Part II )
Easter, March 22nd was a night I will never forget.
There I accepted Christ into my life. I chose as my patron Saint, Hildegard of Bingen, an abbess who composed beautiful Latin hymns and was so outspoken to have words with a bishop when he was in error... My kind of lady.
I still remembered my first confession. I was nervous and had a list of sins over a page long, written in Latin to ensure my privacy. After getting it over with I stepped outside and felt sunshine on my face. The birds sang. I oddly felt so alive.
All had been leading to this moment when I approached the Bishop of Peoria who had a fatherly smile and looked kind of like Santa Claus, then was anointed into the Catholic Church. I swear people were purposely hugging me so they could smell the fragrant oil on my forehead.
I must not forget Communion, receiving Christ as I never imagined before, present in that little wafer… humbling himself to be one with men…to know what being fully in submission to God meant.
I asked for guidance from the Lord, that He would show me a purpose. This would not come about for a while…and I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve had a few experiences when I have loosely communicated with our Lord, mostly at Eucharistic adoration, always he hinted that I’d have to wait.
Then I got in touch with an old friend who was attending a Baptist Church out in Indiana. I found excitement in talking and debating with his Pastor who used to be Catholic. Many of them did not see Catholics as “saved” meaning they accepted the Lord’s salvation. I proved a few of them wrong, informed them of my new faith and even brought up some details of the Scriptures. After praying for months and months, I met a guy at my friend’s church, Rick, who was born Catholic but converted to Baptist. While my conversion-story tells of God’s immediate presence, richness, refreshing absolution, and an Easter night I will never forget, his latest turn was influenced by a previous love and hurried baptism. I respected this so and did naught but bring him to a Saturday mass. While turned my back focused on prayer, he made the decision to return home.
I’d get into trouble for that… soon enough. Their Baptist Pastor, I’ll call him Hank, sent me to the ground. When Rick voiced his sympathy for Catholicism, Hank replied that he had “contempt” for this. That he’d seen fights between angels and devils (that they fought over his poor, doomed soul). He then implied Catholics sided with the devils. Because I don’t snap off on ordained Pastors, I saved my cussing for at home. That man just insulted my grandma, others in my family, my best friend from college, my favorite priests and the Pope- none whom he knows, not to mention ME. I cussed at such insult and yelled about Pope John-Paul II (so loud it woke my Dad). A man who I’d never met, knew very little of, aside from current biographies, caused great clamor in my heart. Judge not someone you haven’t met- and judge not someone who was shot, almost killed and then moved to forgive his attacker. If that doesn’t describe Christ-like behavior I can’t say what does. If that man worked for Satan then give me a ticket to Hell!
I mention this because John-Paul II would figure into one of my spiritual experiences, you know the kind that are hard to explain that people think you’re nuts for retelling. One night I was talking to my friend and mentioned the episode that brought JP II to my attention, I mentioned his name in passing, stopped and looked above me where this presence had imparted itself. I felt like someone was there but my room was empty. Something just hovered there radiating benevolence and peace. It wasn’t God or Jesus, it wasn’t a bad spirit (trust me I’d had contact with those), it was something good, that really loved me. A being from heaven had come to reassure me and it was this saint who I never knew…told you it was weird but I just knew it was him for some reason.
After that I felt an immediate desire to serve the Lord, to act out his will for me, unfortunately, I still didn’t know what that was supposed to be. I got a biography on John Paul II and started reading my Bible more. I also picked up his Theology of the Body, which discusses the roles of men and women, marriage, lust and most of all –the meaning of true love.
I would read more and slowly fall in love with the my faith. Bringing me close to Christ, I sought to be more like him- it was clear I should emulate him…but how?
Showing posts with label Salvation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Salvation. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Easter
Easter.
Tall spires,
unshakable and made of grey stone.
Gilded blue and silver against the setting sun.
Gold and white,
the curtains of God’s palace.
His table made immaculate in order to invite the filthy.
Easter-tide alleluia,
lost amongst ecstasy.
Parting the darkness with long notes of the Gloria.
Colorless,
sanctified water and fragrant chrism.
They douse the head in order to make me sapient.
Sapience,
O happy fault, which makes us saved
- and me savable.
Faith, fidelity,
be one and the same.
Unsurpassed by time.
Cloak my frail humanity in strength.
Divine light,revelation of that, which is greater.
Drips and pours over my frame
Tall spires,
unshakable and made of grey stone.
Gilded blue and silver against the setting sun.
Gold and white,
the curtains of God’s palace.
His table made immaculate in order to invite the filthy.
Easter-tide alleluia,
lost amongst ecstasy.
Parting the darkness with long notes of the Gloria.
Colorless,
sanctified water and fragrant chrism.
They douse the head in order to make me sapient.
