Tag Archives: baptism

Forecast – Winds and Rain

Driving home from my meeting with Deacon Dave, my mind would not function.

I had ignored the signs of a coming storm on the desert. And it was here.

On the good side of RCIA v.3, Deacon Dave was able to move my investigative process forward and dispatch me in less than 30 minutes. I had my answer. “No.” By his count, baptism was eight months way…or longer…depending on the irregularities of my 40-year marriage.

Apparently, he thought to console me by telling me it could be worse. Centuries earlier, those seeking entrance into the Catholic Church were forced to kneel for hours in the snow outside closed church doors. But I thought this argument little better than trying to convince a child to eat Brussels sprouts because other children had to eat alfalfa. Does the Church really want to convert people by convincing them that it is better than being absolutely awful?

Not to mention that history can always be pushed to any era desired…like the sermon of Peter to the 3,000…converted and baptized after hearing him preach one time. But that had nothing to do with me here, today…on the bank of the Jordan…minus John the Baptist.

At home from the church, as the wind and rain kicked up outside, I turned on the computer to check my e-mail.

I had returned home with my answer from Deacon Dave. But, still two weeks after my conversation with Jason and my e-mail to Fr. Ron, I had not received any reply. No less than the Deacon’s abrupt “No,” the silence of Fr. Ron and Jason clearly was their answer. It was time to put this to rest.

——– ORIGINAL MESSAGE ——–
From: JANE JIMENEZ
Date: August 21, 2014

Dear Fr. Ron and Jason,

Thank you for meeting with me last month. I write to let you know I am releasing you from my request. I still plan to enter the RC church, but as I told Fr. Ron in July, it has never been my desire to break down the door of the church to “get in.” The span of time since our meeting indicates to me that my request is not one that fits the expectations of your parish. I appreciate your time with me and wish you both the best.
Sincerely, Jane Jimenez

—– Message ——–
To: Jane Jimenez
Date: August 21, 2014

I respect that. I did my best to be a bridge, but in the end it’s not my decision. I’m under the impression that more than one place has encouraged you to go through RCIA. If that’s the case, maybe that’s the Lord inviting you to take a step in faith. If that’s not the case, then it’s moot and I apologize for bringing it up. God bless.
~~Jason

——– ORIGINAL MESSAGE ——–
To: Jason
Date: August 21, 2014

Your parish is the second after my home parish.
~~Jane

What next?

Well…when it rains…it pours.

¹¹In the six hundredth year of Noah’s life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month, on that day all the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened. ¹²The rain fell on the earth forty days and forty nights. ¹³On the very same day Noah with his sons, Shem and Ham and Japheth, and Noah’s wife and the three wives of his sons entered the ark…
Genesis 7:11-13, New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

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Deacon Dave – RCIA v.3

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After sending off my e-mail to Fr. Ron, a deep quiet descended. More than quiet…a settling of the air around me, a deep atmospheric calm.

It gave me time to think as I waited to hear back from Fr. Ron. Jason had pointed out to me the camaraderie of sharing RCIA with other class members. But realistically, their parish was too far from my home, and any friendships I might develop would be short-lived when I eventually returned to and settled into regular life in my home parish.

To be fair, I had never fully pursued my quest for baptism with my home parish priest. I had accepted a quick answer from the church secretary over the telephone. Maybe, in fact, they would actually consider my request. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. Deacon Dave, in charge of RCIA for the coming year at my home parish, made room for me on his schedule in short order.

A few nights later, walking to the church door for our appointment, a slight breeze carried dried pink bougainvillea flowers under my feet. Looking to the sky, I noted a dusty pink hue low on the southern horizon. Across the parking lot a miniature twister of dust played over the ground under a mesquite tree. I pulled open the door and left the breeze and dust behind me.

Deacon Dave was expecting me. Relaxed and cheerful, he guided me to his small office. I sat in a chair facing his desk and waited from him to get situated. He invited me to share the purpose of my visit, and as I began, he grabbed a yellow pad and pen.

