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.
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.
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