Scars

I spoke to an old friend recently about what I do for a living, that is, working for the Catholic Church.87 I am always ready to talk about what that means, even about the cognitive dissonance involved in working for this organization. But when I mentioned a well-known bone of theological contention, my friend rolled her eyes, hard, and said something about pedophile priests. Now, I understand that this is a natural reaction for people who only know the Church by what they hear in the news, or by people who have left in disgust over this very issue. I so understand that this is the baseline that we, as a Church, have created for ourselves. But I can't help wincing when I hear it from people, especially  people I care about. It's all at once freshly raw and something I wish we could pretend never to have happened.
It's an issue close to my heart- not because I was abused (I wasn't), but because it has been such an earth-shattering experience to live through, in a religion that holds not only my belief system but my family, my marriage, my career, my identity. It has been a struggle of how to stay in an organization such as this, how to justify teaching Her ways to others while feeling deep hurt. and if you've been reading here for very long, you know how hard that struggle is for me, as well as how genuinely risky it is to admit that I struggle at all. We live in a time of fidelity oaths for catechists... it's not okay to struggle with with the faith and it's not okay to struggle with the leadership.
On the other side of the reactive spectrum, I know parish workers and diocesan workers who have clung to their faith in this church. Maybe it's their way of surviving through the state of things, to turn harder around and work harder at seeing only the good. I totally get the appeal of that response- I'd do that, too, if any fiber of my being would allow me to. But I watch my "company man" friends and fear for the day when they are bitten by the very snake they are trying to bandage. Maybe it never will happen, and I'll envy their lifetime un-scathed. But because I've been there (because I am there) I know that if it happens, in whatever form it happens, when people who are devoted and trusting of their Mother Church find themselves receiving the wrong side of Her hand, it's going to hurt and it's going to hurt BAD. I watch these people with a combination of envy and worry.
I love this Church, this Church that has made me question everything about my faith, my beliefs, my place in the world. On the whole I think it's healthier to be the kind of (suspicious, pained, grounded in recent history) Catholic that I am, than to be the Company Man kind of Catholic. I'm on the backside of the (inevitable?) fall from grace, for sure, but I'm not curled in a ball. I'm up, I'm walking, I'm shaking it off and healing my wounds. I'm still here and still in the game. I know stuff I never dreamed and would never hope to know. I'm part of the recovery.

Silent Reading Time

I just came back from a silent, directed retreat! It was my first time. Outside of dinner on Friday night and two meetings with my director (who, have I mentioned, is an angel) I was silent and loved it. At first it was hard not to be friendly, but then it was so lovely to not have to think of small talk, or to be able to sit and stare out the window without anyone wanting to know what's wrong. SO lovely. I hung out in my room a lot, which no one said was un-sociable, because no one cared, and if they did, they couldn't say so. An introvert's dreeeeeam.
I read three books, which I could almost have imagined that the authors met across time and space to write for me, for this weekend. Here's what I read:

Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis, by Lauren Winner, of Girl Meets God (another great book). She talks about the middle time of faith, after the rosy glow of conversion wears off. She lost touch with God after a divorce and her mother's death, and while my crisis was of a different nature, I could relate to a lot of what she said. And, she writes like I write, or at least like I think, so she's fun and comforting to read. She's nerdy about faith in the same way I am. I really enjoyed it and did a lot of underlining.


The Personal Vocation: Transformation in Depth Through the Spiritual Exercises by Herbert Alphonso. I have never done the Spiritual Exercises, but heck, I might someday, and now I'm ahead of the game. He talks about defining God's revelation to you personally, and knowing your purpose through what you know about God. He's kind of folksy, but really got to the heart of what I was seeking this weekend.




Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen. My first Nouwen book. He wrote it specifically for someone, but it was so for me. He talks about reclaiming our role as the beloved that was ours even before we were born. He talks about being taken (chosen), blessed, broken, and given. Beautiful and moving. I found this one in the library at the retreat center, and considered stealing it. Instead I read it in one big gulp.




And,
Before we even started I found this magazine in the library and read the article called "Feeling with God: Participation in Incarnation" by Allan Schnarr, Ph.D. and as boring as that sounds, it was life-changing. I want Allan Schnarr, Ph.D. to be my therapist. Wowsers.





If you ever get a chance to take a silent retreat, I recommend it. I'm feeling great peace and confidence that I was sorrily lacking before, and a renewed understanding of who I am to God, and what that means for my life. I don't know what will happen for you, but you'll never know until you try. I showed up there at 3:01, anxious to start, and today I wanted to run back to my life. I feel great and strong again. S'good.

Oh, hey! Are you still here?

Ah, public, sorry about the lack of posts lately! It's nothing personal, I've just been busy writing (and reading) for school. But here I am!!! Thanks for waiting!
School lately has had my head spinning. In a good way! Even in HoFo today I heard myself say something pretty profound. But also, every Tuesday night at the parish, I've been leading a really enjoyable (at least to me!) Lectio Divina group based on the upcoming Sunday Gospel reading. We call it Sunday Lex, which is why people seem confused about when to show up...
Anyway, tonight we looked ahead to this Sunday's Gospel reading from Mark, the story of the scribes' hypocrisy vs. the widow who gave her all (two small coins). We talked about whether or not Jesus' lesson in these stories is about complete surrender. We all confessed to being non all-givers, non complete-surrender-ers. We talked about how we decide how to give money to a cause, for instance (from our surplus, like the scribes? To God, like the widow?).
I told the group about a man who stood up at a parish adult faith formation class and told everyone that he got a letter in the mail from some organization, telling him that giving money to them was like giving money to God- that any money he sends them, God would repay many times. He told us proudly that he did send a lot of money to them, and continues to do so, and it always does come back, somehow.
I remember standing at the front of that room, looking at him, and thinking "oh that poor man is being robbed!" But in a way, I didn't want to challenge him because he was giving out of great faith.
The question I ended up facing then was, Am I smarter than he is, or is his faith stronger than mine?
I think I've written her about when I was a kid and we went to Mass at St. John's, a tall, Gothic-looking church, and thought I might be able to fly. It was probably during the homily... I remember thinking. "God can do anything. He said faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains. If I have enough faith right now, and I stand up, right now, in front of all these people in this non-standing moment of the Mass, I bet I could fly."
But, I didn't stand up. I remember feeling ashamed that I didn't have enough faith to try it out. Since then I've wondered, was I really talking about trusting God, or testing Him? Was I logical and smart not to stand up, or was I weak weak weak in faith?
I don't have a good summary statement with which to end this entry. I think I'll be chewing on it all week. Learning to surrender to God is a process that I am constantly, constantly wrestling with. God is teaching me how to do that, and why I should do that, one struggle at a time. But I'm still not giving away all I have, and I'm still not standing up to see if I could fly during Mass... I'm not sure I ever will be able to do that, and I'm not sure if that's what God is asking of me.