I have never lost my faith. I may have, for a while, lost my faith in the brick and mortar churches, but that forfeiture made room in my life for a spiritual journey that I don't regret.
I just stumbled across author and priest Andrew M. Greeley's website and his "Why I'm Still A Catholic" article. I really do believe, even though I haven't attended mass in probably 10 years, that once a Catholic always a Catholic. I have rosaries scattered throughout my home. I sleep with a leather scapular and two of the rosaries hanging from our headboard-one on my side and one on my husband's. During a recent health crisis I prayed to Father Solanus Casey and held close to my heart a bit of cloth that had touched his tomb. Father Casey was known for his miraculous healing and is well on his way to clearing the Vatican's hurdles for sainthood.
I was just barely a cradle Catholic. That's church slang for Catholics born and raised in the Church. We went to Mass on most Sundays and I attended CCD (the acronym for Catholic Children's Doctrine), I was baptized, had my First Communion and I was Confirmed. When I was a little girl in the 1960s, women still covered their heads and I had mantillas, the little lace head scarves, in white, pink and black. My mother made sure we dutifully met the guidelines but there was no real appreciation for the Sacraments. There was no family prayer and certainly no talk about what it meant to be a Catholic. My strongest memory of growing up and going to church is getting caught, at 14 years old, swilling strawberry wine in the bushes outside the St. Cecilia church rectory. My father stepped foot in church for weddings only. He would jokingly say the pews were too hard and his wooden leg made it too difficult to stand, kneel, sit and repeat.
I wholeheartedly came to the Church after a divorce. I do realize, considering the Catholic stance on divorce, the humor in that. When I met my second and current husband he was a much more devoted Catholic than I was. That makes it sound as if I'm shopping for number three but we're on year 23 of wedded contentment/conflict/contentment. I knew when we were dating that we would never be married unless I had my first marriage annulled. I won't go into the controversy surrounding annulments but I will say that it was one of the most emotionally cathartic experiences of my life. It made me dissect every aspect of my failed marriage and take a good hard look at every other aspect of my life. The original intent of annulment is to dissolve a marriage that is contrary to Divine Law. I'll spare everyone the icky details but if that's what it takes to qualify for an annulment than my first marriage certainly met the criteria...and then some.
We married and I was very active in my parish. I was president of our women's group, I worked with our Monsignor on community tasks, I cooked casseroles and tossed salads for funerals and anniversaries and I headed up a building fund committee. My children attended the parish school. I hosted rosaries in my home. But all the while I had a nagging, unsettled feeling that just wouldn't go away.
Andrew Greeley says "those who leave the Church because they have discovered how flawed are many leaders, are ignorant of history. Jesus never promised us saints. Nor did he promise that the saints who on occasion might be in charge would be either effective administrators or wise leaders."
Unlike Father Greeley, who has had his own conflict with the Catholic Church, I found it impossible to ignore the blaring headlines that screamed of sex abuse scandals. When grown men molest small children and when those committing the mortal sins of child molestation are shuttled from parish to parish and country to country and protected from the law it makes me sick. It's old news, isn't it? How sad that we are barely even shocked when another scandal arises. It's just more fodder for the late night hosts.
I found it impossible to shake the feeling that it was about big business and that the business was corrupt. I suppose I could look back at Catholic history and see that the church has always been embroiled in scandals and I could just accept that the scandals were further proof of man's fallibility. But, I didn't accept it.
On a beautiful Spring day my husband and I attended a funeral. As usual, we sat front and center. We watched the priest preparing the Eucharist. "This is my body … this is my blood." The Catholic understanding of these words is literal. The word for it is transubstantiation. The Communion bread and wine become the body and blood of Jesus Christ. On that day, I felt so many questions bubble to the surface and the most important one was this: How did so many soiled hands perform this beautiful ritual and why would the Church allow it to continue?
"Doubt is part of all religion. All the religious thinkers were doubters." So says Isaac Bashevis Singer.If you're not familiar with Singer, his is an interesting story. He was a Jewish American writer and Nobel Peace Prize winner. I felt as if I had the lion's share of doubt and, for many years after walking away, I was in mourning. I shed tears over my decision. There were lost friendships that accompanied my leaving but the loss I felt most strongly was for the rituals and the beauty of Catholicism and the Mass. To my Catholic friends who didn't abandon me, I say a belated thank you.
I let doubt propel my journey. I have always been uncomfortable with the notion that any one group held the keys to Heaven. Since stepping away from the Catholic Church I have tried on other religions. The Presbyterian services in Texas, where I truly felt a connection to that church home, were a blessing when I first felt adrift. It was there that I met many other Catholics and one woman who said "I am a Catholic who attends the Presbyterian Church." No wonder I felt at home. When I moved to Los Angeles, the time I spent attending no services at all-just me and God and little talks scattered throughout every day of the week-was spiritually freeing and gave me time to read and explore religious history. Those little talks with God continue. The visit to a non denominational church in a California strip mall where the preacher screamed and told his followers that Jews, Buddhists, Catholics and anyone with different beliefs were destined to Hell was, well, scary as Hell. And if there was a place hotter and lower than Hell he was certain that the entrance was marked for homosexuals. I ran from that place. The churches where the members raised hands and spontaneously proclaimed Hallelujah were joyous but, quite frankly, they startled this lapsed Catholic woman, who was used to quiet sanctuaries.
I'm ready to step into a church community again. I hold my Catholic roots close to my heart but I'm not stepping back in that direction. The term "Cafeteria Catholic" is used to describe a Catholic who picks and chooses, from the list of Church rules, what he or she wants to believe. The Church is filled with Cafeteria Catholics. It can easily be applied to all other religions. I don't want to pick and choose what I will believe. I want to totally immerse myself in spirituality. I want a congregation that shares my belief that good people go to Heaven and that God doesn't discriminate. Is that easily dismissed as simplistic? I think it's one of the hardest things to wrap your brain around. Opening your heart to others and finding the good is actually a great challenge. My religious past has made me who I am. I'm grateful for God's direction on my journey.
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