Miles for My Soul

By now, just about everyone at Holy Redeemer knows me and my story, even if I have not met them personally. They know what musical instruments I play, they know about my commute, where I work, and that I'm in the process of converting. Word travels fast in a little chapel!

Doug and Linda are a couple about my parents' age who befriended me in my earliest days at Holy Redeemer. Especially when it became clear I would be heading down this path on my own, establishing new person-to-person connections at the chapel became of vital importance to me. I was instantly drawn by Linda's warm, open smile and her easy and friendly manner. Her husband Doug is at first blush a very serious and reserved man. He acts as altar server every other Sunday and on those Sundays he's not serving at the altar, he leads the congregation in praying the rosary prior to Mass. His voice is deep and calm, mesmerizing at times.

Without reserve, I remember telling Linda how I came to be there, about my family, and even my fears and reservations about this whole process. She listened attentively, taking in everything I said. When I spoke with her last week, she said that she had a grey wool suit about my size that she could no longer wear but didn't want to give away to Goodwill. She wondered if I would like it. I was blessed by her generosity and told her I would be grateful to have it. This last weekend she shared with me that her husband converted after twenty-five years of marriage. Her own openness so encourages me.

Yesterday her husband Doug asked me if he could bring the suit to my car for me.

"You're from Bellingham?" he asked. I replied that yes, I was and he asked how long a drive it was.

"About 110 miles," I replied.

"An impressive distance. I admire that kind of dedication," he said (this from a man who must first take a ferry from a neighboring island to get there).

He's not the first one to make this kind of comment. Honestly, it is one that makes me squirm a bit, even though I do appreciate and value what is being said. It's really not any form of modesty that makes me want to say, it's not a big deal (regretably, I have never been very good where modesty is concerned). Despite having had similar conversations with other parishioners, I feel unpracticed as to how to reply except to say that the drive is a relatively quick one on Sunday mornings (especially in the unusually beautiful weather we've been enjoying) and that every mile is worth it. I have yet to find the fitting words to say that I am blessed beyond the miles I drive or the money I spend putting gas in my car. I don't know quite how to sum up that I what I am receiving in exchange for miles and hours on Sundays is a complete steal when measured against what I am receiving in return.

... for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

1 Peter 1:9

It's as if I've given a quarter in exchange for a library, or a ten dollar bill for a luxury yacht. It's like I gave Starbucks a dollar in exchange for unlimited lattes for life (only so much better).

I guess that's it. I will drive the miles and give the hours because I'm receiving Jesus. My soul is hungrier for Him than ever before, and here I am filled.

And I leave wanting Him more.

A History Lesson: Protestant Roots

Last weekend, I stayed after Mass to listen to one of Father C's doctrine classes that he typically offers every other week (this is in addition to the catechism I discussed in my previous post). Most parishioners stay and attend the lectures which cover a variety of topics, delving into specific Catholic doctrine and dogma, as well as providing an education on other religions.

This most recent class was on Protestantism. Deep breath.

Before I discuss this class and any specifics of what I learned, allow me this caveat: there is no way I can adequately discuss the Protestant Revolt here. Veritable volumes have been written on the subject over the last five hundred years and anything I could put here would be such a highly diluted version of much better writings that it would be useless to attempt.

So. Deep breath. Again.

I inwardly cringed when I heard what the day's topic would be, but was simultaneously curious what the Catholic point of view on the whole matter would be. History is composed of facts and events, but how those facts and events are interpreted may vary greatly. I had always held a very high-level view of the Revolt (or, "Reformation" as it is often called): a few men saw some abuses in the Church and sought to eliminate those abuses. So far, so good. They disagreed with several practices and traditions of the Catholic Church including the authority of the Pope, devotion to Mary and the saints, the requirement of celibacy for ordained clergy, and several of the sacraments. This is about the time when the whole concept of sola scriptura came about, and with that the idea that history and tradition (both oral and written) were not reliable guides in matters of faith. Calvin came out with his writings on predestination, Luther nailed the 95 Theses to the wall.