Not knowing how involved to get into my story, I started with two minutes about my attendance at mass over the past year and half. I had even attended mass at the school where the new parish church was forming and saw Deacon serving with the priest. He smiled. Then he asked about my husband.

I gave a two-minute explanation of my husband’s family background and its impact on prejudicing him against Catholicism. He asked how long we had been married and wrote a note on the yellow page. Our conversation proceeded in this pattern for the next ten minutes. I spoke for a minute or two…Deacon asked a question…and wrote a note.

He seemed to be satisfied that he knew the key points for us to cover. Firstly, he asked me if I was certain I had never been baptized. “We absolutely cannot baptize a person twice. But we have a way of handling this. We would baptize you conditionally.” And Deacon Dave showed me exactly how that looked…and sounded. “I baptize you,” and then he lowered his head and voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “conditionally,” raising his head and finishing with an audible, “in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. You would be the only one to know.”

Second, he wanted to know more about my husband’s history. Was he baptized? “Yes,” I answered. “His parents baptized him as a baby. Where? In the Catholic Church. But he’s never practiced the Catholic faith. He’s not Catholic. His dad was a very adamant atheist, and they never attended church. Vic doesn’t have any interest in ever joining the Catholic Church.” During the minute to explain this, Deacon Dave extended his short list of notes on the yellow tablet.

“You will have to be married in the church…yes…the Catholic Church. Your husband is Catholic. Are you sleeping together? If you were younger…I tell young couples…you’re living in sin. I tell them they need to sleep separately until their marriage is legitimized.”

I was clearly taking the Deacon into unexpected and unfamiliar territory. Vic and I had been happily married to each other for forty years. Even a law-abiding deacon recognized the awkward insanity of telling us we needed to use separate bedrooms.

“We can handle this situation,” he explained, “in a couple of ways. You can get married in the Catholic Church.” I was already shaking my head. “You can have a very small, private renewal of your vows.”

“I can’t speak for him, but I seriously doubt that he…” I began.

“Well we do have another option where you alone…without your husband…”

“I could never do anything without telling my husband.”

“Oh, no…certainly….” And whatever that option was, it was abandoned with no further explanation.

“What about being baptized?” I asked. “I am willing to study, to read, to attend RCIA. But I want to be baptized. I don’t want to spend the next eight months without being baptized.”

“No. We can’t baptize you with your irregular marriage. You’re really living in sin.”

I pressed forward, one more time, “Is there any way for me to proceed prior to the RCIA class and next Easter?” He shook his head. My face must have registered every emotion raging inside of me. A minute passed. I could think of lots of things to say. I couldn’t think of anything worth saying.

He leaned forward and laughed. “I’ve dealt with grown men who wanted to punch me out.” And he laughed again.

I opened my mouth to speak. And I thought better of it. Another minute passed as I contemplated how to conclude our time together. He waited for me, exuding that clear confidence that he could face anything I threw at him…yelling, screaming, complaining…and even punching.

I couldn’t remove myself from his office fast enough. “I have no desire to denigrate your process. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”

We walked to the lobby door, and for the sake of ending civilly, I shook his hand and said thank you.

Outside, I let my emotions have their way. My stomach was in knots…as if Deacon Dave had punched me. Hot tears formed, and I walked slowly to the car.

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FATHER RON – RCIA v.2

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I had set every clock in the house to remind me of my appointment with Father Ron. Arriving fifteen minutes early, waiting in the church office, I wondered about the very real possibility of being Catholic before Christmas.

In short order, Fr. Ron appeared at the hall entrance and led me back into a comfortable meeting room with windows looking out to a garden atrium. Settled into chairs, and following his lead, I gave a five minute synopsis of my coming to faith and then coming to the door of the Catholic Church by following the lead of other Catholics on EWTN and attending mass this past year in my own parish. “I called my parish, and I asked if there was any other way to enter the church before next Easter. They said that their RCIA program was the only option.”

