An atheist converts

This is rather old news, but The Raving Atheist is now The Raving Theist.

He hasn’t gone into details about his conversion yet, but I think that’s understandable.  I shall look forward to following the story.

Let us storm Heaven with lots of prayers for RT!

Obviously, it’s a wonderful occasion, but I can’t say I’m all that surprised.  I pray every day for the conversion of atheists (among others).  The Raving Theist isn’t the first atheist convert, and definitely won’t be the last!

Deo gratias!

[Updated] Medieval culture lesson: the Palästinalied

Inspired by talking about music with an old friend of mine, I rediscovered this beautiful medieval song: “Palästinalied” (“Palestine Song”) by the great German poet, Walther von der Vogelweide (ca. 1170-ca. 1230), a contemporary of St. Dominic.  It’s actually a song I learned back in the mid-90s, where  I often heard it played in the goth clubs I frequented (!).

This song is written in the vernacular Middle High German.  I read a translation sometime back, and if memory serves, the song tells of a crusader coming to the Holy Land.  He is stricken with wonder and devotion at the fact that this is the land where God became man, where He was born, lived, worked, taught, suffered, died, was buried, and was resurrected.  Basically, the poet was making a case for the Crusade, that Christians had a right to the Holy Land.

[UPDATE]: I did find one modern English poetic translation, though apparently not of the entire poem:

Now my life has gained some meaning
since these sinful eyes behold
the sacred land with meadows greening
whose renown is often told.
This was granted me from God:
to see the land, the holy sod,
which in human form He trod.

Splendid lands of wealth and power,
I’ve seen many, far and near,
yet of all are you the flower.
What a wonder happened here!
That a maid a child should bear,
Lord of all the angels fair,
was not this a wonder rare?

Here was He baptized, the Holy,
that all people might be pure.
Here He died, betrayed and lowly,
that our bonds should not endure.
Else our fate had been severe.
Hail, O cross, thorns and spear!
Heathens, woe! Your rage is clear.

Then to hell the Son descended
from the grave in which He lay,
by the Father still attended,
and the Spirit whom none may give a name:
in one are three,
an arrowshaft in unity.
This did Abraham once see.

When He there defeated Satan,
ne’ er has kaiser battled so,
He returned, our ways to straighten.
Then the Jews had fear and woe:
watch and stone were both in vain,
He appeared in life again,
whom their hands had struck and slain.

To this land, so He has spoken,
shall a fearful judgment come.
Widows’ bonds shall then be broken
and the orphans’ foe be dumb,
and the poor no longer cower
under sad misuse of power.
Woe to sinners in that hour!

Christians, heathen, Jews, contending,
claim it as a legacy.
May God judge with grace unending
through his blessed Trinity.
Strife is heard on every hand:
ours the only just demand,
He will have us rule the land.

I love that first line: “Now my life has gained some meaning.”  Today, many people have this view of the Crusades as this horribly corrupt, unjust war, a disgrace to Western civilization.  And I don’t deny that there were instances of corruption, injustice, and disgrace (the sacking of Constantinople comes to mind).  But I think the poem suggests the deeper, purer motivation–the Holy Land was precious and of great importance to the medievals and to their religious and spiritual lives.  They had a deep-seated love and reverence for it, as the land where God became man.  They needed it and longed for it.  It was the very heart of the world to them.  It was worth holding, keeping, protecting, fighting for, and dying for.  I can understand these sentiments; they resonate with me.  I can also understand how they could be lost on many people today. [END UPDATE]

What makes the Palästinalied especially exciting is that the original melody seems to have survived as well, and I think it’s a real beauty!  I’ve heard several modern renditions, some more beautiful than others.

Here is an instrumental version, with the straight melody and drums beating out a steady march. Click on the play button in the black box at top right.

Here is a version by a group called Unto Ashes.  It has simple instrumental accompaniment and harmonization:

And here is the very modernized version by a group called Qntal, which they played in the goth clubs.  So of course, the music is more synthesized, with more harmony and rhythm added in.  But the vocals are beautiful, the melody still takes precedence, and even with the electro-gothish stylings, you still get the medieval feel:

If you click through to the Youtube page for this last video, in the information box, it gives the M.H. German lyrics and what looks like a translation into modern German.  In case that helps anybody.

So, there’s our medieval culture lesson for today.

Maybe it’s just me, but medieval culture should be very near and dear to the hearts of western Catholics.  It’s such a tremendous part of our heritage and patrimony.  It wasn’t a perfect age–what age is?–but I would consider it a golden age.  I think the medievals strove for perfection.  That’s what all Catholics in every age should be doing.  No matter how bad or difficult or dark an age we live in, and no matter how outnumbered we are, we can always strive.  I would say that it’s every Catholic’s duty to strive for perfection–all through the grace of God (that has to be understood–I’m no Pelagian!).  Personal perfection first, and then who knows, you might bring bits and pieces of society along with you!