That was (again, on a high level) the sum of my knowledge. I never questioned what had been passed down to me. What could be wrong with seeking to amend abuses and make Jesus more accessible to the people?

It was this day I learned some pieces that weren't included in my previous education on the matter: the Reformers were strongly influenced by humanist patterns of thought emerging from the Renaissance. They promulgated an essentially individualist theology spawned from the secular humanist philosophies popular at the time. They rejected the authority of the Church, rejected the previous 1,500 years of history and tradition (both oral and written), and rejected Sacraments that had been in place since the first century Church. Erasmus (who preceeded Luther) emphasized that true religion was primarily a matter of inward, individual devotion rather than outward expressions of ceremony, ritual, and the like. A concept Luther popularized was that each believer can be his own priest; this is not to negate the Scriptural concept of the priesthood of all believers (found in 1 Peter), but rather to eliminate the idea that priests and other ordained clergy possess the power to forgive sins and exercise a measure of spiritual authority over believers.

None of this is to say that no abuses were taking place within the Church; there were abuses of tradition and authority taking place that were in grave need of reform. But does it necessarily follow that because a thing is abused, the thing itself is inherently wrong? Take parental discipline as an example. I think we can all agree that it is a good thing for parents to discipline their children when they disobey. We know all too well how that can be abused: there are horrific stories of parents beating their children (sometimes to death), handcuffing them to radiators, locking them in closets and depriving them of basic necessities. We could throw up our hands and cite those examples as reasons why it's a bad idea for parents to discipline their children. See what an awful thing discipline is? See how harmful it is to children?

The Reformers adopted a similar line of thought in separating themselves from the Catholic church. Some might make a case for the Reformers being moved by a desire to do away with those practices and traditions that were entirely without basis. If they were only attempting to correct abuses, that would be one thing (and a thing that was already being addressed by Rome). But essentially what they were doing is saying: the Church has been doing it wrong for the past 1,500 years. Here's the right way to do it. And so the Reformers rejected the authority of the Church and replaced it with the authority of the individual believer: no priests were necessary for forgiving sins, no Church necessary to instruct believers since each individual may use Scripture to determine what he or she believes (these were not the only traditions and practices that were done away with, but for the purposes of not turning this post into another volume on the subject, is the aspect to which I am limiting myself here).

I never understood before what a big deal the Revolt was. I initially understood it to be a reformation of abuses or an elimination of the practices that were unsound, unbiblical, or without any real basis. But now I see it very differently: the Revolt served to reject and turn its back upon the traditions and practices that the Church had held since its inception and proclaimed that the way they prescribed was not only an improvement, but the way Christ intended it to be. One of the more popular notions in line with this Reformist way of thinking was that of sola scriptura: the idea that Scripture is sufficient unto itself to be the final authority on Christian doctrine (this differs with the Catholic view that doctrine is legitimately taught by the teaching authority of the Church, drawing on the Deposit of Faith which consists of Sacred Tradition, of which Sacred Scripture is a part). At first blush, sola scriptura may appear to be essentially sound, but in reality is born of individualistic patterns of thought.

Though the concept of sola scriptura does not appear in Scripture and despite the fact that Scripture had not been widely available in its written form to believers for the 1,500 years of Christianity, the Reformers disseminated the concept of Scripture as the sole authority for faith. Mediation through anyone but Christ alone was seen as unbiblical. To a Protesant way of thinking, there is probably nothing much that appears to be amiss here. It's only when I started taking a step back from this way of thinking and trying on this point of view that I began to see what might be especially spurious about this mode of thought.

For one, the Church managed to grow and thrive in its first 1,500 years without sacred Scripture being available to the masses. This is not to say it's not important or that it should not be available on an individual basis; but if we're going to adopt a sola scriptura perspective where faith and its practice is concerned, what is the implication for the believers in the first 1,500 years of the Church? Even Protesants cannot divorce themselves from this history; I don't know a single Protestant that would say that Christianity did not have its true beginning until the 95 Theses were nailed to the door at Wittenburg, nor one yet who would say that the churches founded by the likes of Sts. Peter, Paul, and Timothy were somehow deficient due to the fact they did not possess Scripture in its written form.

