During adolescence, Mass was little more than a fancy church service with a bunch of additional whatnots added in for flare. And, confusion. Those whatnots had never been given much thought. Obviously. By accident (or, Divine intervention), I have begun to learn what this, that, and the other are all about. Coincidently, as answers reveal themselves, the more questions I seem to stumble upon. Gladly so. This, amongst a bevy of other considerations, has brought me back into the arms of the Church.
If somebody would have predicted I would say this two years ago, I would have thought them silly.
Strange and unconventional as my path has been, I have always held a special place in my heart for the Eucharist. There is something mystically profound when receiving the Sacrament of Christ. For those who are Catholic, you are undoubtedly saying to yourself, "duh!"
Perhaps my journey is not all that peculiar and uncommon. Jesus did not shower his message and compassion upon the rich, but instead on the poor and oppressed (Mark 5:1-12; Luke 4:18, 6:20-26 NLT). Factoring in that I hit bottom, albeit lower than most, his message is for those of us who have encountered struggles in life. Reflecting, I am aware of many instances where I ignored , that little inner voice which encouraged me to take the more difficult path. Those alternative roads, now that I look at them without bias, were likely the hand of God trying to guide me. I say "probably" because I am reluctant to make that confirmation. Such is what I would like to believe, but at this point in my
journey I am unable to definitively identify "the voice of God."
It was towards the end of 2010 when I began attending Mass. (Notice the verbs "celebrate" or "participate" have not been utilized when characterizing my presence at Mass.) First impressions of the Liturgy were the same: a bunch of sitting, kneeling, standing, and saying prayers in unison. Yuck...boo...put me to sleep! Yawn, yawn, yawn, and a snore thrown in for good measure. Yeah, I too am amazed that a bolt of lightening has not struck me for those apostate sentiments. However, after some significant time spent pouring through books and asking questions, the purpose of these cantankerous rituals began to reveal themselves. Whoa, something else became apparent, as well -- I had been oblivious to the meaning and objective of all the prayers, readings, and whatnots. I suppose this is what happens when one (me) merely elects to go with the
flow and does not learn about where they (me, once again) are going. I wonder how many others have been similarly apathetic about their spiritual journey? Anyway, back to the matter at hand. To my surprise, such customs bring tremendous focus and illumination to one's faith. Another unforeseen aspect is centered on the fact that much of the Liturgy is directly from Scripture. Guess I never cared, until now.
The chapel where I currently attend Mass does not possess the opulent embellishments which Catholics are typically accustomed to. Quite the opposite. We use a multipurpose room with chairs, in lieu of pews, and fold-up tables for the altar and ambo (podium). This bare bones space scarcely seats twenty congregants squished side by side. Nonetheless, what occupies this tiny room is magnificent. Perhaps it is because I possess a better understanding and reverence for the Liturgy...that is mighty presumptuous on my behalf. Or, maybe it is because I am open to the mystery...once more, I am thinking highly of myself. Then again, it could simply be that I am hungry for more than what the secular life has to offer .... I don't really know, nor care...I am enjoying the walk as it unfolds before me, around me, and in me.
As of this moment, I will not take part in the Eucharist. Oh, I desperately want to accept Communion, so much so that I well up with emotion every time the Host is shared. Week after week I kneel and pray, the core of my being tugging at me to walk up to the priest or deacon and accept Jesus in my hands. But, I refrain from doing so. Why? You’re not alone in your wondering. This is a holding back on my part which has bewildered my spiritual community. Priest and deacon, too. As this is a monumental step in my spiritual walk, I am not willing to be listless or passive in regards to my approach. For the first time I am walking with eyes wide open. Heart, too. It is necessary for me to have all my ducks in a row before I cross the threshold. One issue in particular concerns itself with the rite of individual reconciliation. Confession.