Nothing annoys me more than Catholics (usually in the political arena, as candidates and as voters) who try to excuse themselves from this striving by throwing up their hands and saying, “Oh, it’s no good, we’re never going to make this a Catholic nation, people won’t support us if we practice our faith, and then we’ll never be able to accomplish anything, it’s just useless, I tell you, blah blah blah.”  Giving into despair is no excuse, people!  Strive as though your very life depended on it!  Your eternal life just might.

But I digress… My point being to suggest that our modern society–and individuals–could really stand to have some good old medieval boldness and crusading spirit injected into them.

The wonder of it all

I found myself on the edge of weeping all throughout and even following Mass this afternoon.  It happens sometimes.  Sometimes I just realize how good God is, how good life is, how good the Mass is, how good the Sacraments are… and how I repeatedly take everything for granted or else shun it in order to serve my own purposes.  I had quite a bit of that sort of thing to take to Confession today.

My penance was to read and pray over this Sunday’s second reading from Colossians, which is very much about loving and being grateful:

Put on, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved,
heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience,
bearing with one another and forgiving one another,
if one has a grievance against another;
as the Lord has forgiven you, so must you also do.
And over all these put on love,
that is, the bond of perfection.
And let the peace of Christ control your hearts,
the peace into which you were also called in one body.
And be thankful.
Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly,
as in all wisdom you teach and admonish one another,
singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs
with gratitude in your hearts to God.
And whatever you do, in word or in deed,
do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus,
giving thanks to God the Father through him.

It moved me, softened my heart, so greatly.  St. Paul reminds that we are “God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved”–that is pretty overwhelming, when you think about it, isn’t it?  So is St. Paul’s definition of love as “the bond of perfection.”  It’s easy to think of God’s love as being merely warm and cuddly and indulgent, as mere kindness.  But it’s far more than that, often uncomfortably so.  God is love… God is also perfect.  We can’t just say, “Oh, I love God so much!” and then just turn around to do whatever we please, certainly not to engage in our favorite sins and flaws.  True love, which exists in the divine nature, can’t be divorced from holiness.

Lately, I have had these lessons hammered into me quite a bit.  I just finished reading the book, Called to Holiness: What it Means to Encounter the Living God by Ralph Martin, and it includes a chapter on “Holiness and Love,” along with lots of other really good material, such as the chapter on “Holiness and Suffering,” which I wish I had read a year or two ago.  It’s a really good little book for helping Christians stay on track, keep our eyes on our ultimate prize, and make greater sense of our mission and destiny.  It drew heavily on Scripture, making connections and offering insights that had not occurred to me before.  It reinforced how very scriptural Catholicism is.

This Sunday’s gospel reading tells the story of the Presentation in the Temple and of Simeon and Anna, whose faith, patience, and devotion are rewarded by seeing the Messiah for whom they had been waiting and longing.  I had been meditating on this story, which is the fourth Joyful Mystery of the Rosary, just the other day.  I thought of how blessed Simeon was to take the infant Jesus into his arms, being, perhaps, one of the first people other than Mary and Joseph to do so.  That was a great blessing indeed, and yet I, an ordinary Catholic, nearly 2000 years later and in a faraway land, am even more blessed than dear old Simeon, for I can receive an even deeper and holier Communion with the Lord within my own body.  I can receive that blessing every single day if I wish!  We all can.

How easy it is to take Holy Communion, and the entire mystery of the Mass, for granted!  How easy it is to be distracted from the unspeakable wonders, the miracles!  How easy it is to just start going through Mass and Communion mechanically, as so many mere motions, without true devotion and participation!  And what a great shame and dishonor all of that is!  As I silently prayed along with the Eucharistic Prayer and gazed at the elevated Body and Blood of my Lord and my God, I realized that all I truly need, all my heart can truly desire, all I can long for, all that can sustain me, all that truly matters, was right there on that altar!  Given and sacrificed for me by the God who loves me, the God who never fails me!

It probably sounds so simple, so common-knowledge, but it was a very weighty realization.  It was both humbling and exalting.  It made me feel so small before God’s greatness… and yet I am the object of His love and the beneficiary of His suffering, death, and resurrection!  It gave me that “made of jello” feeling that I’ve come to experience rather frequently and yet can never get used to nor prepare myself for!  As I knelt, I thought I might fall back on my heels and start sobbing out loud!  I felt like it.  But somehow I stayed all in one piece, my eyes quietly brimming with tears.

