WHY I STAY IN THE CATHOLIC CHURCH
Some of you may be wondering how anyone can remain in the Catholic Church after these recent, horrifying, gut-wrenching, nausea-inducing revelations from PA, and earlier, from D.C. about Cardinal McCarrick. The news that the cardinal had abused seminarians and young men in his BEACH RETREAT (hello, what happened to the f...ing vow of poverty?) was hard to see.
Then, to read about those poor children raped in Pennsylvania--I can't bear to repeat the details. They are so horrifying, and they trigger my own memories of sexual abuse when I was six. I was hoping desperately that the letter from Pope Francis would address this scandal in a more complete and justice-oriented way, instead of calling for repentance, fasting, and prayer. Sigh. WE WANT JAIL TIME!
Given that, and given the fact that I started a local chapter of Voice of the Faithful (a Catholic reform group started in 2002 in response to the sexual abuse revelations), yo'd think I would be fleeing into the arms of the UU. Which I respect. But it is not me. I find those arms don't give me the support I need; I sense a certain wobbliness in those arms. So here's why I stay in a church that has deep corruption in it, terrible patriarchy, a lack of women in authority, and also, a faulty system of CCD, educating children in the faith.
1/ I can't leave the Eucharist. For those of you who are not Catholic, it is hard to understand the importance of the Eucharist to Catholics. It is our food, our nourishment, Jesus in our gut which makes it possible to keep going, left-foot, right-foot, breathe, as Annie Lamott says. My husband, who used to accompany me to Mass during my chemo treatments and afterwards, said,
"I didn't get it about the Eucharist. It was just something you walked up to get and then returned to sit beside me. But then, one Sunday, I saw you receive the Host, and I had a stab of longing, of yearning. I wanted it too!" And so began Rick's journey into the church.
2/ For me, this is the church where I feel closest to Christ, whom I follow and whom I continue to worship. With my daily readings from the lectionary; with reflections on the readings (always an Old Testament section, a Psalm, a Letter from Paul, finally a Gospel passage), I continue to grow in faith and wisdom. I sometimes think if I had an inside view of my heart (like those glass-bottomed boats in the Caribbean), I would actually see it expanding, with more mercy tendrils, more compassion.
3/ I didn't use to believe that the Catholic Church was founded on the shoulders of Peter--an often clueless apostle--but I do now. When we say, in the Nicene Creed, "I believe in one holy, catholic, and apostolic church," I do believe. But--as one priest recently wrote in a Catholic Patheos blog--in the original Latin it is not, "believe in," it is simply "believe." A world of difference there.
4/ I love the Mass. Everything about it. Kneeling in silence and praying, I often feel as if God were sitting next me in the pew. Then I need to stand and confess my sins, usually greed and pride, and receive the promise of absolution. I love standing to hear the Gospel read, as that shows us this is a holy time. My body thrums when the cantor sings the Psalm and we, as the Body of Christ, sing the Response. Every single piece of the Mass speaks to this broken, aging, chemo-survivor, who worries so much about our future.
5/ Let's not forget the Passing of the Peace. Many just wave, as we are sort of worried about germs and the bubonic plague, but I actually like touching the warm flesh. It encourages me. We are a people together, stumbling on an uneven journey, helping to keep each other upright. And if I spray a little lavender mist on my hands afterwards (it kills germs), who is to criticize?
6/ Reconciliation is sort of like "spiritual chemotherapy," as A. Lamott terms church. I gain wisdom from the priest I go to, along with the sense that I am pretty much doing okay, though there are a few places that need some clipping and cleansing, like an overgrown toenail.
7/ For a former Protestant, there are some marvelous, inspiring things in this deeply incarnational, sacramental church: a love for Mary, the role models of the saints, saying the Rosary, Holy Days, and the vast sweep of the liturgical year, grounding us in the seasons, the church, and in time.
