an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion in a post called Channels of Grace: We Become What We Do.  Her thoughts really resonated with me as my experience has been very similar. A few quotes to illustrate what I’m referring to specifically…

…I have the privilege of being an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion. I assist the priests and the deacons in distributing Holy Communion at Mass and to those who are unable to attend Mass during the week. I have noticed that Our Lord has taken this thing that I do and used it to change what I am…

Just as Our Lord has allowed me to distribute His Body and Blood in the Eucharist, He has blessed that ministry and multiplied it like the loaves and the fishes to every part of my life. I bring Jesus in the Eucharist with me in other ways all of the time as I talk to people about the joy of being Catholic. The physical actions of what I do as a Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion has somehow been imprinted on my soul and I have become what I do.  

 I have shared before on this blog a few of my experiences in being an Extraordinary Minister and the profound effect they have had on me.  What I have not shared, perhaps because I did not realize fully the source or the completeness of the gift, was the depth of love I have been given for this parish family, these parishioners individually.

 

 Tonight was, unless I am assigned next week and don’t know it, my last time to serve as an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion at my parish before we move.  I knew that before I went to Mass but somehow it slipped my mind until I had taken my place with the Cup in hand and as the first person, an older gentleman in our parish who I know well, came to receive it hit me again. It hit me more fully, and I began to cry. (Despite the mention of such times on this blog, this is not normal for me. I’m not a ‘crier’.  It is the very irregularity of it that makes it blog worthy in the first place.)

 

Each face was familiar. I knew each one, some by name, some only by sight. That first one, the older gentleman, is Italian like my husband.  He too married a woman substantially younger than himself. Their family was similar to ours in some ways.  He never thought he would end up outliving her. Devout, he attends daily Mass and often has another widowed older gentleman friend with him. He has always seemed to have a soft spot in his heart for us, and we for him. 

 

That one would pause briefly with clasped hands before the raised Cup and proclaim brusquely, “My Lord and My God” before moving on.  Her devotion none the less for her short manner; her eyes never leave the Precious Blood.

The next a sweet woman with such a love for her husband who had an accident and severed a few of his fingers last year. Also regulars at daily Mass. He battles malaria contracted during military service… a man with such a gentle heart.

 

One after another, on and on they came, and with them the tears welling and causing the entire nave to sparkle at the edges of my vision. Each person so precious, some of them friends to whom I speak often and some I know only from previous moments just like this one, yet the love I have for them is indescribable and it is all the same intensity.  To think that I am to leave this parish family, these people for whom God has shared His love with me… to think that this was the last time I would be able to serve them by offering them the Body and Blood of our Lord… brought great pain and mourning.  How I long to continue to be His Hands to them.  Not only in this Extraordinary service, but also in other less visible ways… cooking, serving in the church kitchen, working the bazaar, teaching children and grandchildren in various capacities, visiting them when sick or injured, praying with them… just loving them and being with them.

 

As I stood in the Sanctuary waiting with the other EM’s for Father to replace the extra Hosts in the Tabernacle, Charmaine, our pastoral associate, having finished as well took her place beside me and took my hand. I held on for all I was worth and loved her for being there. She was there with me in the beginning when I first received, knowing what it meant to me. She taught me how to serve and was there when I served the first time and knew what it meant to me. Now she was with me again at the end, and again, knew. I fought the emotion all the way back to my seat beside my husband, but from his reaction - and that of my youngest daughter, I didn’t do a very good job of hiding it.

 

The tears continue as I type. The sorrow of leaving this parish family so dear to all of us remains and I’d imagine we will all mourn the loss for some time to come.  With the perspective blogging provides, I am reminded that there is a way I may serve them, regardless of where or how far away this road takes us… I can still pray.  They are on my permanent prayer list and will remain there. It seems so little to give in return for all they’ve given me, all they’ve taught me, the example of godliness and faith they’ve been. It seems so inadequate compared to actually living among them, serving God side by side in a temporal way… and yet, when we drive away for the last time, this will not be good-bye but only Vaya Con Dios and Until We Meet Again… in the High Country.