I was still on the verge of weeping after I left the church.  As I drove to the drug store to pick up a few mundane things, I asked myself why I was still so weepy!  And I thought back to Father’s homily in which he spoke of Christian life as a great waiting and longing, with faith, patience, trust, and hope.  Each of us, no matter how ordinary or obscure, were to follow the example of Simeon, Anna, and the patriarch Abraham, who had waited with devotion on God’s promises.  A term Father used was “long-suffering.”  And that’s what I felt this evening.

Again, none of this was exactly a surprise.  I knew that a Christian’s life must be one of longing.  A Christian’s life on earth is basically a great exile.  Our hearts yearn for a homeland we scarcely even know.  Our hearts are restless until they rest at last in our Lord, as St. Augustine said.  And yet, as St. Paul reminds us, we are not completely bereft of peace.  Christ gives us peace, if only we give our hearts over to it, let it “control our hearts.”

It’s all so complex… and all so wonderful!  And I really shake my head and chuckle at the idea, so prevalent in the modern world, that Christianity is some kind of happy, carefree, painless, childish land of make-believe, some kind of beautiful fantasy where we just sort of lazily bob along.  I mean, you’ve got to be kidding me, right?  When you see the glory and feel the weight of true and whole Christianity, you know that nobody could possibly make it up–and who on earth would want to?  Let’s just say that it’s no walk in the park, no bowl of cherries, definitely no “opiate of the people,” to borrow Marx’s phrase.  In fact, as a much better man than Marx said, Christianity “has been found difficult and left untried” by many.

Only so true and great and marvelous a God, Somebody completely other, better, and greater, could compel any of us to keep on trying.  He is just so worth it!  And I just love and long for Him so much… so much I can’t always contain it inside me, and all I can possibly do is weep!

Well… I imagine most of my fellow Catholics understand.

My church at Christmas

Julie has posted some gorgeous photos her husband took of our parish church all dressed up for Christmas!  As she says, it looks the same year after year, giving it a timeless quality.  I love it and hope it never changes!

Here is one of the photos, taken from the choir loft:

See the others here, at Happy Catholic!

A merry and blessed Christmas to all!

I hope that this holy feast of the Nativity of the Lord finds all my friends and visitors well!

I’ve been blessed to spend much of this week with my parents.  It’s been a busy but lovely week.  We attended a glorious Mass last evening at my parish, and shared lots of yummy meals!

I received some lovely gifts, including a new wallet, a new skirt and blouse, a “care package” with all kinds of useful and delightful things, and a couple of new books:  My Life with the Saints by Fr. James Martin, which has been strongly recommended by Julie, and The Vatican: Secrets and Treasures of the Holy City by Fr. Michael Collins, which is a truly glorious pictorial work!

But being with my parents and going to Mass were the greatest gifts and blessings of all, of course!

And having next week off from work is pretty cool too!  :)

I’ll try to post again soon… til then, be well and enjoy the Christmas season–it’s just beginning, remember!

My conversion story, part 3: As easy as falling off a cliff

The 10 months after my rejoining the Church were some of the most difficult, most harrowing of my entire life.  I had seen the light… and the darkness I had lived in for many years became even darker by contrast.  Leaving that darkness behind was a real trial.  Not everything was darkness, of course.  I was in grief counseling with a good, wise, knowledgeable counselor at my church.  At times, I could feel the pieces of myself coming back together.  I could tell that God was working on me, though often in secretive and mysterious ways.  But there were some pretty big stumbling blocks in my way, and falling back into old habits and affinities was ever so easy.  As easy as falling off a cliff.

As one would only expect, I found some of the Church’s teachings to be very difficult and seemingly arbitrary, especially where sexual matters were concerned.  Not coincidentally, some of my favorite and most addictive sins fell into that area.  Until I could see why they were sinful, I really didn’t see any point in stopping them.  I did try to understand.  But I was soon distracted by meeting some occultists.

I had been pretty deeply steeped in the occult for several years, and was still quite familiar and quite comfortable with it.  My life was so full of pain and turmoil that I yearned for something familiar and comfortable–and was willing to accept it without much critical thought.  I was vulnerable, I didn’t really have my head screwed on straight, and these people knew how to take advantage of that.  They knew how to take advantage of my nascent religious faith–my lack of knowledge, my doubts, my struggles.  They planted seeds in my mind that what we were doing wasn’t evil, that it did not necessarily conflict with my religious beliefs, that they too were religious people so I had nothing to worry about.  But above all, they took advantage of my loss, my sorrow, my incredible yearning to remain close to Patrick, to not let go of him and our life together.  They fed me some rather fascinating threads, some techniques and theories, all seemingly very rational, even scientific.  And I swallowed them hook, link, and sinker.