The potential implications of this are astounding: Scripture did not exist when Christ ascended into heaven. If we assume the Reformers were correct in their assessments that Scripture is the sole inspired rule of faith and that the authority and tradition of the Church holds little to no sway over the believer, then Christ essentially left the Church without much of a plan for executing the Great Commission and without any solid support for its teachings. If Scripture is the sole inspired rule of faith, it would seem that it wasn't until the printing press came to be that individual believers had any reliable rule of faith to follow. So where does this leave the Church for the first 1,500 years of its existence if the Sacred Tradition born of the Deposit of Faith was basically bunk?

Think of it: Christ passed His authority on to the disciples and commanded them to go make disciples, baptize them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and to teach them everything He had commanded them (without the benefit of written Scripture, just the teachings of the Word made flesh). There we see Christ conferring His authority to those He's designated, commanding them to baptize and teach. Since Scripture did not then exist in its written form, we must assume that these teachings were passed on orally and promulgated throughout the ancient Churches the same way: those given the authority to do so taught other believers; so the Church grew and thrived through tradition, through the faithful stewarding of the authority handed down by Christ Himself.

This is one place where my thinking has taken a dramatically different course. Being raised within the Protestant tradition, I had no reason to doubt the soundness of sola scriptura, nor did I question any of its implications (or even pause to consider what those implications might be). Perhaps it comes in part from our protesting, reactionary roots; from its very beginnings, the Protesant Church has made a point of renouncing ecclesiastical authority (I speak of authority in a spiritual sense here, as opposed to an administrative sense). Initially I squirmed at the thought that another human being might have the power to forgive my sins, or that my beliefs should be subjected to the authority of the Church. And then a friend pointed out to me: is it more likely that I am in error, or two thousand years of teaching and tradition? Put that way, my squirming seemed very arrogant indeed.

But then I began to see that this was Christ's design: there's no getting around that he conferred upon the disciples the power to forgive sins, nor that it is the Church that is the pillar and foundation of truth. I have to believe that these things hold true not just for first century Christians, but for twenty-first century ones as well. If we're supposed to be behaving as a Body, how is it that we are essentially making churches of ourselves, interpreting and deciding on an individual basis what is and what is not correct, making ourselves "the pillar and foundation of truth"? This goes against the very grain of Christ's teachings. Some abnegation needs to take place, or the Body will be impotent (severely compromised, at best) where the Great Commission is concerned. Just imagine how potent the Church would be at accomplishing its purpose if we were wholly unified in our faith and its practice!!

I cannot begin to describe what a comfort this is to me. I once believed that it was just Jesus and me, and thank goodness there is the church where I can worship and learn with other like-minded believers who will pray for and help one another when in need. But the Church is so much more than that! Christ said that the Church is His body, the earthly extension of Himself. It's not just Christ in heaven then that has authority; His authority extends to His Body on earth, to those whom He has specifically appointed. The Church may instruct and mediate for the same reasons: the Church is an extension of Christ, the earthly manifestation of our True Head in heaven. He has entrusted our souls to its care, not to ourselves alone. In entrusting our souls to the Church then, we are entrusting them to Christ.

And so when I convert, I see now that I will not be confessing my sins just to another human being; I will be confessing them to Christ. There will be a man there, a flesh-and-blood being like me, but endowed with authority by Christ Himself to forgive sins. And I know they will be forgiven, because that's what Christ promised. And I will know that the Church is not just a conglomerate of individuals, but a Body tightly bound together in purpose, in faith, and in practice.

For Those I Love

Dear Family & Beloved Friends,

I wish I could make all of this make sense to you. I wish I could ameliorate your fears, amend your anxieties about all of this. I wish I could convince you of what I see, lend you my mind's eye. I wish I could make your apprehension for me evaporate with explanations.