I have realized that when I leave Mass, I don't really leave it. I take it with me: singing the Psalm on the way home, asking Rick what he thought of the Homily, perhaps even disagreeing, and sharing any prayer insights I might have had. I am fueled, energized, and taken to a calm and holy space which we all desperately need in our world and in this beloved, corrupt, shaken church in such need of reform.
Then, to read about those poor children raped in Pennsylvania--I can't bear to repeat the details. They are so horrifying, and they trigger my own memories of sexual abuse when I was six. I was hoping desperately that the letter from Pope Francis would address this scandal in a more complete and justice-oriented way, instead of calling for repentance, fasting, and prayer. Sigh. WE WANT JAIL TIME!
Given that, and given the fact that I started a local chapter of Voice of the Faithful (a Catholic reform group started in 2002 in response to the sexual abuse revelations), yo'd think I would be fleeing into the arms of the UU. Which I respect. But it is not me. I find those arms don't give me the support I need; I sense a certain wobbliness in those arms. So here's why I stay in a church that has deep corruption in it, terrible patriarchy, a lack of women in authority, and also, a faulty system of CCD, educating children in the faith.
1/ I can't leave the Eucharist. For those of you who are not Catholic, it is hard to understand the importance of the Eucharist to Catholics. It is our food, our nourishment, Jesus in our gut which makes it possible to keep going, left-foot, right-foot, breathe, as Annie Lamott says. My husband, who used to accompany me to Mass during my chemo treatments and afterwards, said,
"I didn't get it about the Eucharist. It was just something you walked up to get and then returned to sit beside me. But then, one Sunday, I saw you receive the Host, and I had a stab of longing, of yearning. I wanted it too!" And so began Rick's journey into the church.
2/ For me, this is the church where I feel closest to Christ, whom I follow and whom I continue to worship. With my daily readings from the lectionary; with reflections on the readings (always an Old Testament section, a Psalm, a Letter from Paul, finally a Gospel passage), I continue to grow in faith and wisdom. I sometimes think if I had an inside view of my heart (like those glass-bottomed boats in the Caribbean), I would actually see it expanding, with more mercy tendrils, more compassion.
3/ I didn't use to believe that the Catholic Church was founded on the shoulders of Peter--an often clueless apostle--but I do now. When we say, in the Nicene Creed, "I believe in one holy, catholic, and apostolic church," I do believe. But--as one priest recently wrote in a Catholic Patheos blog--in the original Latin it is not, "believe in," it is simply "believe." A world of difference there.
4/ I love the Mass. Everything about it. Kneeling in silence and praying, I often feel as if God were sitting next me in the pew. Then I need to stand and confess my sins, usually greed and pride, and receive the promise of absolution. I love standing to hear the Gospel read, as that shows us this is a holy time. My body thrums when the cantor sings the Psalm and we, as the Body of Christ, sing the Response. Every single piece of the Mass speaks to this broken, aging, chemo-survivor, who worries so much about our future.
5/ Let's not forget the Passing of the Peace. Many just wave, as we are sort of worried about germs and the bubonic plague, but I actually like touching the warm flesh. It encourages me. We are a people together, stumbling on an uneven journey, helping to keep each other upright. And if I spray a little lavender mist on my hands afterwards (it kills germs), who is to criticize?
6/ Reconciliation is sort of like "spiritual chemotherapy," as A. Lamott terms church. I gain wisdom from the priest I go to, along with the sense that I am pretty much doing okay, though there are a few places that need some clipping and cleansing, like an overgrown toenail.
7/ For a former Protestant, there are some marvelous, inspiring things in this deeply incarnational, sacramental church: a love for Mary, the role models of the saints, saying the Rosary, Holy Days, and the vast sweep of the liturgical year, grounding us in the seasons, the church, and in time.
I have realized that when I leave Mass, I don't really leave it. I take it with me: singing the Psalm on the way home, asking Rick what he thought of the Homily, perhaps even disagreeing, and sharing any prayer insights I might have had. I am fueled, energized, and taken to a calm and holy space which we all desperately need in our world and in this beloved, corrupt, shaken church in such need of reform.
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