For months I practiced deranging my mind and senses, in search of a breakthrough into “other planes” and other worlds.  I spent many sleepless hours attempting to induce trances, to trigger astral projections, to contact spirit guides, to open chakras, and all other kinds of nonsense.  And I kept telling myself that it was all OK, that it wasn’t harming or endangering me in any way.  That was a huge delusion!  I conveniently ignored the fact that I went to Mass less and less frequently, that I had not gone back to Confession since 11 May, that I considered occult techniques more beneficial than the guidance of Scripture and Tradition, of priests and counselor, and that I was getting back into the habit of looking in the mirror to find God.  I had everything under control.  I was becoming the same obsessive occultist that I had been before.

Meanwhile, I was perfectly at home with my pet sins from before, and was constantly adding new ones.  I was retreating more and more into myself, and yet I was always angry at other people for allegedly shutting me out or turning against me.  I was consumed with anger, with envy, with downright hatred.  I blamed it on grief, but in reality, I was refusing to actually work on the grief.  I would go to my grief counseling group and talk about things.  I never let on to my counselor that I was living a kind of double life.  I wanted to protect my double life.   And it nearly destroyed me.  The devil had a great big meat cleaver splitting me down the middle.  His claws sank deeper and deeper into me, dragging me away from the Church.

Three Rays of Light

Things were really bad–I don’t think I can really express the horrors of that time in my life.  You may be asking, as I sometimes do, “Where was God when all that was happening?  Why didn’t he stop me from falling back into all that vileness?”  Part of it was the mystery of free will and free choice–to some degree, I chose to turn my back on Him and the faith in favor of my favorite sins and occult practices.  My grief and confusion may have mitigated some of my responsibility, but there was a measure of willful disobedience there nonetheless.  But this is also a lesson about God’s mercy.  To the extent that I was suffering grief and confusion, He was very merciful to me.  I describe those months as “falling off a cliff”–and yet I never hit bottom and died.  I could have.  But between God’s mercy and the part of me that still sought Him, I was spared.

He was still at work on me and in my life.  And in the end, He did step to the forefront, in a most marvelous way!  During a time when I was seeking out bizarre occult experiences, a few genuine mystical experiences sought me out quite unexpectedly.

The first one was with Patrick.  He and I were sitting together in a high place, on top of a cliff.  It was sort of gray and misty.  He was warm, luminous, solid, and I felt his presence more strongly than I had ever felt it when we were together in our earthly life.  It’s hard to explain.  But he was no shadowy dream figure or product of my imagination.  He was talking to me rather sternly, telling me that I couldn’t be with him the way I wished and planned, that nothing could possibly achieve that, that trying to achieve it was foolish, deluded, and dangerous for me.  He told me I was falling away, and that at that rate, he and I would only become more separated–maybe for eternity.  He told me that our paths were going to be separate for a while, and I had to keep on my own path, not chase after his.  He told me that there were a lot of people in the world who needed my love and my attention, and I was neglecting them.  There was a very clear message, and a very clear feeling, of separation.  Something final.  I knew I would never see Patrick again in this life.  At the same time, I knew that something would always remain… something undefinable.  It would be a loving separation.  It would be in my best interests, and that was all Patrick had ever thought of and desired.

The next one was with a lady in white.  We were in a moonlit garden.  She told me that I must come back around to seeking true wisdom, which would not be found inside me, but only in God and His Church.  I would have to reach outside of myself for it.  I would have to seek out an encounter with God.  She told me that I must not shun or be afraid of suffering, because my suffering would help to take me outside of myself and reach out for God.  It could serve a very good use for me.  I don’t think I really recognized the lady in white at that time… but it wasn’t long before I did.  Almost immediately thereafter, I felt an enormous urge to begin praying the Rosary.  And I began to cope with my suffering and sorrow in a more genuine, head-on way, just like Mary and her Son.

The third one was an encounter with Christ Himself.  I was kneeling at the altar rail in my parish church.  Before me was a tremendous light and an overwhelming presence that made me tremble from head to foot.  I tried to look up, but I couldn’t look at His face.  I did see His hand, still bearing the nail wound, a dark red opening near His wrist.  He raised His hand to His chest, over His heart, and drew out from it a gleaming white Host.  He brought it down to me.  I closed my eyes and opened my mouth as if to receive the Host on my tongue.  But before I could, I was seized with a horrible illness.  I was struck by an intense heat, my body convulsed, my mouth filled with an extremely bitter, rotten fluid.  Almost as quickly, then, the sickness vanished, and His hand brushed my face, and the vision was over.  But I understood: what I had felt was the effect of the sins in my soul, and that to receive Communion while my soul was in that state was a horrible imposition on God, and a great harm to myself.

These experiences happened in quick succession… like within a week.  They happened while I slept, but… they were not like any dreams I’d ever had.  Even if they had been “just dreams,” the messages were real and true.  In any event, they pretty much blew any occult experience out of the water, and jolted me to attention!  And that’s when I discovered two of  the greatest, most important things of all.  The things that really turned the tide.