I wish I could pour out my heart to you, tell you everything I'm learning, tell you everything. It was with difficulty I learned that such openness did us all more harm than good. My excitement was quashed by concerns and critiques, by the cautious reserve you displayed when I told you. You feared for me and questioned my motives. I can't say I wouldn't do the same were our roles reversed.

I've learned to draw strict boundaries around this, my journey. Perhaps you see them as walls. But I've learned to trust myself and the God who leads me down this path, learning to trust that if He's leading me away from one thing, He is drawing me toward something better; it's that something better that I long to protect. It is not easy to hold all this back from you; I am accustomed to transparency. I feel like the blind man in Scripture who given fresh sight, is warned by Christ not to tell anyone. I revel in being given new eyes, eyes that see a faith that it wider, deeper, higher, richer, broader than I have ever known. But my sharing so clearly hurts you. It causes you to question and doubt me to some degree; it makes me feel defensive when I have no cause to be. And so I limit what I disclose, not wanting to compromise in any way what I've found by carving this path.

We follow a Savior who commanded of His followers: If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. This is the Christ who said to let the dead bury their dead; who, when one promised to follow Him anywhere but first wanted to bid his family farewell replied, no one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God. This is the Messiah who commanded His followers to be perfect, the One who proclaimed He came not to bring peace, but a sword and in the same breath that he who loves his father or mother ... son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.

Ouch. Sounds harsh, I know. Were I the author of this faith, I wouldn't do it this way. But I'm not. It is not up to me to decide how it should be done. And while I have no intent of turning my back on any relationship, Christ so clearly demands that I not allow even the love of my family to restrict me from following Him without reserve and without condition. I wish I could convey the depth to which this pains me; I have always been privileged to be surrounded by like-minded wayfarers in matters of faith. And now that I've found another way of embodying my faith: a way to which my intellect, heart, and spirit assent, a way that draws me with its fullness and reverence, a way entrenched in history and tradition, a way so deeply rooted in the words of our Lord, I find that I am pulled in this new direction. I am leaving behind the way of familiarity and comfort, embracing something wholly new to me. In a relatively short amount of time, I've seen my heart expand, my faith deepen, my trust challenged. I've seen my heart place its dependence more upon God than ever before.

I cannot and will not let this go.

I do feel so alone in this sometimes. But I cannot allow discomfort or lack of familiarity sway me. Onlookers may be skeptical, they may have their critiques. Comforts have been stripped and He asks of me: will you follow me? He demands unadulterated motives, He requires I follow Him no matter the cost. When He takes away a relationship, when others think I'm crazy, when those closest to me disapprove: will you follow me? If anything or anyone is worth the sacrifice, He is. He so clearly is. And so I lay it all down before Him (again, again, and again), fumbling as I try to place my trust in Him, awkwardly pressing my weight into Him.

There is so much more I could and want to say. But this is not the time or place to offer proofs, to cite texts, or to lay out convincing arguments. This is about my heart and yours.

Know that I am in the most secure place in the world; my heart is safe in the hands of God. Know that I am not abandoning myself. I am only beginning to step into the fullness of faith, the fullness of who God made me to be.

grace & peace,
kirsten

The Catechumen

Catechumen: In ecclesiology, a catechumen; from Latin catechumenus, Greek κατηχουμενος , instructed) is one receiving instruction in the principles of the Christian religion with a view to baptism.
[definition courtesy of Wikipedia]

Last week, I formally began instruction with Fr. C in the faith. Having professed Christianity as my religion for the greater part of my life, it initially (and very briefly) seemed odd to require formal instruction. But when making this kind of leap, it is crucial to know exactly what I'm getting into and precisely what is expected of me. By receiving formal instruction, not only am I moving forward with eyes wide open, but I am moving into a unity of belief with what the Church teaches.

Like all good instruction does, my own has started with some fairly foundational principles: creation, original sin, original innocence, definition of the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity as well as their respective excesses and defects. Nothing so far is brand new or especially surprising, but what I love about going through all this is is that I am learning: this is what the Church teaches. This is what we profess to believe. Period.

