On the way....

Here goes.

When I was young, back up when we went to Kingston Christian Church, possibly when we lived in Kingston, for all I know, I was not allowed to receive communion. I was not aware of this until another little girl was sitting with our family and took the wafer and cup as the plates passed by. I wanted to know why I could not. My mother explained to me the seriousness of what these elements were; they represented Jesus, God who died to take away our sins. I do not remember a time when I had not a perfectionist streak in me. I saw that I needed Jesus to be perfect. I saw that his death was very serious and that the wafer and the cup were connected to this. Whatever I grasped I grasped that Jesus loves me and this was part of how he showed his love. I wanted it.

I accepted Christ at a young age and was baptized some years later in Tennessee. I realized as time went on that I was not yet perfect. At times I rebelled against what I knew, in my own quiet way. I realized that with knowledge comes responsibility and wished I did not know as much about the Bible; maybe then I would not have to be good. Though, I did want to do what was right, even when it meant I felt cheated when others ate out of the candy jar without permission. Still, I did want to please God, because God loves me.

I struggled at times with feeling like a failure; it can be so difficult to forgive people, it could be so hard to keep my mind and heart pure, especially when I have such a vivid and curious imagination.

I realized at one point, when I was still in high-school, that my “mind drifts” were not a good idea. Here is the premise behind that term: I would let my mind drift into whatever stories it happened upon, whatever characters showed up. Mostly the stories were adventure stories like, Grey Wolf being a sort of Robin Hood-like female character, without the band of merry men—just a loose association of honorable, well, brigands; or Charles the scorned son, rejected by his mother and family, who nonetheless went on be the honorable one who saves lives and stuff; or the Island Princess, on a cold island in the north Atlantic, who must learn much in England before returning to her homeland to wrest it from the English; and on and on I could go. If that was all, not necessarily bad, but what about the blind servant who was raped? Later I changed it to have her rescued, but still it was not good. The verse about taking every thought captive convicted me. I knew that I needed to not allow my mind to live into each story that came along; some must be rejected.

Along the way, especially after getting into college, I learned that I really needed to avoid movies and books with sexual content. The problem was not that I would replay those exact images, it was that it fueled the side of the imagination that led me accidentally into a bad mental sexuality that included masturbation. It did not happen all at once, took a few years, really, and even then there were the words that I knew to be wrong, but I heard them so often that they became excuses--”natural”, “healthy”, “normal”. I heard them in movies and tv shows, sometimes not explicitly but out of the way in which the subject was treated. When I first heard the word “masturbate”, it shocked. I did not know what it meant, could guess, but did not want to know.

Why would I tell all that? Because, it plays a role in a particular story of spiritual growth. See, it got to this point where I would pretty much monthly either struggle against or surrender to sexual imaginings of characters who were only in my mind, but the imaginings affected my body—call it mental porn. It was frustrating, because I knew it felt good temporarily, was wrong, and kept coming back. I would pray, on better days. Sometimes I would sing or read the Bible or just try to focus on something else. I would think I had victory, and the next month the mental porn was back. (I did not notice the monthly cycle of it immediately). 

In the mean time, some years back I had the thought that I could write history with more sympathy for the Catholics then what I grew up on. As someone who was not Catholic, maybe people would pay more attention, give it more credit. At another point I described myself to our Cumberland Presbyterian Chaplain at college as a “Catholic-leaning Cumberland Presbyterian.” I often during those years would describe myself as Christian “officially Cumberland Presbyterian”. A few years before that, my family had joined the Cumberland Presbyterian Church. I still remember them telling me what they were doing and inviting me to go up with them to join. I asked what they believed and was given the Confession of Faith. I did not see anything stand out as particularly wrong, and I did see the importance of the church as a body, being dependent on one another, helping one another, holding each other accountable. My family was going, so would I.

I appreciated the more liturgical balance of the service, though I thought it more businesslike than what I remembered of the mass. I enjoyed teaching in Sunday school or going to Sunday school before the main service. The Cumberland Presbyterian Church has a missionary focus that is energetic and admirable. When a new pastor came, and there was greater emphasis on the CP identity, he led a class on the Confession of Faith. It was very helpful and interesting; the main thing I remember explicitly is the conversation on infant baptism.

Somewhere during that time frame, I got to teach world history, much to my delight. I ordered a few books off a list I made for my students to read some of the philosophical works of the past. Among these was Apologia pro Vita Sua by John Henry Newman. I began reading it. It is a very interesting book, but I set it aside because he might have persuaded me to become Catholic. That was an uncomfortable thought, not because I did not like Catholics or Catholicism nor because I did like them, but rather because I was teaching at a school where the history books are anti-Catholic and I knew my mother would not like it and I was afraid of how people might react.

I knew where I was headed.