First, I learned that God really was worthy of my trust, my faith, my obedience, and my submission.  He wasn’t going to lead me wrong.  Even if I didn’t always understand Him or His teachings or His demands, I could trust them.  Even if I treated Him horribly, He wouldn’t send me to Hell.  If I went to Hell, it was going to be because I chose to.  And He and I both knew that I didn’t want to choose Hell.  Part of me was still crying out for Him and longing after Him, and that was enough!  As long as I was just willing to strive for Him and do my best to cooperate with Him, He was going to to be there for me, and He was going to save me.  I could rely on that!

Second, and related to that, I discovered the real meaning of freedom.  I looked at myself and at what was going on in my life–my sins, my stubbornness, my mistakes.  And I said to myself, “I’ve had enough of this!  This stuff is just bringing me down.  And I don’t have to let it.  I have another option, and by God, I’m going to choose it!  I’m going to choose Him, I’m going to be faithful to Him, and I’m going to do whatever it takes!  It doesn’t matter if it’s hard or if I don’t have all the answers and all the power.  He is worth it, and so am I.  I am above always giving into the basest drives and desires.  I am above taking the path of least resistance.”  I learned that freedom meant taking responsibility for myself.  And it also meant choosing something, and Someone, greater and better.  It meant being able to overcome, as opposed to saying, “Oh the devil made me do it… oh, I just can’t help it… oh, it’s because I’m grieving…” etc., etc.

That was the turning point.  It happened to coincide with Ash Wednesday, 1st March 2006.  Almost a year since Patrick’s death.  A year spent on a monstrous precipice between Heaven and Hell.

A Grueling but Wonderful Lent

I call Ash Wednesday 2006 “the point of no return” because that is when I decided once and for all that I was going to be a practicing Catholic.  I wasn’t going to give less than 100% of myself to God and the Church.  I was going to learn and live by every single Church teaching, without compromise.   If I failed, I would simply work harder.  I would struggle as much as I had to.  I would go to Confession as often as needed, and I would never receive Communion unworthily again.  That’s what I decided to do, and I stuck by it!

Dang if that wasn’t one grueling Lent!  I was often terrified of the decision I’d made!  I knew I was committing myself to something huge and really radical.  I knew I was setting myself apart from the world, and I knew it was going to bring conflicts and difficulties.  I knew I was going to have to learn some serious humility.  Terrifying!  But God was so very good to me, and as I got to know Him and rebuild my relationship with Him, person to Person, I just came to love Him so much and to desire being with Him.  Whenever I committed a sin, I immediately had to be reconciled to Him, because I just couldn’t bear being apart from Him and His grace.  To be separated from Him felt like death to me.  I went to Confession most every week.

I came to understand all the difficult teachings of the Church that had previously frustrated me.  It’s amazing what you learn when you just sit yourself down at God’s feet and say, “Lord, I am all Yours!  Give it to me straight, and give me the understanding I need to incorporate it in my life and give my obedience to it!”  You can read as many books and listen to as many homilies or radio programs as you want, but unless you completely submit yourself to God, you aren’t going to get anywhere.

By the time Easter came around on 16 April 2006, I was truly a different person.  All of my pet sins were completely gone.  I was completely freed from them–and I still am!  I have never even thought about delving back into the occult.  Every occult experience I’ve ever had is pale in comparison to what I have learned, seen, discovered, and experienced in Catholicism and in my relationship with God.  God and Catholicism have opened my eyes to the wonders of creation and humanity.  There’s always something new to learn and something new to appreciate more deeply.  I don’t need anything else.

Looking back

There is so much more I could tell about those 10 months of darkness and the subsequent Lent.  Even now, I am probably doing a very poor job of describing them and just how intense and challenging they were.   But looking back now, I am just so grateful for them!  I am grateful that they were challenging.  I’m grateful that I was forced to face the darkness in my life and then fight to overcome it.  I think that I really had to be brought to the brink of destruction in order to know definitively what I wanted and which path I was going to take.

As I said before, that’s the mystery of free will and how God interacts with us.  It was scary.  It didn’t always make sense–I couldn’t always figure out just what God was up to!  But as time goes by, I can see the wisdom and the goodness of it.

Some people I’ve talked to about it are just confounded by that.  They say, “That’s crazy!  If God did me that way, I’d just tell Him where to go!  I wouldn’t put myself through that!  That’s not my idea of a loving God!”  I smile and say, “Oh, if only you knew Him!  If only you could go through what I have–to be able to look back and see what a beautiful, fascinating, intricate tapesty He has woven in my little life!  That makes everything worthwhile!”  I don’t think I’ve convinced anybody yet… but I do pray for them.  Especially the ones who profess to be Christians.  I mean… they don’t even seem to know Him whom they profess to worship!  I hope and pray that they will someday.