The Dinner Table…

We ended our interview odyssey at my husband’s parents for a few days visit.  It’d been a long time, over a year and a half since we’d seen them last during which the girls and I had reconciled to the Catholic Church.  Our visit coincided with Father’s Day and my father-in-law’s birthday always falls close to that, so we had a bit of  party Saturday evening. 

After the barbeque was eaten and all but my fil and I were in the kitchen cleaning up, my father-in-law turned to me and asked how long my husband and I had been married now.  I told him it would be 16 years this december.  I had no idea where he was going with this and then he said ‘and you were a die hard Baptist too’.  He went on to say how he never thought I would convert, he knew what I was like before, and it just wasn’t going to happen… that I was the last person he’d have ever expected to become Catholic.  He said, “It’s a miracle, that’s what it is… A miracle.”  As we got up to leave the table and rejoin the others, he said he owed me an apology, that he’d been pretty hard on me over the years.

It might seem a simple thing… and yet, aren’t simple things sometimes the most profound? I don’t mean the apology, the Lord knows I owed him one as well. Rather, his understanding of where I was and just how awesome was the work of God in my life these past 3(ish) years.  On the homeschool forums it is often insinuated, if not said outright, that I wasn’t REALLY a Baptist (and any number of other things) or I wouldn’t have converted…if I had REALLY been strong in my faith… that I didn’t REALLY believe such and such because a REAL Baptist/whatever would NEVER convert to Catholicism, despite having told them I was JUST LIKE THEM. I have been accused of dishonesty at best, idiocy and idolatry of demons at worst.  Yet despite the testimony of friends who knew me before, such accusers will not believe… and in a way I don’t blame them… after all, to believe that I was what I say I was would shake their foundations… their security.  If I was REALLY like them, then what happened to me could happen to them too… and that is unthinkable.

So for my father-in-law to say what he did touched me deeply.  To have someone (friends who walked my reconciliation with me excluded) who knew me before, knew me well, share that they remembered what I was, knew how solid I was in my faith then, and have them recognize and admit just how far God has moved me when so many have denied it meant more than I can say.  For it to be my father-in-law, who rarely speaks of such things and certainly not in such a personal way meant even more.

Home Again…

As fabulous as it was to celebrate Easter Vigil with Shellie and her family, it was good to be back home and go to Mass with mine this evening. 

We are creatures of habit.  There are certain things that our minds and bodies recognize and react to because they are so incredibly familiar.  A good example of this in my life would be a trip to a friend’s house.  When I lived in Texas, my dear friend lived 2 hours away.  Her husband had a weekly night out of town due to business and the kids and I would often drive up to spend the night with her. It gave us a good 24 hour visit before we’d head home the next day. 

She’d make homemade hummus, tzatziki, and we’d roll out homemade dough into pitabread while visiting over a glass of wine while the children played together. We’d make a pot of good tea and watch movies while working on needlepoint. We’d laugh ourselves silly one moment and share our deepest struggles the next. That 24 hour visit would unwind all the stress and tangled skeins of care that life could throw at me. This was a frequent trip… every two weeks in the summer, every 3 to 4 in the school year (we both homeschool).  I was so conditioned that all it took for me to relax was to get in the car and begin the drive to her house. 

Walking into Mass in my home parish was similar.  Mass has come to mean a great deal to me.  It is communal, the coming together of the Body of Christ across time and space to worship,  to the Table for the Eucharist.  Friends, family, and complete strangers come together in an intimate union.  It is also personal in that I am nourished in a very personal and private way.  The graces I receive in the Mass feed my soul, mend my hurts, meet my current needs whether I accurately recognize them or not, and give me strength for the week ahead… and yet it isn’t about me. It is about God, giving to Him the worship that He has requested as fit unto Himself… and in joyfully, willingly, obediently giving what is His due I am greatly blessed.

