Joyous Preparation
05 Dec 2010 4 Comments
in Advent, Bible Essays, Catechumenate, Isaiah, Matthew, Romans, Seasons Tags: Advent, Catechumenate, Isaiah, Matthew, Romans
Those of us who chase our faith know that this time of year is more special than anything non-believers can experience in this season.
Chase our faith? I mean by that those of us who are not content to “believe in God,” attend church now and then (mostly weddings and funerals and perhaps midnight Mass and Easter), and otherwise give lip service to faith. We are out there seeking, running God down and demanding with humility but sincere intensity, “I want a relationship with YOU!”
Today we welcomed and accepted into our community those seeking full admission into the Church and full communion with God. The Catechumenates and Candidates were presented at Mass, and we promised to “stand with you and pray for you, child of God”. They received the sign of the cross upon their foreheads, eyes, mouths, shoulders, hands and feet. They were presented bibles. They are entering the final few months before reception into the Church at the Easter Vigil.
I remember the time well. It was more exciting that I can tell you. Along with all the preparations for the holidays, the shopping, the parties, the decorating, baking, wrapping, and so forth, there was all this wonderful mysterious, glorious newness–the new person I was becoming. I was awed, humbled, bubbling with excitement and joy. I couldn’t wait for the next week, the next class, the next opportunity to grow in knowledge and faith.
I saw that in the eyes of the assembled class today. The shining eyes, the bright smiles, the reverence. It was all there, and took me back to those days. That in fact is a good reason for doing this ceremony in public. We are all reminded of our days of preparation for full communion with the Church.
It is no accident that the timing of all this coincides with Advent, the annual time of preparation of the entire Christendom for the coming of the Lord. As our Catechumenates and Candidates stand in a special relationship with Jesus– actively preparing to be joined to him in the most intimate and perfect way, they also join in the Church’s preparation. Doubly blessed!
We, the congregation, also get to recall our own time in similar shoes, as I have said, and we too join this with the entire Church in her readying for our Savior.
We prepare our secular lives, and we prepare our spiritual lives. We are all about preparing. In our readings today, Isaiah reminds us of the Kingdom to come when our Lord returns. Paul in Romans, tells us that our preparing is done by way of “putting on the mind of Christ,” in other words, by treating others in the “same friendly way as Christ treated you.”
Matthew concludes with the teaching of John the Baptist, who called all to repentance in preparation. Thus we know what to look for, and what to do.
We leave the Church on Sunday, renewed, refreshed, and joyous. Our steps are a little livelier, our smiles a bit broader. We are kinder and more gentle with friends, strangers and family. We have a secret.
We are not just preparing the feast, the gifts, the parties. We are in an intimate and beautiful dance with the Lord as we confide in him, feel his steady comfort and guidance. It is all so very special and personal. Every Christmas light takes on a special twinkle, we find ourselves misting up at the silliest of things.
We know that the Lord is close. We are walking on holy ground.
Amen.
What Are We?
27 Aug 2010 Leave a Comment
in Catechumenate, Catholic Tradition, Catholicism, Conversion Tags: Catechumenate, Catholicism, conversion, Mass, nuns, ritual
How to explain the inexplicable? It never ceases to amaze me how people of faith relate to their respective traditions. What thrills one, is anathema to another.
For one, the simplicity of the Quaker meeting room invites a strong presence of God, for others, like myself, nothing less than the full panoply of art and ritual will suffice.
This perhaps pertains to my earliest experiences as a child. I believe my first real church experience was attending a Catholic mass with my neighbors. The mother and several daughters went to St. Agnes in Flint. I was invited along, being probably ten or so.
I will never forget the splendor and mystery and magic of the place. Although it was summer and full daylight, inside it was dark. Filled with stained glass all around. It smelled different as well. Exotic would be the way I would describe it.
Women, dressed in long black dresses and long black headdresses walked about. When things began, the music was like no other I had ever heard. Deep, ponderous, and the voices rose in a crescendo of foreign words and phrases. Marching down the aisle were men, also dressed in a regalia of regal, long gowns. One carried a vessel from which smoke flowed. Golden crosses and boys with various other ornaments proceeded forth.
The altar area, still facing the wall, was alit with candles. People knelt and rose, and made crosses upon their bodies. They uttered unfamiliar words, and others responded, all in sing-song chants. I knew the language not, though it was of course Latin.
It all went on for a very long time and then people filed forward to open their mouths and have deposited upon their tongues “something.” They knelt and crossed, and what I later learned was genuflection.
None of this was really explained to me, but I pondered it for some time. Finding it all fascinating. When I asked why we didn’t go to “mass” I was told, “Because we are not Catholic.”
“What are we?”
“Methodist.” This was a lie, but I did not know.
Over the years to come, into my teens I was to have other Catholic friends. I marveled and asked curious questions about rosary beads, and white confirmation bibles, and mantillas, and missals. Nobody as I recall, seemed much interested in answering me. Taking for granted, what I began to secretly yearn for.
At fifteen, I decided to explore “my” faith tradition. I walked the half mile to a Methodist church one Sunday, dressed in my best. I entered and sat. I was encouraged to sign a book, and put money in a tray. I sang songs from a hymnal, and I listened to a man drone on interminably long about subjects that made little sense to me. We sang some more, and I went home.
I was very disappointed. I would remain so as the years went by. I envied my Catholic friends and so yearned to be like them. No one ever told me I could, except by some process whereby I must spend years sitting in the priest’s office answering questions and listening. Not true of course, but I had no way of knowing. It all seemed too daunting to me. And I knew of no one who had done so, and what does a young girl do on her own about things like that?
Not until I was in my 40′s did I mention this to a colleague of mine. “I wish I were Catholic,” I mused. She replied, “So become one.”
“But don’t you have to jump through a lot of hoops?”
“Yeah, so what? If you want to be Catholic, then go through it. You don’t have to BELIEVE everything you know, just go along with the program. Nobody believes all that junk. Everybody uses birth control even though we aren’t supposed to.”
Not the best of advice, but age had given me courage. So I called.
Wouldn’t you just know that I called smack dab in the middle of Lent. Sister Doris gently suggested that I might call her back after Easter when things were a bit less hectic. She took my name and number, evidence to me, that she would call me, if I failed. In the meantime, she encouraged me to start attending Mass.
So I did. And I went through the Catechumenate from September until the following June. And I loved it, and I love my Church, and I was the best Catholic in the world, as most new converts are. And I wanted to be a nun.
And then. Well, shit happens. . . .