I had confessed a couple of times during my youth, but possessed no real understanding for the process. Each time I had walked away feeling incomplete. Quite frankly, I did not know what I was doing. Yes, I was cognizant that sins were shared and forgiveness sought, but I never gave the rite of reconciliation much consideration. My confessions were always spur of the moment mutterings of convenience because the priest approached me. On the spot I would utter the first things which came to mind; of course, avoiding any embarrassing tidbits. I had never approached the confessor (priest) of my own volition; thus, I had not analyzed my misdoings. Had I taken the initiative to learn
about the penitent's (me) responsibilities, I would have, if sincere, found it hypocritical to ask God for forgiveness when I had yet to forgive myself. Without doubt I was/am sorry for my sins; hugely so, but forgiving myself was near impossible -- it's a continual work in progress, some days are better than others.
It is incumbent to celebrate the sacraments of conversion and renewal before embracing the Eucharist. This has required a lot of study and a ton of reflection. The more I explored the rite of individual reconciliation, the more excited I became. Nervous, too. Whew, was I ever apprehensive. I knew that I wanted...needed to take this step, but it was necessary to celebrate, not simply go through a series of mechanical rituals. I talked to other Catholics and the deacon about what to expect, what could I take with me, and so forth. Everyday became one more obvious step forward on this journey.
As it so happened, I made my perfect contrition a week early. Two weeks before Lent. It was tentatively planned (silly me, life never goes as we envision) to occur a week later in order to provide a little extra time to prepare. However, when I awoke that morning there was a sense of: do it today. My heart felt as if it was going to burst. My hands were sweaty and capable of little more than opening a door. And, I lost more hair! Sitting. Waiting. Head bowed. Fumbling with the rosary which my mother gifted me some years ago (up until recently it had been little more than a very special and dear memento). As I finished the third decade (a series of beads) of the joyful mysteries, the deacon entered the chapel and shook my hand. Really, come on, I was in the middle of prayer! A few moments later, a lay volunteer did the same! What was this...is there no sanctity? Geesh. Neither knew I was going to confess, but their actions, motivated by whatever reasons, reinforced the timing of what I was moments away from committing myself to. I should probably thank them, but do not want to discourage their pleasant interruptions in the future.
My time had arrived, the clock struck some magic number in my soul and the cuckoo bird popped out to sing its song. I was now face to face with my confessor (apparently, the long-practiced formality of hiding in the confessionary booth is now discouraged). Once I overcame my initial anxiety, the outpouring was surreal and uplifting. The confessor was very patient and understanding. That is, until we ran out of time. Not that I
had a bunch to confess, but I had a great deal to say by happenstance. Thus, my confessor rushed the conclusion and/or cut a few customs short.
The experience was very emotional. In many respects I felt...um, different. In a good way. Which I suppose is the intent. Yet, I was a tad frazzled that we were rushed. Considerable effort was exercised in writing my own act of contrition (an apology to God). Sure, I could have used the canned standby, but parts of it did not fit my walk. So, I fashioned my own. The fact that an opportunity was not given to profess this act of contrition ate away at me. The next day I was in knots over this omission. Then again, perhaps such was not necessary because the tears leaking down my cheeks revealed the sincerity of my sorrow. Not only that, but God knew the effort I placed into forming my own apology, that I was not settling for a generic delivery of words. At least this is how I was/am consoling myself. Irrespective of one's beliefs, we have all heard the indelicate
remarks: "When a Catholic sins, nothing more is required than a mindless confession, simple absolution from a priest, and the penance of a few traditional prayers in succession. Ah, then the reconciled Catholic can return to whatever it is they were doing
with a clear conscience. If the penitent commits another sin...no big deal, cunningly confess and rattle off another Hail Mary." Such is typically followed by a couple of chuckles.
I never really knew what to think about those comments; heck, I did not know any better myself. But, I suspected there was always more to it than that. And, there is. Much more.
On paper, my penance could easily be misconstrued as a walk through a meadow. Nothing could be further from the truth. When taking a close, deep approach to it, being mindful to openly embrace its intent, the penance allotted has been tailored and spiritually provoking. In itself, the penance in no way reduces my sadness and grief. Moreover, such does not diminish the seriousness of my tragic choices, nor do I want it to. But the penance does offer something else: the more this sacrament is pondered, the more discouragement one will encounter when confronted with that particular sin again, or any others, for that matter.