Response to Weekend Fisher…

This is in response to a comment left on the New Paganism entry. 

Weekend Fisher:

I’m curious — do believe that all evils in the church were the Reformation’s fault, or that Rome is exempt from error and uncharity towards other believers?

Welcome Weekend Fisher!

No, I do not believe all the evils in the church were the Reformation’s fault or that Rome is exempt from error and uncharity towards other believers. (Aren’t you relieved? *wink*) However, I am a convert to Catholicism. I was WELL aware of the faults of the Roman Catholic Church prior to my conversion and while the truth of that was not so extreme as I had been taught, I continue to agree there were definitely problems then and frankly, continue to be now. What body of men does not have them? Indeed, there is none because where there are men, there is sinfulness and error and lack of charity.

That said, I was NOT taught about the problems, the error and uncharity committed by we protestants. Neither has the Catholic Church been teaching me these things. The Church teaches that our protestant brothers and sisters are exactly that, our separated brethren and have not discussed with me AT ALL the Reformation or the consequences thereof. Rather, it has been in my own reading and study that God has been teaching me that both sides have sinned, and all sin has its consequences. What you witness here is the rectifying of a lopsided education.

I have been blogging of my learning of the other side of that equation. What I am learning causes me grief and mourning. It is not that the protestant side has the market cornered on sin and lack of charity. Far from it, rather, the problem is that we should be one Body. That the sin of division and a house divided has led to more sin, like the dropping of a stone into a pond causes ripples. That such division not only hurts our witness and ability to speak to the world as God intended, but grieves the heart of God.

Weekend Fisher:

A Roman Catholic asked me, not too long ago, what exactly was the “cringe factor” when it came to Roman Catholicism. I blogged a full-length reply, but if I had to boil it down to one phrase it would be this: how Rome treats other Christians.

I’m not sure that I agree with you on ‘how Rome treats other Christians’. At least, my experience has led me to a different conclusion and perspective. As a protestant for most of my life, I would have been the first to tell you that Catholics were not Christians (except for the odd man and why DID they stay in that cult anyway), that they were a cult (I did mention that didn’t I?), and that they were idolatrous among other things. I was rude, arrogant, and unkind to my Catholic brothers and sisters in Christ. It was I, and everyone of my aquaintance, who were treating other Christians badly. (I do not assume that this is your position, only speaking to my own as a protestant.) In my experience, and the experience of many whom I have come to know in the past two years, it was the Catholics of our aquaintance who were kind, patient, long suffering. Who did not return unkind words or thoughts or looks with like, but extended grace instead.

That said, Christians of all flavors treat other Christians of all flavors badly… and unChristians too. Catholics, protestants, we are all guity of it.

In the end, I am condemning primarily myself. It is in becoming aware of just how sinful I was as a protestant, just how far from where God intended me to be, that I am able to repent of it and work as best I can to avoid it in the future. At the same time, I LOVE my protestant brothers and sisters… and in NO way intend for anything I say here to suggest otherwise.

Weekend Fisher:

Wishing for genuine dialog rather than polemics.

How’s this for genuine dialog? Like you, I am not interested in polemics. My belief that there is Truth, and that it is God’s to determine, and that it is WE who must correct our faulty understanding and align ourselves with Him is a belief that I have had both as a protestant and as a Catholic. I will be the first to tell you that I am guilty of these sins and am having to do so. I have grieved our Lord. I have failed to do what is right in His eyes. I have leaned unto my own understanding. I have refused to submit to those He placed in authority over me. I have been working hard to be obedient in rectifying many of those things and as much good work as He has done in me, I am far from finished. If you are perceiving finger pointing here, know that it is at myself I point first. If you perceive judgement, know that it is myself who I judge. If you perceive exhortation to change, it is of myself that I demand it above all.

I don’t know if you’ve read my conversion story included in the entries of this blog, but I did not CHOOSE to become Catholic. It is not my understanding that has led me here, or a desire for smells and bells, or a great hurt done by those in my protestant circles. It was required of me by the Lord our God. I do not presume for ONE MOMENT that He is calling you or anyone else to that journey. That is the work of the Holy Spirit. What you read here is MY journey, what I am learning, what I am struggling with, what I grieve over, what I rejoice over.

