Pentecost 2013

I am clinging to the sacraments.  Today I decided to go to confession.  I showed up at church at 4pm and sat in the nave.  As my priest came in I asked if I could make a confession.  He showed me where to sit and how to know when it is ok to come in to the little room.  (At the appointed time the door will be open when he is free.)

There was another person there to confess, but I was there first, so I went in.

I had a few things I needed to share.  I asked for counsel and absolution.  I was humbled and saddened by my sins.

Afterwards I went to the little dock on the pond nearby and sat for awhile to think and pray.  I recited the prayer of St. Francis aloud... and psalm 103, both of which remind me to keep my mind off myself and consider how I can be of service to others.

And then I went back to the church for the Pentecost service and cried through the entire thing... mostly for joy and gratitude for the fact that the depth of my sin is matched and far surpassed by the expansive love of God's forgiveness.

Come Holy Spirit.  Come.

I'll meet your fear and raise you an hour of self pity

I am working through some things right now, most of which have to do with my conversion.  The fact is that following Jesus is, by definition, a willingness to pick up the cross.  I know this.  I anticipated this.  I saw this clearly on that cold day last November when I stood in the cemetery at Campion Renewal Center and meditated on the 5th Station of the Cross: Simon carries the cross.

And yet, when it actually comes, spiritual struggle is something of a surprise.  Maybe it is my pride that dupes me into thinking I am going to handle it better than I do.

Anyway, today was a heavy day.  I woke up feeling burdened by some conversations I have had over the last couple days.  It is clear that this transition to Rome is not going to be easy.  There is going to be pain involved, along with the joy.

So, I pulled out the Spiritual Tool Kit and ran through my list:

1. Read the Bible
2. Said the Rosary
3. Went to Mass
4. Spent an hour in Eucharistic Adoration
5. Called my spiritual director

Cried a lot during all of those steps but came away feeling stronger, better, safer.

Jesus, you have given us these things as gifts.  I am so grateful for all of them.

I could probably use some prayers right now.

And pray for unity in the church while you are at it....

When I realize how much I miss you....

...It only takes a couple of minutes to remember that I will meet you tomorrow.  Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity.

A stranger in a strange land

Today was the first time I have attended Grace Church without receiving communion.  I wasn't sure how it would go.

It did feel strange, just sitting there while everyone else got up to receive.  But as I sat there, Nguyen and Noah went forward and I took the opportunity to pray for them, for union, communion, One.  Noah said I looked sad, and it may have been true that part of me is sad that we can no longer receive as a family.  But it encourages me that they take communion.  It wasn't that long ago that Nguyen would not have.

During communion, I slipped to the back of the church to use the bathroom and when I came out, Noah was sitting near the coffee table.  He regularly does that, heading back to help prepare for coffee hour.  We sat together and talked quietly during the end of the service, then stood together to sing the closing hymn.  It is ironic, really, that this is the first time we have sung together in years.  (He always sits with the rest of the youth group on the other side of the church...)

God is opening new doors.

Late have I loved you....

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would have not been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.

St. Augustine

The weight of the past

My aunt has moved to RI and a couple of weeks ago I spent an afternoon unpacking boxes in preparation for her arrival.  I put her clothes in the closet, unpacked her kitchen tools, pots and pans.  I hung some of her decorative items and moved a few pieces of furniture.  And then opened a box labeled ''T  Ang".  It took me a moment to realize it was the urn of her step son's ashes.  There was another box labeled with his mother's name.  And finally, a bigger box with several items, including the urn of my aunt's late husband, who died just a few months ago.

That is a lot for a widowed woman to carry around, if you ask me.  An entire family boxed up and moved from place to place.  Between them they have come from Newton MA, Florida, and New Jersey and have all wound up in my aunt's house in RI.

I think this is one strange little consequence of our moving away from communities of faith.  We have now been tasked with dealing with our dead on our own.  There is no priest, no parish, no group that comes alongside us and helps us deal with our loss.  In my aunt's case she is too overwhelmed to really know what to do with all these ashes.  She has vague plans, but it all seems like way too much for a seventy something woman to manage on her own.  As I was mulling it over I wondered if it was too late to ask a Greek Orthodox priest to help put all these folks to rest.  Or perhaps we can buy a plot at Swan Point and have them all interred together.

