Perhaps I mentioned it elsewhere, but I am not a cradle Catholic. (I can hear the gasps of shock reverberating around the internet…I will give you a moment to recover… ok, now? Good.) Although my parents were both raised Catholic, they fell away from their practice of the faith as young adults. My father joined the army for a few years and my mother was a single mother trying to survive with my half sister.
When I was born my parents had me baptized as a Lutheran. I would occasionally go to my godmother’s church, which was Episcopalian, and sometimes we would go to the local protestant praise and worship church where I greatly reveled in their children’s play room (that had this AWESOME pink panther viewfinder that I adored). Yet, church attendance was sparse at best and I did not really know anything other than what my illustrated children’s bible told me. Ah, yes, I was a Fundamentalist to boot!
I know that I always liked the Holy Spirit… a lot. I thought he was kind of cool with his tongues of fire and all. In fact, I glued orange feathers to the children’s bible picture of Pentecost to give the tongues of fire a more palpable feel. I considered it “Sacred Art”.
When I turned 10 I decided that I hated God for giving me a special needs brother, so I roundly dismissed him from my life. It was really rather rude how I went about it basically saying, “I hate you” and that was the sum of our discussion, er monologue.
When I was 13 I was sent to Catholic school because I was not getting along very well in public school. My grades were good, but my peers mistreated me and I was heading towards a deep depression. I was mocked for being overweight, wearing glasses, and not having nice clothing. After spending four pointless years going to the school social worker and being told that it was all my fault and that I should change myself (which only further added to my self-esteem issues) I begged to be sent to any other school, so my grandfather (of happy memory) did what any nominally Catholic Irishman would do - he sent me to the nearest parish school.
Now most young people would think it absolute penance to have to wear a uniform, but I loved it because I did not have to worry about not fitting in clothing-wise. I had one friend who was already going there (and who was protestant) and I looked forward to being in class with her. I had an “in” with the alien Catholics.
My mother instructed me to be careful not to let the Catholics brainwash me. My typical attitude was “whatever” and it was the ONE TIME it actually proved helpful.
Shortly after the school year began we had a Mass, a not entirely foreign idea to me considering my experiences with the Episcopalian church. I went to the Mass mildly curious and left completely changed. It is hard to explain exactly what happened, but it was a real encounter with a Presence that I could not explain. I know that Christ touched me during that Mass and spoke to my heart in a way I cannot even begin to put to words. I knew, from that moment on, that I HAD to become Catholic. It was not a matter of wanting, but of needing.
Why?
I had told God that I hated him when I was younger because I thought that he never did anything to show His love to me in the present moment. Yes, Jesus dying and all seemed so great, but God in general was very distant and untouchable. How could I love a God whom I felt so great a distance from? It was like God was up in the clouds and I was busy in the real world having a miserable time of it, doing my best just to survive, and He was eating bon-bons and telling me to be grateful for his gifts. Woo-hoo. I was so unimpressed with the whole “God” idea until I experienced the Real Presence.
At that Mass I came to understand, and it must have been some kind of amazing grace, that God loved me in the present moment. Furthermore, I came to understand that that love in the present moment translated into the sacrament of the Eucharist, the continual giving of Christ, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity to His people.
The Eucharist meant that God was always there in a tangable way, imprisioned in the tabernacle for me, and if I wanted to, I could go and have a daily personal encounter with his Life, Death and Resurrection through the Mass.
Wow.
It was a lot for a 13 year old to take in, but it was just what I needed; it changed my life!
I told my mother that I wanted to become Catholic and after much hemming and hawing I started in the RCIA program. On April 3, 1999 I made my profession of faith, received my first Communion, and was confirmed with the name Teresa (for St Teresa of Avila). It was the GREATEST night of my life and I feel like that joy is repeated every time I receive any of the sacraments. Deo gratias.
Posted in Discernment