On the other hand, there have also been people in my life who have assumed that my conversion was just an easy, mindless thing, like somebody flipped a switch and BOOM, I was a bona fide brainwashed Catholic!  Yeah, I had some really powerful mystical experiences that would make many of my former friends roll their eyes and sneer with disgust.  But you know, for all their glory and power, those visions really only served as a bridge, a transition.  They were merciful consolations amid vast desolations.  Hardly bolts from the blue that just magically changed everything with a big poof of smoke!  They were a respite from the journey so far, and fuel for the journey ahead.  There has been absolutely nothing easy, magical, mindless or instantaneous about my conversion (or anybody else’s), and to characterize an entire long, arduous, and still-ongoing journey as just a flash of light or a puff of smoke or brainwashing is just… incredibly irrational and insulting.  I pray for those people too.

By the way, I don’t think I’ve ever written about all three of those “visions” (I really don’t know what else to call them).  Their exact natures can’t really be captured in words, of course.  I think I’ve probably hesitated to discuss them for fear of being considered a lunatic.  But I’ve reached the point where I don’t care if somebody thinks I’m a lunatic.  I just have so many other things to think about!  I am OK with putting myself and my experiences out on the line.  Becuase no matter how strange or absurd they make appear, those experiences are true.  And I am all about speaking truth.  There’s no point in saying anything if you’re not going to speak truth.

So that’s why I tried to describe them at some length.  They were each wonderous and strange.  I recall that I was very calm during them.  Not frightened.  I just took them in, absorbed them.  I don’t recall saying anything myself, but just listening.  That’s what I needed to do.  Listening is so important.  That is literally where obedience comes from: a Latin phrase which means to “listen to.”  That’s why you have to sit yourself down at God’s feet and just open your mind, open your ears.  You have to do that if you’re going to be able to practice Catholicism.  Otherwise, you’re going to beat your head against the Church’s teachings, and you’re eventually going to give up on them or redefine them to suit your own tastes.  And that’s not practicing Catholicism.

Epilogue: The End is Always a Beginning

Well, that’s the bulk of my conversion story.  The rest of it is just what you read here!  It continues on.  I still struggle at times.  But I’m not giving up, no matter what happens, no matter how hard I have to work, no matter what I may have to sacrifice.  To put it very simply: God and the Church saved my life.  Or rather, restored my life.  I wouldn’t be here today without them, or at least, I wouldn’t be who I am.  You don’t just turn your back on that, or treat it lightly!  You don’t pour yourself 100% into something just to let it go to pot or abandon it for the latest fad.

I have a long way to go.  I’m definitely not perfect.  My faith is still very much a matter of “practicing” in every sense of the word (hence my blog title).  I fall flat on my face now and then, although I’ve now gotten to where my life is mostly a “controlled fall” where I can avoid being seriously injured and seriously offending God–all thanks to frequent Confession, my friends.

If I could sum up Catholicism in one phrase, it would be this:  “There is always a new beginning.”  I mean… we worship a God who died and was resurrected, right?  So, even if we seem to reach an end of some kind, we can be assured that there can be a new beginning.  It might not be easy, but it will come.

Tragedy close to home

I learned from Julie about the murder of a mother and 2 young children who belong to our parish.

I don’t think I ever met them, but my heart is still broken.  I consider everybody in my parish, everybody in my Church, to be part of my family.   Part of the same Body I am part of.  I can’t help but feel the loss.  I think of the victims’ family, especially the husband and father of the victims… I can’t even imagine what he is going through, having lost all of his closest loved ones in one hellish day.  And then, I see the unspeakable pain and sorrow of people like Julie who did know the victims, and I feel for them as well.

May God give those three innocent souls peaceful rest and let His perpetual light shine upon them.  May God bless and be with all who are carrying this loss which seems so very senseless.

Amid all of this, Julie speaks of the need to forgive and pray for the perpetrator(s) of this horribly evil crime.  She has also posted an excellent reflection on evil and spiritual warfare, written in the wake of this tragedy by Mark Windsor.

Dear friends and visitors, please join me in offering prayers for the lady and her children, for their grieving loved ones, and for whoever committed the murders.

My conversion story, part 2: A beacon in the dark

A couple of weeks before Patrick died, he visited me in Dallas.  One evening, we were driving to what is now one of my favorite restaurants, Mariano’s, and on the way we happened to stop at a red light.  Out of the blue, Patrick asked me, “Who was St. Thomas Aquinas?”  I thought that was really odd until he pointed out a sign at the corner for St. Thomas Aquinas School.  I dug up some vague memories from undergrad philosophy and religion classes as we drove on; I was really thinking only about Mexican food.  And that was that.