I pray that in reading this, whether or not you agree with my agreement with the Teachings of the Catholic Church, what I have learned, or any of the rest, that you will hear my heart. That is what I pour out here, in this comment, and in the blog in general. It is not an easy thing to learn that what one has believed for over 30 years, while partly true, held so much error. It is not an easy thing as an older person to change. It is not easy to admit to having been so horribly wrong. In order to do so, it is important to be willing to face my sin head on, acknowledge it, see the consequences of it as He does. As hard as this is, it would be even worse to not do so and cease to walk with God.

I do not apologize for calling sin what it is. I do not apologize for defending the faith, for if the faith or teachings of the Church and sacred scriptures give offense, it is not for me to apologize. For any mistreatment of Christians by Catholics, I extend my most sincere apologies. For anything I have said that has made you think that I do not love and esteem my separated brethren, I sincerely apologize. Not for one moment do I intend to convey a lack of love or a lack of charity just because I see that I am not the only one guilty of such sins and mourn the consequences of what we have wrought.

May God bless you above all you could ask or imagine and hide you in the secret of His Face,
Anne

My intent…

Just a clarification, for anyone who has misunderstood or wondered. It has never been my intent to plead with my protestant sisters (and brothers) to come to the RCC so that they would have the fullness of faith. I have said that is what I have found. I have said I HOPE it for others. I have clarified and defended the RC beliefs when they were misunderstood or maligned to the best of my limited ability. However, I am very much of the opinion that conversions are the Holy Spirit’s job, not mine. I am not here to ‘convert’ anyone. I am not pleading with anyone to convert. In fact, I would not do so.

For one thing, the Holy Spirit leads where He wills, and that is not always the RCC for everyone. My prayer for the ladies of the forum where I participate always has been, and ever will be, that they be in the center of GOD”S WILL for THEM, where ever that may be. It is not my place to judge anothers heart, or anothers walk with the Lord. Should someone be led by the Holy Spirit to convert, and desire to talk to me about my experiences, ask questions, that has always been a source of great joy… but it is as the Holy Spirit leads, and as I may serve Him… not out of any purpose or intent of my own.

In addition, while my conversion has been source of great joy and spiritual growth, it has not been easy. I have come to experience and understand suffering and persecution for my faith on a level I never experienced before. It is something that would’ve been unbearable were it not for the gifts of the Spirit which sustain me and the absolute conviction beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am exactly where God wants me to be. I would not wish anyone to experience the things I have without those gifts and the strength to bear it that comes from being in the center of God’s will.

I am not of the opinion that it is my job to save anyone from anything. That is something which God has made absolutely clear to me. It is God who saves. It is MY job to be obedient, to speak the truth in love, to live my life as best I can doing EXACTLY what He wants of me. That is what I strive to do whether here or in real life and if I have ever given an impression otherwise, then I am heartily sorry.

The More Things Change…

I’ve been busy with the beginning of the school year and the insanity of trying to save money by painting my own kitchen. (See the other blog) However, while I have not been sharing on this blog, I have had much time to ruminate (while painting) and one conversation has been in the fore of my thoughts.  

Source or history of the rumination currently under discussion: I was talking to my Dad on the phone shortly before I began the insanity of the kitchen.  After the usual odds and ends of conversation, we began to discuss faith issues.  I was sharing with him the story of the rosary in the car and he asked something like yeah but imagine how that made Jesus brothers feel?  Trying to wrap my mind around that just stopped me cold.  There was this long silence and finally I said, what do you mean?  He said well ya know Jesus had brothers, how do you think that made them feel… and I replied that I wasn’t so sure that Jesus HAD brothers. (It had just hit me how much my beliefs had changed and I was trying to ease into discussion about what I believe now.)  Which then began a discussion over that.  Which ended in Dad saying that it sounded to him like I was trying to make the scripture say what I wanted it to.  I couldn’t help laughing.  It was so like the conversations in the homeschool forums. (Where I would not have hesitated to not only say it was doubtful that Jesus had brothers but would have launched a serious argument complete with scriptural and cultural proofs to support the belief that he did not.) I asked him if that sounded like me and he said no and it sounded to me like he was having some difficulty trying to reconcile the fact that I am NOT the type to twist scripture to fit my preferences and the fact that what I was arguing about scripture was radically different than what I used to believe… than what he believes.