We receive this lovely, thoughtful magazine called First Things. Its premise is that religion matters a lot in the public square. In it, schools and conferences are advertised, but I do not tend to pay much note to those. I am more interested in reading the book reviews, the correspondence pages of continued conversations about past articles, or the articles about such things as truly looking at people, the Syro-Phoenician woman, or the “Back Page” with all its curiosity. There was this add, though, “Challenging the Secular Culture” and I thought that it might be good to go, as a teacher. Maybe I could learn something that I could pass on to equip my students to face the world with boldness. I asked advice, mostly of my father, and went up to Steubenville, Ohio’s Franciscan University.

It was lovely. It was invigorating; I enjoyed listening and taking notes, breathing in the cool air and occasionally talking to people.

I went to mass on Saturday, because I would be traveling on Sunday and wanted to go to church. It was a large, not particularly attractive building from the outside. They had a band to the left of altar down along the wall. That was odd to me, as last time I had been to mass with a choir or band of some sort they played in the back in a choir loft. But when we celebrated the liturgy of the Eucharist, I wept. It did not matter that I stayed back in my pew kneeling and praying and trying to not be in people’s way. I knew it was more important to be here where the body and blood of Jesus were. 

I had been studying John’s gospel. It took me a while, but I had the Ignatius Study Bible of John, with its questions in the back and a Dallas Theological Seminary online course. It was really amazing. One of the things that was very clear to me, is that when Jesus said that he would give us his own flesh and blood, he meant it. Many disciples left. I did not want to leave.

I also did not want to leave. I did not want to leave off following Jesus, but I did not want to leave the comfort of where I was. I had felt the need to stop some of my roles at Liberty, because I did not believe what the Cumberland Church teaches on Communion and on what were the books of the Bible. While studying John, running into troublesome passages, I began restudying the Confession alongside What we Believe by which was written to explain Cumberland Presbyterian beliefs. I could see their scriptural reasoning behind revising the Westminster Confession, but I was not readily able, through internet digging, to find out why the subsequent revisions which continued to subtract from and soften the Confession of Faith. It was bothersome. I do not know how I found Church Militant and Catholic Answers on YouTube, but I did listen to them. I also picked up Responding from the Scriptures with Catholics by Ron Rhodes from a Goodwill. I figured I wanted to hear both sides.

Here is what it came down to: I cannot hope to understand every passage of scripture in every possible theologically correct way. I cannot rely on my reason alone, but I do see Jesus plainly starting his Church with Peter as recorded in Matthew--”You are Peter (Rock) and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” I do see that Jesus body and blood are present in the Eucharist just as he says it is as recorded in John. If the gates of hell did not prevail against the Church, it is still present and it is the one called Catholic. I wanted to receive the body and the blood of Christ that he tells us, gives us eternal life, and to eat and drink in memory of him. I had to become a Catholic.

When I returned home, I started to go to Saturday vigil masses from time to time. I asked my father about joining the Catholic Church. He said he would rejoice. I asked my mother; she said I needed to follow God wherever that led me. I continued to attend Liberty with my family, but also became more regular in my attendance to mass.

Just before October, it was announced that October was the month of the Rosary. Now, I knew a little about the Rosary already. There is this girl in a story who is Catholic. Her mother died and she goes to live with her father she has not known and his family. It is very much a struggle, but she prays the Rosary pretty regularly, so I had to look up the prayers. It was a Monday in the story, which means one is to reflect on the Joyful Mysteries—how wonderful!--remembering the announcement to Mary, her visit with Elizabeth, the birth of Jesus, his presentation in the temple, and his being found in the temple. Joy! That was what my girl needed. So I saved a pile of prayers and continued typing. Well, now, here I am however long after that all happened hearing that October is the month of the Rosary. I might take another look at those prayers and stuff, but then a lady at St. Catherine’s gave me a Rosary. During October, most days, I prayed the Rosary in the evenings. After October, I was not as diligent. It was also in or around October, that I began to go to RCIA—Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults—a class for adults who are interested in the Catholic faith. It was not the most brilliant class, but some of the videos were interesting and educational. I was given a slim volume on Catholic teaching, which I sometimes read alongside the Confession of Faith. It was deeper and more particular about doctrine.

A couple months passed, and it occurred to me that I had not struggled with mental porn since before October. I think I was reminded by a fleeting temptation that was so easily brushed aside with prayer. I was so happy; God had used meditating on the gospel through the Rosary, he answered our prayers, and protected me. I am grateful for Mary’s, and Joan’s and Jeremiah’s, intercession; and mostly I am grateful for the great work of Jesus.

Easter of 2017, I was confirmed in the Catholic Church. It is more important to me than my graduations past.

I do not know everything; I know I am still not perfect; but I do know that God is still working with me. I will still face temptations, but I know that God is cleansing me of all unrighteousness and that I do not fight alone. I do not like the division between me and people that I still love that has happened as I have continued to follow Jesus, but I still hope for that time when the whole Church will be united under Christ and the world will know that we are Christians by our love.