Or so I thought.

A couple weeks later, I was zombified by grief.  Shock insulated me inside a still, quiet, numb cocoon.  No tears, no cries, nothing.  I don’t remember much about the funeral proceedings.  My dad came to be with me.  We drove to Galveston, which until then had been so full of happy and pretty memories.  Patrick and I had gone there for our first date and many times after.  I remember that there were services officiated by some priests from St. Mary’s Cathedral Basilica.  I remember the gunmetal grey casket.  It seemed just like an object.  I couldn’t–and really still can’t–grasp that it contained the body of that man I’d been so in love with, the man I’d planned to spend a long life with.  I remember that the day of the funeral was bright, and the sky was so clear and blue.  I remember that as we were leaving the cemetery, I saw a plane flying overhead and thought it must me a message from Patrick:  “Don’t be sad.  I’m still alive.”

In the following week, after the funeral and condolences, life and the world around me started returning to normal.  People began to recede back into their own lives, and I began to feel abandoned, desolate, desperate.  The beautiful spring twilight when I had encountered God so close to me seemed eons past.  An impenetrable darkness began to close in around me and smother me.

I had to do something.  I had to go somewhere.  I had to have help from somebody.  I couldn’t cope on my own.  And that’s when I remembered St. Thomas Aquinas School.  I thought there must have also been a church there, as well.  I knew that church might be my only hope.  But I was also scared and ashamed.  Days passed and I went back and forth about whether I should go to the church.  Meanwhile the darkness and the agony kept growing stronger.  At last, I just dropped everything and went to that church!

Naturally, it was the best thing I could have done.  I got more help and more care than I’d even imagined possible.  Everybody I talked to was so kind and generous.  Nobody cared how sordid my past was.  They just wanted me back, they wanted me to find peace and comfort.  I learned that there was a grief counselor who provided free counseling, and the next day, she contacted me and we began having weekly meetings.  Meanwhile, I learned that the only thing I needed to do in order to be restored as a Catholic in good standing was to go to Confession. 

Honestly, I was terrified!  But I knew I wasn’t going to be any less terrified if I put it off.  So that very evening, I went.  I had to wait in line.  It was excruciating.  The adrenaline in my body kept building and building.  By the time it was my turn, I felt like I was about to burst open!  I thought that kneeling behind a screen would actually freak me out a bit, so I went to the other side, where you can talk to the priest face to face.  I marched up and barged in so urgently that I think I startled the priest, and I just started talking.  I can’t remember what all was said, but I do remember the calmness and patience of the priest, and his complete lack of shock, abhorrence, or anger at my life of dissolution and apostasy.  Rather, I remember him saying a prayer of thanksgiving for my return and calling down God’s grace and protection upon me.  I truly felt like I was in the presence of Christ Himself!  Before I knew it, the priest had given me a penance, absolved me of my sins, and sent me on my way in peace!

I was so light-headed and weak-kneed with relief and joy that I just felt like falling flat on the floor, in the middle of the aisle, in front of everybody!  But I made it into a pew and knelt and prayed, although my whole body was trembling.  I’m pretty sure I wept.  I thanked God over and over and over again for taking me back and bringing me to that place.  And I remembered that Patrick had first shown me that place; I had never realized it was there before.

After Confession, I stayed and attended the evening Mass.  I received Communion for the first time in so many years.  I was a Catholic again.  That was Thursday, 11 May 2005.

But if I had expected that the darkness would be permanently dispelled from my life, I was in for a sore awakening.  The fact was that I had stepped onto a raging spiritual battlefield, without fully realizing it–a most perilous situation.  I had a LOT to learn.  I was not fully myself, broken as I was by my recent loss and the all-consuming work of grieving.  I was earnest in becoming close to God and practicing my faith again… but the devil was evening more earnest in snatching me back away.  Nothing outrages the devil more than a soul turning away from him.  My conversion had barely just begun, and it was not going to be easy.

Looking back

Not much to say, except that I still thank God all the time for bringing me to my parish, and I’m also still convinced that Patrick really chose my parish for me!  It has truly been my second home.  Whenever I am in the church, I feel God’s presence and His peace.  It is a true refuge, a true haven.  It is still my beacon in the dark, my anchor, my safe harbor.

Have yourself a both-and little Christmas

Elsewhere this evening, I was casually writing about Christmas parties and how much I love them.  I don’t even mind if they’re called “holiday parties,” and I’ve never met a non-Christian who was offended when, in practice, they really were Christmas parties.  There’s just something about the festivity, food, fellowship, music, etc. that just makes everybody enjoy being human and alive!

Nor do such earthly festivities diminish the religious meaning of Christmas: the birth of Christ, true God and true man, the Savior, the King, the Messiah, God Incarnate.  One of the most mind-blowing events in human history!