“My husband has finally come to peace with my decision to become Catholic. He won’t join me, and I don’t expect that he ever will. Now, looking ahead, I am willing to learn, to grow, to study. It’s not that I want to skip RCIA. But I can’t wait twelve months to be baptized.”

At the mention of baptism, Fr. Ron’s attention focused more intently on me. “RCIA is not a one-size-fits-all program. There are other options available. We can personalize the program for people. Tell me about your baptism.” So I did.

“RCIA is not for everyone,” he reassured me. “We can take time to talk and set out a reading plan. Then we can get together to discuss your reading and understanding.” At that moment, a young man came into the room. Fr. Ron looked up. “Let me introduce you to Jason. He is the director of our RCIA program, and I invited him to be a part of this.”

We all did the hi-hello-good-to-meet-you civilities…and returned to the conversation Fr. Ron and I were having…that is, sort of returned to it. Jason was full of youthful enthusiasm and shared his plans for the coming RCIA program. He told me he would make certain I got a free copy of the book they were using for RCIA. Fr. Ron finished the meeting, “You can start working with Jason and then keep in touch with me.”

Following Fr. Ron through the hallways and back out to the lobby, I stepped outside of the office into the parking lot…instantly blinded by the afternoon sun. I had the unsettled feeling that something significant had transpired but that I had no idea what that significant something might be.

Instead of a program of study, another appointment with Fr. Ron and a target date for getting baptized…I had…well?

Putting the keys in the ignition, I calculated that the book from Jason should arrive by Friday.

____________________________________
*All names have been changed.

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THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

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A storm is any disturbed state of an environment or astronomical body’s atmosphere especially affecting its surface, and strongly implying severe weather. It may be marked by significant disruptions to normal conditions such as strong wind, hail, thunder and lightning (a thunderstorm), heavy precipitation (snowstorm, rainstorm), heavy freezing rain (ice storm), strong winds (tropical cyclone, windstorm), or wind transporting some substance through the atmosphere as in a dust storm, blizzard, sandstorm, etc. [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Storm]

Living in the desert all my life, I have been spared the hardships of blizzards, avalanches, hurricanes and tornadoes. In the Phoenix metropolitan area, we are lucky if we experience our average annual rainfall of ten inches.

With so few “weather events” to look forward to in the Arizona desert, we learn to recognize the signs of any approaching storm. The calm. The red sky. The eerie quiet. Put them together on any one day, and they are a dead giveaway. Tie down the house. A desert storm is on its way.

If only it were that easy when it comes to the storms of life.

In the past year, I had weathered the disappointments of RCIA. I had surveyed the landscape, counted the months and laid out the options. Like a traveler mapping out a ten month trip through Europe, I had marked the key points up ahead on my journey into the Catholic Church, calculated the time to finish, and set about gathering provisions.

But none of my plans took into account getting caught in a desert storm.

Easter had come and gone, new Catholics welcomed into the church. On the outside, I remained a protestant. Our garden was blooming. At home, my husband and I enjoyed eating outside on the patio and listening to the fountain. Looking ahead, we planned trips to visit our children on both the western and eastern seaboards of the country.

Spring, with its beautiful weather and flowers, is a generous season. Without any forewarning, one spring day, Vic and I ended up talking about churches, the Lutheran that we attended together and the Catholic that I sought. And what had seemed years away beyond the horizon suddenly lay at my feet. With equanimity and generosity, Vic said it was time. I should enter the Catholic Church. He was at peace.

I should enter the church? It was now April, after Easter. RCIA would begin again in September – six months away. Six months until the enrollment date for RCIA added to the six months to attend RCIA…this meant that I could enter the Catholic Church twelve months from now.

Twelve months. It wasn’t a lifetime. But it sure seemed like it. I figured I could hunker down and make it…except for one thing. Baptism. One year to wait for baptism?

