Christ's Body

Another factor in my conversion to the Church was the Catholic people I met. I’ve heard stories about parishioners who were either indifferent or downright unwelcoming to potential converts, and even of priests who told people “conversion” was an outmoded concept, and they should go back to their own church. I wonder if I would have been deterred or put off, had this happened to me. I’m afraid it might have done so. It is scary to think that an act of indifference could contribute to the loss of a soul. I cringe to think of the possibility that my behavior could ever put off a soul in search of the truth.

Happily, my experience was the opposite. In the summer of 1997 I ventured to Mass, not for the first time ever, but the first time ever as a seeker of truth. It was an evening mass, not too many people, and it took place in what is now the fellowship hall but what was then the makeshift sanctuary, with folding chairs and a carpeted plywood altar. There weren’t many people in there, and I wasn’t sure whether I was in the right place, or that I was even allowed in. I stepped in, looked around, headed back out to find the office, or someone who knew what was going on.

In a moment that could only be described as providential, as I was making my retreat, I saw a lady bringing one of her (six) children back from the restroom. She looked at me smiled as if she already knew why I was there. She asked if I was new, and I told her I was and was actually thinking of converting. She beamed. “Come on in! You can’t take communion yet, but you can always get lots of grace!”

What a wonderful human being. I got to know her and her family over the years. I’ve noticed the bigger the Catholic family, the cheerier and happier the members. Her family has gotten bigger and bigger and they’ve just become nicer and nicer. Coincidence?

But I digress. Here are some other heroes:

Charlie, the man who was in charge of my RCIA class; he practically adopted me. I still call him “Papa”. He and another friend encouraged me to work with the Kairos organization (a prison ministry modeled after the Cursillo movement). He helped me through the gut-wrenching annulment process. He’s a wonderful, beautiful man.

David, my sponsor. He was always available for me. He knew how I longed to unload my burden of sin in the confessional. He intervened with the Pastor for me and I was allowed to make my first confession several weeks before it was scheduled. I can’t tell you what a relief that was for me; that act of intercession will always be one of the great things anyone has ever done for me.

Fr. P, my first Catholic pastor, the man who first fed me the body of Christ. Gentle and understanding with his people, firm and unbending on matters of principle. He is a long-serving priest in an area where Catholics are vastly in the minority, who was nonetheless a leader in the community and a beacon for true ecumenism. A truly great priest.

These examples of incredible Catholic people taught me a theological lesson, though it took longer to absorb the theology than the love. The lesson was what the phrase “Body of Christ” means when applied to the Church. Jesus wanted me. So he came and got me. He appeared bodily to me. His body, in this context, being his faithful. He led me personally, bodily into the Church. He used people to do it. There is no contradiction there. It is true in the most literal of senses.

Scary thought: The only Jesus some people will ever meet is the Jesus they meet in me.

Religion and Politics

Before I was Catholic my politics were strictly Libertarian. Active for a while, merely philosophically after that. My politics were a perfect match for my lack of religious beliefs. Indeed, what other political philosophy can be held by a person (of general good will) who doesn't believe in truth? The libertarian creed of "The initiation of force, except in self defense, is the only political or moral wrong" would be ideal, if not idealistic, in a world without God. But then, I came to believe firmly not only in God, but in his Church, a Church that holds itself out as God's arbiter of faith and morals on earth.

So can you be a Libertarian and a Catholic?

For me, Catholicism has both blunted and sharpened my Libertarianism. A paradox, I know, but then this is a religion of paradoxes, started by Jesus, who was and is the ultimate paradox. That's one of the many reasons I love it, by the way.

I believe more strongly than ever in the notion of limited government, and stronger than before in the notion of government assistance to the young, poor and elderly. Not that I don't think the welfare system in this country isn't a disgrace, a legacy of a party which tried, succesfully, to buy the votes of the poor and disenfranchised while simultaneously guaranteeing they would more than likely stay poor and disenfranchised. Not that I don't believe that if all of us who claim to be Christians would help the poor, the government would have precious little to do in the way of welfare. But merely that I recgonize the moral imperative that those in power should truly care for and work for the welfare of those they lead.

One of the things Catholicism has done for me politically is to take away (to some degree, not totally) the bitterness and distrust of government that drove my political beliefs for such a long time. I now see that not only is the government God's agent for good in the world, but that in a democracy, you have to realize the fact of man's sinfulness means making the government actually become an agent of good involves God's presence and participation in politics. That means us, his people, his body, doing what we can to make things better, and being patient enough to give good sufficent time to prevail over evil. Studying the history of the Church itself, in which "revolution" means change occurring over the course of decades and centuries, gives one a perspective of politics that is more broad and hopeful. Our democratic experiment is only a bit more than two centuries old; hardly enough time to have perfected anything. Communism, on the other hand, fell in a relatively swift 70 years or so. Hope springs eternal, but vigilance is always necessary.

