Tag Archives: Faith

Whiplash

Whiplash is a non-medical term describing a range of injuries to the neck caused by or related to a sudden distortion of the neck commonly associated with motor vehicle accidents, usually when the vehicle has been hit in the rear. The injury can be sustained in many other ways, including headbanging, bungee jumping and falls. It is one of the main injuries covered by insurance.

It hurts…
…what just happened?

I never intended to become Catholic. But…then…I never intended to believe…in God…or in anything or anyone other than myself.

Having lived for a considerable time on each side of the faith fence, one thing I can testify to for all the agnostics and atheists out there is that they have an easier ride than people of deep faith. This is not what non-believers propose.

In the typical characterization put forward by agnostics about believers, Christians are grasping onto God like Linus holding onto his blanket. “No matter what happens in the world, if you Christians have your little God blanket, it will all turn out OK.”

It is easy for agnostics to hold onto this misconception, because they are generally not willing to engage in serious, meaningful dialogue with Christians.

From this side of the fence, I understand the hesitation of agnostics to welcome “GodTalk.” I get it. The talk between believers and non-believers quickly turns passionate, and if someone doesn’t get tarred and feathered, they are sure to get thumped by a Bible before things are over.

This is where the concept of sin becomes useful, even to agnostics. We are all subject to the failings of human nature. Call it what you will…sin…or bad judgment…we all have it. Christians are not hypocrites. They are, quite simply put, fallen human beings. Paul, chief among sinners, bemoaned his condition:

¹⁸For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. ¹⁹For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. ²⁰Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. [Rom 7:18-20]

In these twenty chapters of Coming Home, I have struggled to tell the story of my personal car crash. A little VW Christian on a journey into the Catholic Church, after detours and traffic jams and speeding tickets, finally crashed full speed into a brick wall. The road turned, and the little VW never saw it coming.

This project is not about getting even. And it has not been for the purpose of making me gloat in retribution.

I began the trip early in 2013, hoping to prepare myself to become Catholic. I was ahead of schedule at that point. In 2012, honoring my marital vows and love for my husband, I had “put Catholic on hold” for a future date…many years hence…when my husband could fully trust that I treasured his faith in Christ no less than mine. Just when I had settled on waiting, he flashed the green light. “Yes,” he told me. “It’s time for you to begin your journey into the Catholic Church.”

But faith is not a straight road dictated by Christ, charted by maps and marked at night with bright landing lights. It is an adventure where our faith is tested…tempted…challenged…thwarted…and redirected.

I hurt. Today, I am far afield from the map I had charted. I am not where I expected to be when I first opened the door and walked into RCIA v.1.

I could have used less law and more love in RCIA v.3.

It would have been nice to have heard the truth more promptly and more succinctly in RCIA v.2 and RCIA v.4.

Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one. [Mat 5:37]

But even after all that…after RCIA 1 and 2 and 3 and 4…I could have handled all of that…until finally running into the brick wall in RCIA v.5.

What comes next? I don’t know. I am waiting to heal.

Yes, healing takes time. And healing involves more than broken bones. In October, I could have knocked on more doors and tried to beg my way into an RCIA program that had empty chairs. Even now in November, I figure that is still a possibility.

But I am tired of banging on the door of Christ’s church begging for entry. My body is aching. My heart is in traction. My soul is wounded. And Christ…I try to fit my experiences of the past year into his parable of the wedding feast.

Once more Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying: ²“The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. ³He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. ⁴Again he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ ⁵But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, ⁶while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them. ⁷The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. ⁸Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. ⁹Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ ¹⁰Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests. [Mat 22:1-10]

I stand on the street, waiting for an invitation to the wedding. If they are inviting both the good and the bad, that should include me. If they can’t find me, if they don’t see me in the throngs of those wanting to enter, I will jump in the air and wave my hands…even with all the aches, pains and bruises.

Still…I wait…outside a closed door.

I ache. I am bruised. My neck hurts so badly that it can’t turn right or left. Is there a speeding train headed toward me on the road ahead where it crosses the tracks? I pray it isn’t so. In this condition, I will not be able to turn and see it before it runs me down.

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NEXT: more to come…

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Loose Ends

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Once again, for the 5th time, I turned toward the Catholic Church. I knew the RCIA “drill” better than most Catholics and not a few priests…having attempted to go through it four times already.

Newly baptized, I had to think through the entire RCIA process again. My journey into the Catholic Church had become so convoluted through its rules that had upended my desire to be baptized.