Sapience,
O happy fault, which makes us saved
- and me savable.
Faith, fidelity,
be one and the same.
Unsurpassed by time.
Cloak my frail humanity in strength.
Divine light,revelation of that, which is greater.
Drips and pours over my frame
The Beginning of my Spiritual Life
Part I )
I have always been quite a counterculturalist. Celebrating life off the beaten path, finding my own trends and rejecting the dominant, materialist, fame-obsessed lifestyle. This is the story of a nerdy goth girl who is Catholic...or how I managed to incorporate Catholic into being nerdy goth. Whatever way you want to see it.I mustn’t get preachy; Lord knows I suck as much as the next person. Yet, I’ve noticed my generation’s preoccupation with money, popularity and gratuitous sexual acts.
I never considered sex until I was in college, daring as it sounds, and had dated the guy for a year. After getting my heart smashed into pieces and meeting despair head-on, I experienced my wild phase. Physical satisfaction brought nothing but misery at the end. Regardless of how sexy or powerful I seemed, I was still alone. No matter which boyfriend I had, I still cried myself to sleep.
It would be my scholarly interests that rescued me.In life, I desired to learn many languages. I failed at teaching myself Japanese, aced high-school Spanish then forgot it by lack of use, then vowed one winter in college to learn Latin- because it sounds cool. If one wants to hear Japanese, they head to Beni Hana, if it’s Spanish, drive to southwest Chicago, but to hear Latin, ye shall go to church!
This is where encountering the past helps to realize the future. In a drafty cathedral unable to understand anything the minister said, I found God. He was there, hidden in …hoc est corpus meum and laid bare by those very words. I don’t mean to get weird, but it was amazing. My disdain for mainstream culture, unhappiness with hedonism and ancient longing finally found balance! And anyone who thinks goth and Catholic don’t mix ask yourself: Where does death find such beauty and light engage the darkness more than in the spilt blood of One Saving Victim?
I had always been open to supernatural experiences. I was one of those people who practiced witchcraft and could tell a house was haunted by standing outside of it. Church had never been an experience for me. I grew up going to this church called Christian Hills in a wealthy part of town. No one there related to me and I had no friends not to mention a relationship with God was far from my mind.
I had only been to two Catholic services before the "awsome Latin Mass" in college. I thought it was kind of strange...all that ritualism and pomp. For some reason it took me a foreign language- or a certain supernatural openess to get it. Masses were boring until I had its meaning explained to me. Like always, I sought to understand..I knew who Jesus was, I knew he died for our sins but I did not know he came down to be present in every Eucharist! When I saw that priest lift the wafer and say "hoc est corpus meum" I felt something special was going on. There was a "shininess" to the air. That was the first time I felt...Him!
After leaving the mass I asked my Catholic friend if I could be "half Catholic" and it all was just beginning there.I am a sensible person, always been. Before I commit myself to anything, I investigate it. I needed knowledge and before I decided to attend any RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults- say it ten times fast) classes, I needed reassurance this was what God wanted me to do.
I know you're not supposed to but I asked Him for a sign. He gave me two:One night, I had a dream about these people singing. They sang about something called "the black hat of the Holy Spirit." That is strange to say the least. I told my Catholic friend (Brad) about this and he was insistent it had some deep meaning. Whatever... The next day, he asked me to go to the church and pray a rosary with him- this would be the third or fourth rosary I've ever said. I knew he liked company so I went. On the way back from the church, walking through an alley, we saw a black hat to the right of us. Not kidding. Brad cried out "The black hat of the Holy Spirit!" It was just too perfect to be a coincidence.
The next Sunday, I went to a night mass with him kind of hoping for a repeat of the Godly feeling. During the opening hymn, watching the procession down the aisle, I suddenly wanted to cry. I had a feeling this was where I would finally be accepted, where I finally belonged. It was an overwhelming, heat and weepiness that came over me and I knew it wasn't normal. Especially for someone like me who barely ever cried. So to RCIA I'd go.
The people there were very inviting (I supposed maybe-coverts got special treatment). I felt so discouraged though because they seemed to have their lives so together...while mine stayed in five hundred pieces. These people were sinners like me, they were struggling, maybe not as bad but still struggling. Some people are very unsure as to switch over religions. I was the type who jumped in remaining ever suspicious that someone would do something wrong...that God would break my heart.Strange thing was, I couldn't remain that way forever.
It was the liturgical season of Lent and for some reason I loved it, going along, not eating meat on Fridays...acting like I was Catholic already. My logical conclusion is that nothing helps more than practice, I wanted to make sure I could handle this commitment and all that came with it. Many times I wanted to tell Brad and the Catholics to leave me alone, not that they bothered me- I bothered me. I thought I'd be too selfish, too impious, too smutty to be a Catholic then reminded myself that a relationship with the Lord required work. (By the way,I kept going to Latin mass and my pronunciation got better.)