Sure, it’s possible to get wound up in unimportant, mundane, material things.  Unfortunately, such things have largely pervaded and possessed our society.  And it happens even to the most devout of us.  But when it happens to you, you have the option to pick yourself up and get on the right road again.  You have the option to pursue the meaning and mystery behind it all.  As I said before, it tends to take me the first 2 weeks of Advent to get to that point… but I’m learning and growing, and it’s never too late, right?  Just let us not get discouraged or despair.

God rest ye merry, gentlemen;
let nothing ye dismay!
Remember Christ our Savior
was born on Christmas Day!

I think that verse can apply to Advent.

As with so many things, the term “both-and” applies to celebrating Christmas.  You can eat, drink, and be merry and revere the Savior’s birth.  They are not mutually exclusive.  They are both part of reality.  Catholics are neither puritans nor hedonists.  We are a sacramental people: we often find truth and spiritual significance in earthly things, and certainly in meals and fellowship–things always at the heart of a good party!

For us, the good things in earthly life often evoke greater realities and things to come in the next world.  And we ought to thank, praise, and bless God every day for that, as the great Hilaire Belloc says:

Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
there is always laughter and good red wine.
At least I have always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino!

In any case, I am praying and pondering during this last week of Advent, looking forward to celebrating the Nativity of the Lord, and also enjoying some fun festivities!  Life is overflowing… life is good!

And it shall be especially good if I can get through the rest of this month without somebody trying to bore me to death (or at least to tears) by lecturing me on how Christmas symbols are really pagan, or how Christ wasn’t really born on 25 December, or any other inconsequential drivel that doesn’t even come close to getting the point of Christmas, whether for a devout religious observer or for a more secular merry-maker.

To think… I was once one of those somebodies! If I could, I’d willingly and gleefully give my former self a sound thwacking for being such a smug, self-interested “intellectual” addicted to congratulating myself on my cleverness and superiority to all the Christmas-loving sheeple.  Ha.

Related post:

Eat, Drink, and Be Grateful!

Patron Saint of the Year

As you may recall, Sts. Martha and Mary were my Patron Saints for 2008.  These dear sisters and friends of Christ have been good companions for me, in ways big and small.

When I was given my Saints, I was also given the prayer intention of praying for homemakers.  My personal intention was that I would become a better homemaker myself.  I still have a way to go with that, but I have made improvements!  I cook more, take better care of things, and I feel more at home in my apartment, which, for a long time was just a roof over my head and often a reinforcement of certain griefs–not a home.  That has changed a little, though there’s still a long way to go.

Perhaps most importantly, my time with the sisters from Bethany has helped me to become more at peace and more joyful in my life as a single lay woman!  That is an especially welcome change.  I have spent a lot less time dwelling on what I don’t have, and being grateful for what I do have.

Maybe these things have just changed naturally with time… but I have no doubt that I have also received quite a bit of supernatural intercession and assistance!

Well, a new year is almost upon us, and while I’m in no hurry to leave the patronage of Sts. Martha and Mary, I was pretty excited to see who I would be walking with in 2009.  I found that the good ladies at The Pious Sodality of Church Ladies are picking Patron Saints for people, so I contacted them, and my Patron Saint for 2009 is…

*drumroll*

St. Jason! St. Jason sheltered St. Paul and his companions while they were evangelizing in Thessalonica.  Acts 17:4-9 tell us:

Some of [the Jews in the synagogue] were convinced and joined Paul and Silas; so, too, a great number of Greeks who were worshipers, and not a few of the prominent women.  But the Jews became jealous and recruited some worthless men loitering in the public square, formed a mob, and set the city in turmoil.  They marched on the house of Jason, intending to bring them before the people’s assembly.  When they could not find them, they dragged Jason and some of the brothers before the city magistrates, shouting, “These people who have been creating a disturbance all over the world have now come here, and Jason has welcomed them. They all act in opposition to the decrees of Caesar and claim instead that there is another king, Jesus.” They stirred up the crowd and the city magistrates who, upon hearing these charges, took a surety payment from Jason and the others before releasing them.

My prayer intention for the year is:  Pray for the virtue of hospitality.

So it seems that now that I’ve received some special blessings during 2008, I will be spending 2009 learning to share my blessings with others, to welcome and give help and comfort to others, even if, as in St. Jason’s case, it may take courage and a willingness to get into hot water and not count the cost to myself.

More about St. Jason from the Patron Saints Index: “Legend says he was bishop of Tarsus in Cilicia, and evangelized the Greek island of Corfu.  While imprisoned for preaching the faith, he helped convert the Martyrs of Corfu.”  He himself died by being torn apart by wild animals.  His feast day is 12 July.

This should be interesting!