So as I’ve been working and limited on time I’ve been thinking a great deal about this conversation.  While I realize that a great many of my beliefs have changed since becoming Catholic, I have not changed. My character has not changed.  I have had to face the fact that I was wrong about a great many things and make the necessary adjustments but I had to do that before (just not as much or as fast). I have had to admit the error and lack of scriptural basis for sola scriptura and learn to embrace the authority and Tradition of the Church but my passion for sacred scripture and for it’s inerrancy has not changed. My demand for absolute obedience to God’s will in my life regardless of how difficult it is for me is just as adamant as ever.  My love for truth is intact.  In fact, instead of undermining any of these things, my Catholic faith has intensified them.  If anything I am not less of who I was, or what I was… I am more.  In so many ways I thought I was LOSING by becoming Catholic, and yet God has given me a fullness and surety of faith unlike anything I’ve ever known and I’ve lost nothing, being blessed instead above all I could ask or imagine.

It is frustrating at times that I am not able to share that more clearly. Yet, whether or not the people who I’d LIKE to have see that are ever able to do so, I am forever grateful to God for the great work He has done in me these past few years and it is with great anticipation I look forward to what lies ahead. 

The more things change, the more they are the same. ~Alphonse Karr

Oasis…

I posted a while back about winter… in retrospect, I’m wondering if desert wouldn’t have been the better analogy, especially considering the different nature of this ‘winter’.  SO, we’ll call it a desert. 

As I said, this time has been difficult as such times usually are but growth continues which is an unexpected joy.  It has been a time of understanding why God exhorted us in the Sacred Scriptures to not become weary of doing good.  It has been a time of understanding that there are times when a stubborn nature is a virtue because it enables you to set your teeth and plow on.  I had done, and was still doing, that when the time came to leave for the trip to Minnesota. At the rate things were going, I was torn.  I wanted to meet these friends, and see the old ones, but I could just see it going badly.  (Desert remember?)  I stifled that doubting Thomas voice and stepped out in faith.  So it was quite the surprise when God just blessed my socks clean off, even though it shouldn’t have been.

Wrapped in the paper and ribbons of friends, visiting, playing, etc were understanding, spiritual blessings, affirmations, encouragement, challenges… food for the journey, water for my well… and I came home renewed and ready to tackle with enthusiasm all those issues which I was just plowing through with my head down and my teeth clenched.  God delights in giving us grace and blessing, often when we least expect it, and delights in using OTHERS to show us glimpses of Himself and His love for us, while simultaneously showing us His delight and joy in those whom He is using. He rejoices in His servants! What JOY there is when faith empties itself in works, as surely as God pours Himself out for us and nurtures us through His creation.  What LOVE when those who seek Him first fellowship together.  What SWEETNESS when one puts their head down to shield their face from the blowing sands in order to better plow ahead in the path of the Savior, only to have Him turn after a time to lift the chin and show them the waters of the Oasis and remind them to laugh for the simple joy that the water of life brings.

I am learning to love the desert. Learning that the Oasis is sweeter when it is surrounded by the heat and sand. Learning that following the Lord is precious even in the midst of pain, frustration, and despair and that He is worth it all. I praise Him for this Oasis… but I also praise Him for the desert which made it all the more refreshing.