For a long six months, since my husband and I had agreed that I would enter the Catholic Church, RCIA had been defined by its restrictions that prevented my baptism. I had knocked on every door*…Fr. Ron, Deacon Dave, Fr. Kevin…pleading my case to get baptized and then to complete the RCIA program. What the Catholics were not willing to do, the Protestants were. And they did.

Baptism had required six months of my attention. That left me six months more for the RCIA class. While I still hated the delay, it was easier than trying to find a way to enter the church before next year at Easter.

There were just a few loose ends to attend to.

After the trip to Los Angeles for my baptism, Fr. Kevin had surprised me with a telephone call. Unbeknownst to me, he had decided to reach out to a church expert on canon law to see how to manage the baptism question raised by my marriage. Tactfully, he asked what the canon lawyer needed to know. Were my husband and I still having sex? I forgave Father. He was caught in the same legalism that entangled me. And I answered his question.

Once again Fr. Kevin asked if my husband would consent to being married in the Catholic Church…a small private ceremony. I agreed to ask. When I knew the answer, I promised to call Father back. Before hanging up, I had be honest with him. I let him know what had transpired since our first meeting. I had been baptized.

Fr. Kevin’s voice registered quiet surprise. He asked the facts of the baptism, confirming that it was recognized as legitimate by the Catholic Church. Punctuating the reality, he said, “So you are a baptized Protestant.” I assented and said, again, that I would get back to him.

Even after being happily married for forty years, asking the “M” question is not something you just blurt out to your husband in the middle of shopping for groceries or during the commercial break of the Monday Night Football game.

I waited patiently for an opportune time, I asked, and I got the answer I had expected. He didn’t have to explain. We were already married. He had never practiced the Catholic faith. He didn’t consider himself Catholic, infant baptism to the contrary. And he didn’t feel compelled to perform a Catholic ceremony.

I called Fr. Kevin’s office and left a message with his secretary. Months ago, he had suggested I might be able to begin RCIA and enter the church in December, before next Easter. Was that still possible? Days passed. I left a voice message on his phone, just in case the earlier message had been lost. Days were turning into weeks.

Clearly, my baptism had nullified his offer. And without a Catholic marriage, I still didn’t know where that left me. But I needed closure. If Father couldn’t bow out gracefully and honestly, I would take care of it.

——– Message ——–
From: JANE JIMENEZ
Date: Friday, October 10, 2014

Good evening, Father Kevin,

As you suggested I did get a chance to discuss my husband’s willingness to renew our marriage vows in the Catholic church. He is not favorable to this idea, and I am not going to press it any further. It will only exacerbate his prejudices.

I left you a phone message two weeks ago. I called and am writing here only to convey the above. If you have lost interest in or do not have the ability to deal with my situation from this point forward, I completely understand. Your inquiry with Church canon authorities was generous, and I appreciate that effort. Unless I hear otherwise, I will operate under the assumption that the matter is closed.

Sincerely, Jane Jimenez

That was the last loose end. Now that baptism was off the table, I didn’t have to concern myself with finding a priest willing to “break the RCIA rules.” I would enroll and take the classes for the next six months. Finally…then…I would become Catholic.

Wanting to study with the people I would worship with, I carefully considered the RCIA program to attend. Two parishes were equal distance from my house.

At one parish, I thought back to a mass held in a school gymnasium, for their new parish in formation. The priests and lay members did an amazing job of turning the gym into a church in every respect. At the conclusion of mass, the deacon came to the podium with announcements. Smiling enthusiastically, he called out to the congregation, “Well, we all know what the most important thing happening today is, don’t we?” I was stumped. I thought we had just experienced the most important thing of the day. He corrected me as he raised his arms in excitement and proclaimed to everyone, “Soccer!”

I knew his heart was in the right place. But his body seemed to be in the wrong place…a few feet from the altar where Christ had been celebrated less than ten minutes ago. It seemed an unfortunate way of ending mass…like wrapping up a wedding reception by toasting the winners of the Super Bowl.

At the other parish, their recent mass had been the most reverent of any I had ever seen. I knew where I wanted to be.

I’m nearing home, I told myself. Finally. What could go wrong? I couldn’t think of a thing.

___________________________________
*All names have been changed.

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NEXT: Fr. Walter, RCIA v.5

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The Halo Effect

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Even months later, I am still living inside the halo effect of my baptism.

Raising out of the baptismal water that night in Los Angeles, I could literally feel the close presence of Christ securely enfolding me, invisible but palpable. Vic and I took our time walking back to the van. I couldn’t talk, except to say, “I’m so happy.”