We see the command for converts to be instructed in the faith when Christ issued the Great Commission:

"All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you."
Matthew 28:19-20 (emphasis mine)

Christ clearly expected believers to receive instruction; it was never His intent that we should be in any way ignorant where our faith and its practice is concerned. There will always be mysteries, there will always be room to increase our knowledge. But part of what Christ commissioned His disciples with was instruction -- a faith education, as it were.

I know that practice amongst the various Protestant denominations varies, but growing up, I received no formal instruction as far as church doctrine and dogma were concerned. I participated in Five-Day Clubs, listened to the Bible stories played out by Sunday school teacher's hands with static feltboard figures, recited memory verses, and learned the requisite songs. I suppose in my young mind, I assumed that as far as professing Christians were concerned, everyone else's experience was the same.

As I grew up, I couldn't help but notice the wide variety of Protestant denominations: Baptists, Lutherans, Methodists, Presbyterians, Covenant, Pentecostal, Assemblies of God, Nazarene, non-denominational, and so on. Wikipedia lists several hundred Protestant denominations and within those, several more sub-denominations. Each has its own set of doctrine and beliefs that makes it different than another. Some have governing bodies, though many are self-governing.

So what do Protestants believe? I suppose the easiest way to answer that would begin with it depends: it depends on what church you go to, who the pastor is, what the denomination is, etc. No wonder belief can be so confusing at times.

Coming from an entirely Protestant background (raised from birth in a non-denominational church), I never thought of it that way before. I always just thought, we're all Christians and we believe different things about doctrine, dogma, and practice of faith, but we all claim Christ as Savior. Many Protestants will profess unity despite the wide variance and range of beliefs present under the heading of those who call themselves "Christian". I am coming to think that unity is reduced to a muddy abstraction as opposed to a concrete nitty-gritty way of living our faith when we claim "one church" but act as though we are churches unto ourselves, deciding on our own what we do and do not believe. I am so very guilty of paying lip service to unity as a concept while simultaneously failing to embody it. This is so very troubling to me; I am certain this disparity of belief and practice is not part of Christ's design, and it saddens me deeply. Have mercy, Lord.

One of the things that is drawing me toward the Catholic faith is the continuity and unity of teaching on every point of faith you can imagine. I'm not going to make the claim that there is never disagreement amongst believers in the Catholic church; they have experienced their fair share of division also. But regardless of this, the teaching of the Church stays the same. This is is the purpose of my going through the catechism; I am receiving the same instruction that has been given to other believers regardless of locale, the priest who is teaching it, or historical period. It should not be surprising that given the number of denominations out there, there is no uniform Protestant instruction. And really, many Protestant believers I know (myself included, at one time) seem perfectly okay with it being that way. We may disagree on just about anything: baptism, predestination, original sin, the roles women in the church, eternal security, what is necessary for salvation, you name it. And we all claim Christ as the head, naming many of these things non-essentials.

Do I dare to ask the question I asked myself when I started this learning process?:

What if?

What if I'm wrong, lacking, incorrect, deficient in my belief or in its practice? I am human and prone to error; that is a given. What if I'm wrong about what is and what is not essential where faith is concerned? Is this not a question worth examining? If I'm honest, the answer is an emphatic yes. That's really what this process is about for me: challenging myself, going through my beliefs with a fine-toothed comb, weeding out those things that when examined closely, simply don't make sense anymore or do not belong.

The Baltimore Catechism spells out quite clearly the dogmas and doctrines of the Church and explains what they mean. There is something comforting about having it all spelled out in black and white, knowing that this is what Catholics profess to believe. This is the teaching of the Church, this is the truth to which you submit yourself. It's not conditional on geography, on the instructor, on whether it's the year 1885 or 2007. I think it's fantastic that as someone seriously considering conversion, I must be instructed on these points of faith before I can be baptized or partake in the Eucharist. It's not simply a matter of walking in the door and goes beyond taking a membership class. It's an education that takes months to complete.

