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Why would I, a retired college
professor, lifelong Anglican, political activist and ardent feminist, join the
Catholic church? Join it even as I loathed its exclusionary stances on
homosexuality and divorced persons and the role of the laity, even as I rued
its tin-eared translations of the Bible and the Psalter, and abhorred its
growing intolerance of dissent. Why ever?
God only knows. Ultimately conversion is a mystery and a
grace.
What I experienced was a sharp pull into an invisible vehicle, a
capture, a wild night ride at breakneck speed. I dont know what
precipitated the journey, only that it was fast and long and uninterruptible. I
found myself compulsively praying, thinking, debating, reading (the Catechism
of the Catholic Church, church history, Newmans letters, Teresa of Avila,
NCR, America) and backpewing it every Saturday at a different
Vigil Mass in my area, hoping not to be recognized, half hoping this madness
would pass.
It didnt. Several years ago I was received into the church
on the feast of Teresa of Avila, Deo gratias.
And, ever since, I rejoice in: Daily Mass. Saints days.
Mary. The crucifix. Reserved sacrament. Stations. Reconciliation.
Benediction.
The churchs teachings on social justice. The example of
Dorothy Day, Mother Teresa, Fr. Roy Bourgeois, Louis Vitale, Pax Christi,
Catholic Charities, and the tuned-in, vocal nuns who do Gods work
everywhere. Vatican II and initiatives in ecumenism and apologies for past
anti-Semitism and other ecclesial sins. (May this work go forward!) The heroism
of dissenters who love the church enough to stay and work for change.
Pew piety. Belief in the Real Presence. The joy of shut-ins
receiving Communion. The Salve Regina, Anima Christi, the Prayer of St.
Francis. The rosary in an anxious night, the Angelus at daybreak, reading the
Divine Office and knowing I participate in the ongoing prayer of the whole
church. Holy water, Mass intentions, singing the Alleluia, chanting Parce
Domine at the close of Lenten Masses.
Every word of the liturgy, but especially, My peace I give
you, Only say the word and I shall be healed, and Do
this. Doing this in Dijon, on the steps of the U.S. Capitol, in the
Nevada desert, in a tent on the Chattahoochie River, before the tomb of John of
the Cross, in the local nursing home -- and every Sunday with the byzantinely
interrelated clans of my parish, clad in bowling jackets and leather,
body-pierced and blue-rinsed, Knight of Columbus and gangly confirmand who took
Maximillian as his saints name. Saying one, holy,
Catholic and apostolic, and feeling truly a part of this, at last.
The long and inexhaustible line of spiritual teachers and gifted
theologians. The dedication of so many parish priests. The variety of churches
(within the Cleveland diocese alone!) The beauty of Romanesque and Southwest
Mission architecture, and the beauty of churches built in basements, pitched
after floods and earthquakes and civil wars, or formed illegally and without
walls. The church of tomorrow so many are trying to build today.
I am glad to stand among them.
DIANE VREULS Oberlin, Ohio
I was raised Anglican, attended an
Anglican secondary school in Perth, Western Australia, and would describe
myself as agnostic when I completed my time there. I attended university, and
thought nothing of religion. As a teacher, I found myself employed in a
Catholic secondary school and was entranced by what I witnessed. In 1983, I
spent time in Chile with Mercy sisters from Rochester, N.Y., and Victoria,
Australia. I joined them in their celebrations and work. Within six months of
returning to Australia, I was accepted into the Catholic religion. I studied
Catholic religious education and ended up working at a secular university,
teaching Catholic studies units to students preparing to teach in the Catholic
school sector.
In 1992 I was asked to write a short article for a social justice
newsletter about a new venture in Perth, a Catholic university. I pointed out
that while the Catholic church here was pouring millions into this elite
university, the social justice and welfare program of the church was being cut.
At the same time, the church lost millions in a bad business deal. To say that
the article created a storm would be an understatement. The church as an
institution made my life hell. I saw no sign of a loving institution or
leaders. Some things they said were slanderous. Certain people stood firmly by
me, and anyone who did was crucified. I use the term deliberately.
I went to spend some time with the Maryknoll Sisters in Guatemala,
figuring if anyone or any place could rekindle what was by then a dying faith,
that combination would. It didnt. I left the church that I had joined
with great love 10 years earlier. I know the church is bigger than the people
who run it and those who attend, but I read stories similar to mine all the
time. I grieved for a long time. I dont want to go anywhere near a
Catholic church ever again in my life.