So I remain an advocate of limited government, but a promoter of Christian ideals leading all of us to become the citizens that can make for a great country. I don't want Theocracy, I don't want this to be a "Christian Nation", I merely want those who claim the gospel to live by it. If that happened, politics would take its proper place in society. Politics would be a mode of living the gospel, not a pseudo-religion; a place for us to practice charity, not the imposition of a welfare state; a protector of the rights of individuals against force and fraud, not a paternalistic nag and enforcer of picayune and intrusive rules and regulations that take the place of good will and common sense. In short, government would go back to being our servant, not our master.

The Opposite of Inferiority

I used to have an inferiority complex when it came to interactions with pure materialist/atheists, because I thought they had the advantage over people who believe in God. Mainly because they had an argument that seemed more logical. We can’t see God, We can’t sense him, if we look about us in the world, we don’t seem to see his influence coming to bear. People of faith, to a materialist/atheist, look foolish and naïve. We go about our lives ignoring reality and the plain evidence of our senses. Why should we live by outmoded rules made by religious zealots of long ago? Why shouldn’t we eat drink and make love whenever and however we like?

The truth is, though, that this is the shallow view. Ordering your life solely by what your senses and observations (and appetites) tell you ignores history, reality, and the possibility that what can be perceived by the senses don’t tell the whole story (the latter being the main inconsistency in a purely materialist outlook). The real argument for belief in God doesn’t come from the headlines, but by the history books. It doesn’t come from the rantings of the intellectual elite, but by the real lives of the faithful. There is more truth to be gleaned from the story of one anonymous saint who lives on your own street than there is from all the writings of all the “enlightened” philosophers combined.

And while faith can’t be defined by personal experience, there has to be something to be said for the personal experiences of so many people in so many eras who experienced God directly. Charlatans and false mystics aside, the evidence is convincing, if you look for it, that God does take part in our lives. Further, logic dictates that if God really is not obviously present, then revelation would be the way he would commune with us. That’s the key. His revelations in scripture, the incarnation, and the teachings of the Church are how he becomes immanent to us. But it takes a swallowing of pride, that many of us can’t abide, to come to grips with this.

In the end, I’ve come to believe that the pure materialist/atheist has missed the boat. He is at an inferior position. Rather than feel superior, I feel pity, and sorrow, and thankfulness that somehow God got through to me, despite all the roadblocks I put in his way. The thing I feel most for him, though, is hope, because I believe that the atheist is closer to finding God than the lax, self-satisfied theist. I think God may have a special place in his heart for atheists, because they seem to be the ones who are doing the most genuine searching for Him.

What Did I Give Up To Become Catholic?

Exactly nothing.

I read stories about people who gave up family, jobs, and spouses to join the Church. All I gave up was misery and doubt and slavery to my appetites. It was the purest of gifts. I take the most joy in the fact that there isn't one thing I've ever done to deserve this gift.

CORRECTION

DUH.....

Yesterday was the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, NOT the feast of the Immaculate Conception. What I was thinking, I just don't know.

Mea culpa.

A Convert's Thoughts on the Eucharist.

First, one is struck by the contradiction involved in the protestant interpretation of the 6th chapter of John's gospel. Of all the times a literal translation would be appropriate, here is the most obvious. There is really no other way of reading the chapter except to conclude that Jesus really meant for us to eat his body and drink his blood.

Second, the very fact that Jesus seems to be telling us to be cannibals requires the chapter to be interpreted, as well as believed literally. It requires someone who is in the know to figure out what Jesus meant by eating his body and drinking his blood, since literal cannibalism is not an option. Who better to do this than the apostles and their successors? That is why without a teaching authority, their can be no church. That is why the development of doctrine is a reality. Only the church has the authority to figure this out for us. If we all came up with our own interpretations, they would be some true, some false, some a mixture of truth and falsity (which is worse, sometimes, than pure falsity).

Third, what struck me back then, sub-consciously, and now more and more bats me over the head consciously, is the sheer audacity of the doctrine. I was at Mass on the feast of the Immaculate Conception yesterday, and during the consecration was running in my mind a fictional dialogue between an outraged atheist and myself. The imaginary atheist was railing at the thought of all of us sitting there in silent wonder at the miracle of the true presence of Christ in our midst under the form of bread and wine. And after his rant was done, I smiled at him and said, "Yes, it's outrageous, isn't it?" and that was all that needed to be said.








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