Reaching Out…

I have mentioned somewhere on this blog that I am estranged from much of my family, and that since the move about fifteen months ago, I had not spoken to my Dad.  That was my decision, and in no way his fault.  We had a running phone relationship since 2000 and the move opened up the opportunity for some time ‘away’ so to speak and I really felt the need for that.  Time to take a step back, get my bearings etc.  I tend to lack… perspective… perhaps in my relationship with him.  I would email or call, and perhaps it would take a week or two before he’d respond.  Instead of the normal assumptions about time constraints or his being busy, I would assume he was upset with me, that something I’d said had offended him… or something equally obsessive.  I would haunt my email box, and obsess over whether or not I’d hear from him that day.  It just really wasn’t a healthy way for me to be… so despite telling him I would, I didn’t call after the move.  I just couldn’t call and say I need time, I didn’t want to hurt him, and as time went on it just got harder to make that step to try to explain… I’d try to word something and no words would come and I’d give up. There was much I wanted to share with him though, so I’d write him letters that I never mailed. I prayed for him, and the rest of the family very often, wondered how he was, but God was working in me and this time of quiet was really beneficial and as a result, also good for my husband and children… Also, I knew that re-establishing contact would be hard and while I was beginning to be ready for that, the possibility of hostility from my step-mother, or my sister, really dampened any urge to pick up the phone.

Then about a week ago I began to dream about Dad.  That isn’t uncommon, happens sometimes, but this time was different.  I’d dream about him, he’d come to mind all during the next day, and then the next night I dreamt about him again, this time with him asking why I hadn’t called, and I promised in the dream to call.  Woke up the next day and thought how odd it was to be having this so consistently, thought about him a good bit that day too, and went to bed again the third night.  Well. There was no sleeping that night… in fact, during the hours after I went to bed, and sometime before 1 a.m., I realized this was the Lord and He wasn’t going to let me go to sleep until I committed to do what He wanted.  Sure enough, sometime around 1:30 a.m. I finally said ok! I’ll call tomorrow! Never saw the time again and slept the rest of the night.

Well good grief.  If I’d known that the Lord (and not just some part of my subconcious)  was saying now was the time to reach out and get back in touch I’d have done it on day one… after all, I had missed our talks and would be happy to have them resume… but Lord, if you want me to make the call, can you at least make sure Dad answers the phone instead of someone who’ll give me a hard time? So I picked up the phone and sure enough, Dad answered.  It was a pretty good call and it was so good to hear his voice again.  He forgave me for waiting so long to call and gave me his email so I sent him a note, along with the blog links… the fact that I’ve become Catholic since we last talked meant a lot to catch up on and I thought perhaps an easy way to get things rolling was to share those.

Since then, I’ve not heard from him.  There for a bit I began that old spiral of obsessing until finally I began to pray about it.  God helped me realize that I had done what He wanted me to do, I had reached out, I had opened up that ‘pathway’ again… and instead of obsessing over what I desperately want – that close relationship with the father I have always loved so dearly- I had to let go once again and accept that whatever comes, I’m in the center of God’s will, attentive to His voice, and let whatever that will is be enough.  That ‘check’ of sorts recentered me and the peace and balance has returned… so instead of the obsession and worry, when I’ve thought of Dad these last few days I’ve spent the time and effort in prayer for him instead… What a beautiful place that is to be… God has given me new freedom to rest in Him in this area of my life which so desperately needed His touch… Yet another way God had to clean me up because of problems in my own life before I could interact properly with someone else…

This is a little more ‘personally’ intimate post in some ways than just ’spiritually’ intimate but it is primarily a spiritual issue for me and that is why it is here. So many times these ‘personal’ struggles as God cleans me up aren’t just for me, and it is so much easier to say yes, I’ve been there, read this than to have to retype it, or worse yet, to forget something that might be important later.

I’m learning that just because God deals with areas of myself that are unhealthy doesn’t mean that those ‘illnesses’ heal as though they never existed… He leaves me vulnerable there… keeps me dependant on Him… and in my weakness He is glorified. Help me Lord to embrace that weakness, and not disdain that through which you work in me.