Your paper is perhaps the only one left with the courage to share
what is happening in the church. Sr. Joan Chittister is brilliant. So are
others. How they remain within the hideous institution is beyond me.
ANNE HARRIS Joondalup, Western Australia
Why stay? For me, the answer is
simply John 6:67-69. There is no other faith that can give me what the church
does, though there is much in which some might not consider me
orthodox.
CATHARINE CARPENTER Quincy, Ill.
Because I have been wondering for
years why I keep going to church, Kerry Egans article made a big
impression on me. I wept at the part where Spanish women silently surround the
weeping Kerry and breathe with her until she stops shaking.
Kerry is probably right: Its the ritual that keeps us in the
fold, and no one can explain satisfactorily why this is so. I am way past
fretting over the hierarchys abuse of power, feminist issues, views on
contraception, homosexuality -- the list is endless.
But thats not the nub of the problem for me. I no longer
believe literally the twin pillars of Christian faith: that Jesus is God and
his death saved the world. But I know that the myth of Christ has literally
saved millions; Christ is their salvation.
My salvation is a syncretistic spirituality incorporating
Buddhism, Taoism and more isms. My faith has increased since I stopped
believing the Christian story literally. So why do I keep going to church?
Its my spiritual home. There are more reasons, none of which I fully
understand.
Thank you for the opportunity to say this. Its a relief to
come out of the closet about my true conviction.
JEANETTE BLONIGEN CLANCY Avon, Minn.
I am 51, raised in a relatively
small ethnic Protestant denomination. After two tragedies in the summer of
1991, I found myself with a God who was shaking his finger at me, saying, you
got what you deserved -- certainly not a God who would help me heal.
A local hospital chaplain had an answer for me, the Ignatian
exercises. I had no clue what that was about, but he was convincing, and a year
and a half later, I found myself on the Catholic road, although that is not
what I thought at the time. I just knew that I had been exposed to some
wonderful authors and people in the form of priests and nuns whose spirituality
I desired for myself. It still took until spring of 2000 on a silent retreat in
the deserts of Arizona, struggling with where I needed to attend church, that I
heard God say, Why not the Catholic church? Some of my friends
dont understand, others wonder why it took me so long to hear
that. But, a year later, I struggle with whether to make the leap.
I, too, have many reservations about the official stance of the
church on many issues, but also know that within the body I find many Catholics
who are able to let go of that aspect of the church, for the spirituality and
blessings they receive in spite of that. I understand the desire of many
cradle Catholics to stay in the church, despite their disagreements
with much of what comes out of the governing body. My struggle is how I can as
a new convert say yes with so many buts. Am I saying
yes to just enough so I can (legitimately) partake of Communion at
the Mass?
I am looking for answers. This has not been an easy journey. But I
also cant turn around on this road I am on, nor do I want to.
NETTIE VAN DUINEN Redlands, Calif.
How interesting are the stories of
two women, Moni McIntyre (Theology professor removed from post after
ordination, NCR, Feb. 2, and Professor, university
reach compromise, NCR, Feb. 9) and Sue Birnie (Confessions
of a Catholic feminist, NCR, Feb. 2) who traveled the road between
Canterbury and Rome, one from Rome to Canterbury and the other from Canterbury
to Rome. I can see why each took the journey she did.
However, as an Anglican, I was surprised at some of the statements
that Sue Birnie made to support her journey to Rome. For example, one is not
baptized an Anglican. And what on earth is the faith of Henry VIII? And what
Anglican, outside the British Isles, recognizes Elizabeth II as the head of the
church? She may be the supreme governor of the established Church of England,
but she is just another Anglican to Anglicans in Africa, Latin America, Asia
and the United States.
I have always been amused at the Protestantism of the claim that
Christ built his church on Peter. It is claimed that the Methodist church was
built on Wesley, the Lutheran church was built on Luther, Presbyterian and
Reformed churches were built on Calvin -- and then we are told the Roman
Catholic church was built on Peter.
The apostle Peter confessed to our Lord, Thou art the
Christ, the Son of the living God. It is on this faith and this
conviction that the Christian church -- entered by baptism -- is built. On what
other foundation could the Christian church be built?
Thank you for the parallel stories of these two courageous
women.
(The Rev.) GEORGE H. BRANT Bordentown, N.J.
National Catholic Reporter, March 9,
2001
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