Much to my confessor's annoyance, I still will not partake in the Eucharist. Lent is a time for penance and rumination. I want to spend this time doing just that, digesting every morsel my confessor bestowed upon me. At the same time, I need to strengthen my foundation...I want to celebrate and participate in g the Eucharist, not merely be present.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Prayer Responses
As is typical of anyone who suspects or believes there is something bigger to life, the transcendent, if you will, I...um, pray. Regularly. No, I do not necessarily mean the studious type of Christian prayer ritual many of us were taught as children: kneeling before bedtime, hands clasped together, head bowed, asking God (okay, pleading) for a new fire truck or to keep the boogeyman at bay. Neither am I referring to those tired, meaningless, repetitive prayers said before meals. You know the ones: ”Lord, please bless this food we are about to eat and let us humbly offer you thanks for this day. Amen." Oh, and let us not overlook the traditional prayers muddled through during church services, the ones which closer resemble medieval chants (more on these some other time). With the exception of really wanting this, that, or the other, we often do not expend much effort into prayer.
So, what does prayer really consist of? Have we ever given this consideration...beyond our wants? The Bible mentions the word ”pray” somewhere around three hundred sixteen times, throughout both testaments. The New World Dictionary to the New American Bible defines prayer as:
In Scripture prayer envelops the whole range
of human attitudes and aspirations towards
God and his wonderful works. There is
petition, thanksgiving, narration and praise,
astonishment, distress, contrition,
adoration, and meditation.
As will be no surprise, I am rather unpredictable when praying. More often than not on a whim. Furthermore, I do not maintain a sequence. If I feel like saying something to God, I simply strike up a dialog. Admittedly, this is a one-way conversation. For instance, I could be walking along and out of the blue be touched by the beauty of a tree; thus, being inspired to offer up gratitude for connecting me to nature. Or, I could recognize a glow in the face of a passerby and feel compelled to make an acknowledgment to God. Of course, I have my erratic moments of asking God: "What were you thinking?" And, yes, I do petition for selfish wishes from time to time.
Hey, it was Jesus who said: "I tell you, you can pray for anything .... ” (Mark New Living Translation ·- NLT). Believe me, that statement has been put to the test, pulling on the heavens from one extreme to the other. Woowee!
In Matthew 7:7 (NLT), Jesus added further clarification: “Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for." I do ask. And, ask. Though, I try not to be a pest. Is that even possible? I sometimes wonder if God was too busy to hear my litanies the first dozen times, so I appeal yet again. Though, according to Psalm 6:9 (NLT), such repetitions may be in vain: ”The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord will answer my prayer.” When? And, here’s the rub: ”l prayed to the Lord, and he answered me" (Psalm 34:4 NLT). I have sent so many petitions up to God that I do not know if any of them have been heard, or taken seriously. In some respects it is possible that very few of my prayers have been received.
Check out the hiccup in Mark (NLT) where Jesus set forth some parameters for prayer: "But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too.” Wow, where did that little morsel come from? Don’t know about you, but I have at times failed miserably in this area. However, as stated earlier, there have been same strange anomalies on my spiritual walk as of late. Several of my prayers have come to fruition. But, and this is where my mind begins to play tricks on me, is this fruit indeed divine blessings from God, or mere coincidence?
I presented the above query during an ecumenical Christian fellowship gathering and received several stern responses. Some of the facial distortions read: "How dare you even question such good tidings...don’t you know that every single action is at the behest of God!" There were others whose expressions could not be interpreted for they buried their grimaces out of shame of even knowing me. The rest were merely frozen like deer in headlights, their eyes clouded over and blank.
What do you think, was God indeed answering my prayers? Or, was it coincidence? Do you encounter similar questions on your spiritual journey?
January 2011
Disciple
It is the beginning of 2011, and I am embarking ever deeper into my spiritual journey. More often than not, assuming one could peer into my mind and soul, I am evaluating what I believe. Do not mistake this process as an attempt to run away. Far from it. If anything, I am galloping towards. The question is, am I running towards God? Jesus? A set of religious principles and traditions? Or, something else entirely?