…for he has said, “I will never leave you or forsake you.” [Heb 13:5]

The joy I felt was unexpected. I had struggled for so many months to impress Catholic priests of the deep hunger I had for baptism. That was all I could think of…the hunger…and the anxiety of not knowing how much longer this hunger would continue.

Even as I had finally found a path to the baptismal font, my emotions on the drive to California had been a mixture of relief in finally “getting on with it” and anxiety about the possibility of being let down once again. Maybe it wasn’t really that easy…that I would have to be a California resident…that I would have to have a sponsor…that I would have to prove I had attended their church for two months. Maybe “after every service” did not include “this service” on Saturday night. Maybe the pastor had gotten sick and had put a sign near the pool…Closed. In my meetings with the priests, I was so used to baptism being problematic that I couldn’t believe it would be that easy.

Jason and Fr. Kevin had each tried to carry me with anticipation through eight months up to the Easter Vigil Mass, mentioning the wonderful ceremony of baptism. But ever since that night in Los Angeles, I can’t imagine anything more wonderful than my own baptism, confirming my new life with Christ.

Even as I write, at this very moment and every day of the year, people from around the world are being baptized in Galilee at the Yardenit Baptismal Site on the Jordan River. Their joy in fulfillment of the promise of Christ is proclaimed by the gospel verse Mark 1:9-11, engraved on the nearby Wall of New Life in more than 80 languages and dialects. Baptism on the Jordan River would also be an amazing experience. But it doesn’t top my baptism.

At Yardenit on the Jordan…and on every continent of the earth…baptisms have taken place for 2000 years every day of the year…on Easter…and on the other 364 days of the calendar. I don’t doubt for a minute that the baptism at Easter Vigil Mass is beautiful and joy-filled. I truly understand the person who anticipates this joy for eight months because the anticipation satisfies their longing.

But the joy of baptism is not constrained nor is it defined by place or liturgical customs. The joy of baptism comes as the overflow of love proclaimed between Christ and Christian. It is the darkness overtaken by Light. It is the radiance that is left behind in a halo of Love that follows us on earth until we arrive home with Christ.

While Deacon Dave was terribly concerned about my being baptized a second time, I still wonder at his apparent lack of concern at my being baptized at all. The catechism assures me that having the intent to get baptized would save me at death, if I should die before I wake. That being true, if I died today, the last 65 days of my life lived on earth as a baptized Christian have been heaven on earth. I would not change a thing!

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, ³⁹nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. [Rom 8:38-39]

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My Baptism

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The box of food and the ice chest were the last items packed into the van. Vic lowered the tailgate door, came around to the front seat, and started the engine. We were off to California…and my baptism.

In the two weeks leading up to our trip, in God’s mysterious ways, my own passion for getting baptized had merged with Vic’s separate plans for driving to Los Angeles. He had had his trip on the map for months, and I had been a happy camper looking forward to a little quiet time alone at home.

In the intervening weeks…realizing that my baptism was not on the Catholic calendar for 2014, I accepted the reality that I would have to “look outside the box.” As “luck” would have it, EWTN that month had featured a news story about a major protestant pastor and his church that was in dialogue with representatives from the Vatican. The Vatican reps were talking with the pastor about evangelizing the world at large. He was succeeding. Apparently, the Vatican reps were interested in how and why. I went to the Internet.

On the the pastor’s website, I clicked from one page to the next, checking out their Christian doctrine, their mission work around the world, and their various church locations and service times in the Los Angeles area. One sentence jumped out at me…out of all the details on the web page…baptisms after every service.

Baptism? Baptisms! After every service!!

Ditching all desire to be alone at home while Vic was traveling the expanse of California, I pinned him down at dinner that night. “Would you be willing to adjust your travel plans so that I could go with you and get baptized in Los Angeles.” He didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

Weeks later, leaving Phoenix for Los Angeles , my anticipation was cautious, knowing that sometimes things are not what they seem. The website said they had everything needed for baptism. Everything? Just in case, I packed some “water clothes” in a tote bag. In eight hours, Vic and I would be in Los Angeles. And I would be baptized. Could I really get excited? Was it really true?

Driving to Los Angeles, checking in at our hotel, and finding the church in time for their Saturday evening service, all went off without a hitch. The campus of the church, the size of a small city, offered every amenity and served every possible need of their congregation and visitors.

The worship service was a good protestant blend of music and message. As the service came to a close, they made mention of baptisms performed to the right and to the left of the main stage, outside the doors. If you were not prepared for the announcement, it would have been easy to miss. I didn’t miss it.