Nguyen says he wants his ashes spread in the little lake in his home town of Dalat, in Vietnam.  I wonder, though, if I am going to want to travel 15,000 miles to arrange that.  Or will the kids?  Is it really fair to ask that?

I honestly don't care where I am buried, as long as it is in hallowed ground somewhere.  Sprinkle holy water on my casket (or urn, if my survivors insist) and cover me with the beautiful earth that God created.  Say a prayer and walk away.

I am going to bore you to tears

Let's face it.  No one really wants to hear conversion stories.  Mine are exciting to me... but I am pretty sure they aren't that exciting to YOU.

I feel lonely in this, to be honest.  I want to just sit in a puddle of tears and tell you all about how different I feel today.  How today is completely different from, say, the day before yesterday.  How I feel like I am going to crawl the walls if I can't somehow let this joy out.  I just want to cry for joy.

I went to church this morning.  I felt exactly the way one would going to see their Beloved.  My heart was racing.  My stomach in knots.  I could not believe how excited I was to walk in, knowing that today I would get to take communion.  Today, tomorrow, the next day, forever.  And I do believe, forever.  I don't know what theology says about this, but I am imagining that in Heaven we are in a perpetual state of Communion with Jesus.  Isaiah describes it.  So does the book of Revelation.

I soaked up the words of scripture.  The prayers.  Today is the feast of St. Catherine of Siena.  It is said that at the end of her life, she stopped eating all food except the bread of the sacrament... and it kept her alive.  I believe it.

The prayers.  The joy in my heart.  And finally it was time to go forward and join, once and for all, my friends at the daily Mass.

After the service a nun, who is a regular at Mass, came over to say that tomorrow she is traveling to India, but that she was overjoyed to get to see me take communion after all the months I have sat there, day in day out, watching everyone else receive.  Days upon days, weeks upon weeks, for months, for years, forever have I longed.  I have longed for so long.

I have longed for so long, not even knowing what it was I was longing for.  

But now, finally, I understand.

Today is the day.

And tomorrow.  And forever.

God, I can't believe the joy.

Blissed out

The service today was beautiful.  Ancient and new, as St. Augustine would say.  Both ancient and new and full of love and joy.  There were two of us being received into the Church... and 4 others being confirmed with us.  So the two of us were called up first to profess our faith.  I had been practicing so I wouldn't trip over the words.   And then the rest of the candidates came forward and joined us facing the priest.  One by one he went down the line and was introduced to each of us by our sponsor, using our chosen name.  Mine is Elizabeth John.  It was only this morning that I realized that it is the name of my father and his sister.  My intent, of course, was John the Baptist and his mother, Elizabeth.  I honor them because I was so late in coming to recognize Jesus for who he was... but Elizabeth and John knew the moment that pregnant Mary walked into their home.  John lept for joy in his mother's womb.  Mary wasn't even showing yet.

Father put his hands on our heads and prayed for the Holy Spirit to enter us.  As I stood there, I actually did feel the Spirit.  I was trembling and felt a little faint.  My head was swimming, but not in a frightening way.  I felt like I was riding a wave of energy towards the Eucharist.  After we were confirmed, I went to the back of the church and helped carry the wine back for communion.  I handed it to Father, bowed, and returned to my seat.

I was the first invited to receive.  I took my time.  I walked to Father.  Rachel, he said, the body of Christ, and placed a consecrated host into my upturned palm.  I lifted my hands to my mouth and took the host on my tongue.  Then I stepped to the side and stood in front of the woman holding the cup.  She raised it to me and said 'the blood of Christ.' She expected me to take it, but for a moment I just looked into her eyes.  We both recognized the wonder of that moment... the moment of my first taste of the blood of Christ.  I lifted the cup and took at taste, then turned and walked back to my seat.  From that point on, the rest is a blur.

Later though, when I was home, I reflected on the miracle that had taken place today.  I have felt a sense of warm love all day, like Jesus really and truly is in me.  Like he is with me in a different way.  And I can hardly believe my good fortune that tomorrow morning I get to do it all over again.  Tomorrow and every day.  To God be the glory.