One year?

As if God could read my mind, before the end of the week, He sent Melissa into my life. Leaving work one night, she noted my crucifix. She was a Catholic and assumed I was, too. Unable to restrain the torrent of words bubbling up from my heart, I led her through my story right up to the point of perplexity. One year. Did I really have to wait an entire year to be baptized, to become Catholic?

Melissa laughed. “Oh, no. I know a priest who worked with me on the college campus years ago. Students who came to the Newman Center wanted to become Catholic, and they didn’t have to wait. He will help you. Call Father Ron.”

In the anticipation of being baptized…of being Catholic…the signs of the coming storm never caught my eye.

____________________________________
*All names have been changed.

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SLIPPAGE IN THE TRANSMISSION

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DO NOT WORRY

²²He said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. ²³For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. ²⁴Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! ²⁵And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? ²⁶If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest? [Luke 12:22-26]

The One who I sought was the One who gave comfort. I would not worry.

I could not control the content or duration of the RCIA class last year. Nor could I control who in the Catholic world cared or didn’t care about my “insights.” The Church as the Body of Christ is built of imperfect people, I being chief among them. Time was on my side. My husband and I would eventually come to peace on this change in our lives; the years would see to that.

I had made it this far moving toward the Catholic Church. I could make it to the end. Calmly, in control, I navigated the days ahead of me, laying my years in the hands of God.

Years…what did that mean for baptism? Could I wait years to finally be baptized?

Driving down life’s highway, my hand on the gearshift, I felt an odd movement under my feet…a mysterious car feeling…new and unexpected. It passed. And I returned to my thoughts.

Baptism? Never being able to cite chapter and verse, I knew full well the significance of baptism in the life of a Christian. Repent and get baptized. Even Jesus, the Source of Faith, consented…no, he didn’t simply consent…he sought out and determined that He would be baptized. And He was.

And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. [Mat 3:16]

In all the many years when I thought I had been baptized, I knew my fellowship with Christ was secure. But what about today? Sure…I won’t be condemned. But then what?

The one who believes and is baptized will be saved; but the one who does not believe will be condemned. [Mk 16:16]

On life’s highway, the movement under the floorboard under my feet in the car returned…with a sound. It was not a good sound. Looking ahead to next year, I decided to ignore it…the sound.

RCIA? I could wait. Catholic Church? I would wait. Eucharist? I would have to wait. But baptism?

My thoughts were jolted. Another huge bad car noise. Not again! We had serviced the car before Easter…and here I was on a long journey…hearing strange sounds and feeling strange movements under the floorboard under my feet in the car.

Grabbing my cell phone, I called our mechanic. “The car. It’s making these new awful sounds under my feet. The car jerks. I’m going fast, and then the car slows down. I put the car into drive, but it doesn’t want to go into drive. It’s like it’s trying to make up its mind.”

“Slippage,” he said. “The gears in the transmission are slipping.” When you get home, bring the car in.

Two days later, a lesson from my mechanic on transmissions, and twenty minutes on Google, I learned a lot about the speed of a car. It can go fast. And it can go slow. Changes in speed are handled in the transmission with its gears and fluids and solenoids.

A car can change speeds, but there’s a lot involved in making it happen. Kind of like people when we change speeds. Especially like me.

I had programmed my spiritual future for years. But baptism required a speed adjustment. Just like my car…I was having problems of my own…slippage in the transmission.

Baptism? Was yesterday soon enough? Yesterday? Tomorrow? My transmission was grinding.

²²After this Jesus and his disciples went into the Judean countryside, and he spent some time there with them and baptized. ²³John also was baptizing at Aenon near Salim because water was abundant there; and people kept coming and were being baptized…[John 3:22-24]

That night, my head on the pillow, I kept thinking about the day in the future when I would eventually be baptized. I did not worry. But I could not rest.

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