The concept of God is conceivable for me to accept. However, the "presence' of Jesus has been problematic. Human? You bet. Prophet? Sure. The Son of God who walked on water (Matthew , 29 New Living Translation -- NLT) and was able to satiate thousands with five loaves of bread and two fish (Luke -17 NLT)? I do not know. I am trying to believe these accounts, but my mind keeps getting in the way. Even so, I am spending considerable amounts of energy on such conundrums.
Setting aside all of my doubts, there are many great scriptural examples of compassion, love, and lessons of how to exist morally. Ultimately, a road map for life. When it comes to faith I am envious of the peace possessed by those around me. Such was a catalyst for me, the thoughts occasionally nudging me to take a closer look. I wholeheartedly want that serene type of lifestyle. Rudely ascertaining that I am without the ability to attain such on my own, I have begun attending Catholic Mass. Note, I will not take part in the
Eucharist. It is not that I cannot receive Communion (I was baptized Catholic and later confirmed), I simply do not feel worthy. Further, I want to ensure that my beliefs are grounded before a commitment is entered. To merely stand in line and receive the Body of Christ because everybody else partakes does not motivate me. If I cross that threshold it is necessary my foundation is firm (I Corinthians 3:10-15; cf Matthew 12:43-45 NLT). Likewise, I want to ensure that I am reconciled. Not with the Church, per se, but with Christ...I have turned my back on him many times. (Yes, it is evident to me that moments earlier I alluded that I was unsure of my belief in the divinity of Jesus; yet, am indicating soon after that I fear he has been offended. Welcome to my world!)
In my spiritual studies I stumbled across a passage in the Bible which caused me to skid to a screeching stop.
"A large crowd was following Jesus. He turned around
and said to them, 'If you want to be my disciple, you
must hate everyone else by comparison -- your father
and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters --
yes, even your own life; otherwise, you cannot be my
disciple. And if you do not carry your own cross and
follow me, you cannot be my disciple.'"
Luke 14:25-27 (NLT).
I can bear my own cross. Have been doing so for some time. However, hating the people I love and hold dear is unfathomable. Why would Jesus say this? It flat out hurts to ponder the seriousness of these words. The premise of this concept does not register. Is Jesus speaking only to a narrow group of people, his disciples? Or, is this questionable practice intended for all individuals who believe; thus, being the gold standard in which we are to aspire? If this sense of denouncement is indeed the litmus test, I am not sure I can meet such a demand. Nor, do I want to!
I have read this verse before and it was bothersome then. However, the difference now is that I am not willing to give diffidence towards my lack of understanding. No, instead it is necessary to uncover the truth of what has been recorded. Otherwise, what's the point in proceeding?
Soon after, my concerns are mildly put to rest when Jesus commands:
"Honor your father and mother." Luke (NLT).
Whew, there is a sense of relief. Though, such is short lived. To fully jumble matters, Jesus goes on to iterate:
"I assure you that everyone who has given up house or
wife or brothers or parents or children, for the
life and will have eternal life in the world to come."
Luke 18:29-30 (NLT).
No matter how much I pour over these verses, I am bewildered. So, I presented this conundrum to an ecumenical study group. Every response was different. Many claims were proffered which did not jive with the spirit of what was written in other passages in the Bible. Love. Compassion. Patience. Many asserted that Jesus wanted nothing more than our utmost attention. Then, why not say that? Why include the other ideals? Of course, several had no comment at all...perhaps, they too were similarly baffled. And, there were a couple in attendance who interpreted the printed words literally. They had actually turned their backs on family and friends if those in question did not share their beliefs. Ludicrous! Surely, such cannot be what Jesus intended. These precepts fly in opposition of the very beauty of the gospels.
At the conclusion of the study grouping I departed feeling drained and worn out. What was I doing chasing a spiritual path which caused people to believe in such polarizing ways? The next day any thoughts of opening the Bible repulsed me. If this is what Christianity is all about I want no part of it. Period.
Digesting these variables, I arrived at the conclusion that I need to explore this matter more fully before making any decisions of finality; assumptions are not sufficient. Faith cannot be built on "could be this" or "could be that" type of answers. A rationale meaning for those verses surely exists?
Please help me ....
February 2011
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