Something I have bumped up against with other believers as I've undertaken my study is resistance to the idea of Church authority (which began with the Reformation). Many believers take issue with the idea that they can be told what they can and cannot believe. It seems the prevailing opinion amongst Protestant believers is that each should be permitted to interpret Scripture and abide by it according to individual interpretation. While not even Catholics would disagree that each individual believer's mind and intellect should be fully engaged in the life of faith, and that each believer is individually responsible to study that faith, there is a clear understanding that the Church is the ultimate authority on doctrine, dogma, and the practice of faith -- not the individual believer. Whether or not I like, agree with, or am comfortable with a teaching of the Church, I must submit to that. As a member of the Church, I accept that it is more likely that I am in error than the Church fathers from whom the essentials of the faith were passed down.

If there is an authority in place, it is my duty as a believer in Christ to submit to that authority (Romans 13:1-3; Hebrews 13:17; 1 Peter 2:13). I do not want to debate the finer points of this particular topic since that is not the purpose of this particular post, but assuming Christ instituted a specific plan and structure of authority in order that the Church might accomplish its purpose of baptizing and making disciples, is it not my role to submit to Christ's plan? Since Christ was specific about submitting to the authorities He has set in place, I have to believe that this includes not just governments, not just employers, but the Church also. Or do we think He ascended into Heaven, gave the disciples a thumbs up, and said, good luck with the mission, guys! Quite simply said, I don't think the idea that Christ delegated His authority is up for debate (this is another topic for another post, perhaps), nor do I believe He left earth for heaven without implementing a specific plan by which the Church would fulfill the task of making disciples. And if I believe that, then the natural end of that belief is that I must be the one to bend myself to what Christ has already established.

In speaking of the requirements and appropriate behaviors for deacons of the Church, St. Paul writes to Timothy,

"...if I am delayed, you will know how people ought to conduct themselves in God's household, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and foundation of the truth."
1 Timothy 3:15

Paul himself calls the Church the pillar and foundation of the truth. The Church is the final authority on the truth, not the individual believer. The more I allow my mind and soul to marinate in Paul's words, the more I see how wrong I have been. Yes, the Lord wants me to know, to be instructed, to be fully engaging my faith with heart, soul, and intellect. But ultimately, the Church is the pillar and foundation of truth. If there is disagreement between me and what the Church teaches, it's up to me to submit. I'm not saying I like it, but I am saying that I believe this is what Christ wants of me. Of all believers, really.

There is so much more I could say, so many things where I barely scratched the surface that I could expound upon; perhaps in future posts I will. For now, this catechumen moves forward with full conviction, basking in God's goodness. It has seemed dark to me lately, but I trust these are the moments when He is hardest at work in me, making a stubborn heart tender, teaching humility by degrees to my prideful will. He's created a plan, provided a way. He's given us the Church to instruct and guide each us in order that we may please our Heavenly Father and join Him one day in heaven.

So with David, the prayer of my heart is, Teach me your way, O LORD, and I will walk in your truth; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name. - Psalm 86:11

When He Hides

I recently wrote on my main blog of the darkness through which I walk right now. Though I cannot see down the length of the path down which our Lord leads me, I must trust His leading and trust that this is all from His goodness. I must see my circumstances in light of of Him, not the other way around.

A friend sent Psalm 13 my way. I share it here. I love the way The Message puts this psalm, especially the last line.

Have your way with me, Lord. I trust in you and your goodness.


Psalm 13
of David

Long enough, God— you've ignored me long enough. I've looked at the back of your head long enough. Long enough I've carried this ton of trouble, lived with a stomach full of pain. Long enough my arrogant enemies have looked down their noses at me.

Take a good look at me, God, my God; I want to look life in the eye, So no enemy can get the best of me or laugh when I fall on my face.

I've thrown myself headlong into your arms— I'm celebrating your rescue. I'm singing at the top of my lungs, I'm so full of answered prayers.