True to their promise on the Internet…they did have everything needed for baptism. In a private changing room, I put on my own pants and their baptismal t-shirt. Stepping out, I met the pastor and his assistants who helped with the details of recording the moment. Across the pool’s water, I smiled and waved at Vic seated next to the photographer. It finally sank in.

Yes, I was going to be baptized…here…and now. No conspiratorial whispers to take it all back if I had forgotten a forgettable baptism fifty years ago. I would be baptized with joy and celebration…complete with pictures that I could hold onto, reliving this wonderful day…until the day I died.

No longer did it matter to me. Protestant or Catholic, I was baptized Christian. I belonged to Christ…and His were the wings under which I would shelter myself in the coming storms.

Let me abide in your tent forever,
find refuge under the shelter of your wings.
For you, O God, have heard my vows;
you have given me the heritage of those who fear your name. [Psalm 61:4-5]

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NEXT: The Halo Effect

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THE GIFT OF FAITH

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As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. [John 17:21-23]

The gift of faith…so amazing…is given to us through the Holy Spirit, from God the Father, and his Son, Jesus Christ. But we each have our role to play. We can either invite people in…or push them away.

The language of division in the Christian faith is sure to build clouds of rain from the tears of God in heaven. Division is not divine. It resides in the condition of human beings, born of sin. Adam divided from God through disobedience. Adam and Eve divided from each other through temptation and blame. Cain and Able were divided through jealousy. In heaven, was not God weeping?

Loving us beyond our comprehension, Jesus gave his life to bring us together, both together as humans, and together with our Father. His suffering and his death on the cross, the supreme gifts making the resurrection possible…built a bridge home to the divine. And for our security on earth, He left us his Word, his apostles and his Church. Still…we are human. Born into sin.

It is tempting to blame our modern divisions on Luther and Popes, but the schism of the Reformation is only one break of many others beginning in the first days of Christian history. Mary and Martha divided over how to serve Christ and their guests. The disciples divided from the woman who anointed Jesus with expensive alabaster oil. [Mark 14:3-9] The disciples divided from the sons of Zebedee over who had the right to sit next to Jesus in heaven. [Mat 20:20-28] Peter divided from, even separated from Christ, denying him three times. And he wept bitterly.

Originally, Luther and his followers only imagined one division, a separation from the Catholic Church by those who were “not Catholic.” What Luther never envisioned was the scope and variety of beliefs and practices that would explode out of being “NOT”. Many claim there are more than 30,000 different protestant denominations. But who is to know? After all, if you are not Catholic, you are entitled to be anything…even your own denomination of one…yourself.

In its variety of denominations, protestants are generally open to banding together under the Christian tent. However, the tent is seldom large enough to include the Catholic Church. For her part, the Catholic Church has played a role in division with her claim to exclusivity in beliefs, sacraments, rituals, authority and salvation. In all of this, can we not see Jesus in heaven weeping?

Thus, few changes in church affiliation are as difficult as those for people entering the Catholic Church. The general impression is that the person is moving out of Christianity into Catholicism. Sadly, it can become the source of even more division, separating the convert from family, friends and, tragically, spouses.

Gratefully, as I moved toward the Catholic Church, my husband accepted this change with charity. I knew he would not follow me. Neither would he deny me.

Still, in the little changes of our Sunday routine, I sensed his apprehension. Even as I left the house early to go separately to mass, I committed to attending our Lutheran church as well so that we would have common experiences in our faith lives. Yet, in the finality of my eventual conversion, we would no longer share the sacrament of communion (the Eucharist).

Choosing the Catholic Church had put us on different sides of all the wrangling that takes place among Christians and Catholics. Who is right? Who is wrong? Who is closer to Jesus…who gets to sit at his right and at his left? It was easy to see that my choice could be taken as a rejection of my husband’s church and his Christian faith. He continued to push me forward on the road to Rome, but I felt a quiet hurt that doesn’t escape a wife’s attention after sharing forty years of life together.

Talking briefly, I assured him our marriage is too important for it to be undermined by Christian divisions. And I vowed to my husband that I would not make any change until he was confident that his faith would not become “less” for the sake of my faith becoming different. I would wait…weeks, months or years. For now, we would continue to worship Christ together.

This made it easy to walk away from the past September’s RCIA program. I had already mentally programmed myself for years of waiting. The following year, on March 31, Easter arrived, and the catechumens joined the Catholic Church right on schedule. Vic and I shared Easter at our Lutheran church. And having full confidence in God’s timing, I reset my RCIA clock for the coming year.

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