I have always been quite a counterculturalist. Celebrating life off the beaten path, finding my own trends and rejecting the dominant, materialist, fame-obsessed lifestyle. This is the story of a nerdy goth girl who is Catholic...or how I managed to incorporate Catholic into being nerdy goth. Whatever way you want to see it.I mustn’t get preachy; Lord knows I suck as much as the next person. Yet, I’ve noticed my generation’s preoccupation with money, popularity and gratuitous sexual acts.
I never considered sex until I was in college, daring as it sounds, and had dated the guy for a year. After getting my heart smashed into pieces and meeting despair head-on, I experienced my wild phase. Physical satisfaction brought nothing but misery at the end. Regardless of how sexy or powerful I seemed, I was still alone. No matter which boyfriend I had, I still cried myself to sleep.
It would be my scholarly interests that rescued me.In life, I desired to learn many languages. I failed at teaching myself Japanese, aced high-school Spanish then forgot it by lack of use, then vowed one winter in college to learn Latin- because it sounds cool. If one wants to hear Japanese, they head to Beni Hana, if it’s Spanish, drive to southwest Chicago, but to hear Latin, ye shall go to church!
This is where encountering the past helps to realize the future. In a drafty cathedral unable to understand anything the minister said, I found God. He was there, hidden in …hoc est corpus meum and laid bare by those very words. I don’t mean to get weird, but it was amazing. My disdain for mainstream culture, unhappiness with hedonism and ancient longing finally found balance! And anyone who thinks goth and Catholic don’t mix ask yourself: Where does death find such beauty and light engage the darkness more than in the spilt blood of One Saving Victim?
I had always been open to supernatural experiences. I was one of those people who practiced witchcraft and could tell a house was haunted by standing outside of it. Church had never been an experience for me. I grew up going to this church called Christian Hills in a wealthy part of town. No one there related to me and I had no friends not to mention a relationship with God was far from my mind.
I had only been to two Catholic services before the "awsome Latin Mass" in college. I thought it was kind of strange...all that ritualism and pomp. For some reason it took me a foreign language- or a certain supernatural openess to get it. Masses were boring until I had its meaning explained to me. Like always, I sought to understand..I knew who Jesus was, I knew he died for our sins but I did not know he came down to be present in every Eucharist! When I saw that priest lift the wafer and say "hoc est corpus meum" I felt something special was going on. There was a "shininess" to the air. That was the first time I felt...Him!
After leaving the mass I asked my Catholic friend if I could be "half Catholic" and it all was just beginning there.I am a sensible person, always been. Before I commit myself to anything, I investigate it. I needed knowledge and before I decided to attend any RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults- say it ten times fast) classes, I needed reassurance this was what God wanted me to do.
I know you're not supposed to but I asked Him for a sign. He gave me two:One night, I had a dream about these people singing. They sang about something called "the black hat of the Holy Spirit." That is strange to say the least. I told my Catholic friend (Brad) about this and he was insistent it had some deep meaning. Whatever... The next day, he asked me to go to the church and pray a rosary with him- this would be the third or fourth rosary I've ever said. I knew he liked company so I went. On the way back from the church, walking through an alley, we saw a black hat to the right of us. Not kidding. Brad cried out "The black hat of the Holy Spirit!" It was just too perfect to be a coincidence.
The next Sunday, I went to a night mass with him kind of hoping for a repeat of the Godly feeling. During the opening hymn, watching the procession down the aisle, I suddenly wanted to cry. I had a feeling this was where I would finally be accepted, where I finally belonged. It was an overwhelming, heat and weepiness that came over me and I knew it wasn't normal. Especially for someone like me who barely ever cried. So to RCIA I'd go.
The people there were very inviting (I supposed maybe-coverts got special treatment). I felt so discouraged though because they seemed to have their lives so together...while mine stayed in five hundred pieces. These people were sinners like me, they were struggling, maybe not as bad but still struggling. Some people are very unsure as to switch over religions. I was the type who jumped in remaining ever suspicious that someone would do something wrong...that God would break my heart.Strange thing was, I couldn't remain that way forever.
It was the liturgical season of Lent and for some reason I loved it, going along, not eating meat on Fridays...acting like I was Catholic already. My logical conclusion is that nothing helps more than practice, I wanted to make sure I could handle this commitment and all that came with it. Many times I wanted to tell Brad and the Catholics to leave me alone, not that they bothered me- I bothered me. I thought I'd be too selfish, too impious, too smutty to be a Catholic then reminded myself that a relationship with the Lord required work. (By the way,I kept going to Latin mass and my pronunciation got better.)
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