Maybe

When I began to really understand what was happening at mass, I didn't understand why people all around me weren't crying with joy. Why people aren't silent and reverent the entire time. Why the air in the church isn't thick and important. Why did it seem, on the outside, like nothing important was happening? I don't know this answer. If I had to guess I'd say maybe some people don't know what's happening. Maybe others are having an off day. Maybe some have gotten complacent. And, maybe, most importantly, I am not the judge of what other people have going on in their heart and soul in mass. Maybe on the inside they are busting with love and joy and worship and on the outside they are trying to keep their 2 year old from disturbing the entire congregation.

There came a time on my journey that I could not deny Christ's real, true presence in the Eucharist. I literally felt something deep in my gut any time I was around the Blessed Sacrament in adoration. I initially thought that the tug I felt in my stomach was because of my realization that Christ was in the room with me. I knew that I was in front of Jesus and so maybe my brain made my stomach feel butterflies. I didn't know the reason. But I did know that when you come to know that Christ is really, truly present in the Eucharist, you no longer find mass boring. It's impossible. I also found myself longing to spend time with Him in prayer, adoration and mass.

One day, I was driving to Lake Charles to meet my mom, and I decided to stop at OLQH to pop in and say a quick prayer in front of the Blessed Sacrament. I have been to OLQH before for mass, but I had no idea where the chapel was. I was lugging Dane walking around the church trying to find the chapel, and all of a sudden --out of nowhere-- I got that feeling deep in my gut, and I knew He must be close. I turned the corner and there was the door! That was such an awesome realization. I don't always feel that feeling and maybe one day I won't feel it at all, and that'll be ok because Christ is really present in the Eucharist no matter how I do or don't feel about it. With or without my gut feeling.

I went to a Woman's Group meeting recently that takes place in a room at a church in Sulphur. I try to go to this meeting monthly. The meeting is at 7PM, and that's pretty late in my house with my kids. I didn't want to go, so I knew that meant that I needed to. (Funny how that works, eh?) I fed my family, took a shower, put on a t-shirt and headed to the church for the meeting with wet hair, not a lick of makeup and sweatpants. Oh well. I figured it was better that I go looking a mess than not go at all. 

Generally when I go to these meetings I know about 2 or 3 of the 20 people there. This time, none of my friends were at the meeting. I walked in and sat down. I smiled at the two ladies whom I've seen every morning for several weeks when the kids and I would attend daily mass. They didn't smile back. I sat down in the circle alone. My mind started judging. "Wow, that's really nice. This meeting is supposed to be about sisterhood, and the women I go to mass with can't even return a smile." And then I caught myself. I don't know their hearts. Maybe they were daydreaming when I smiled and said hi. Maybe they don't recognize me with wet hair and no makeup. Who knows. 

Remember when I told y'all about that awesome experience I had in confession when the priest went on and on about how terrible my sins were? Well, it was awesome. No, really, it was. Anyway, one of the things he talked to me about was how terrible gossip and judging is. He said (in my own, incomparable words) that when you gossip about someone you are taking away their right to a good reputation. Whether the thing you are discussing is true or not does not matter. You are claiming to know their heart and their intentions and since you cannot possibly know either (because you aren't God) you shouldn't speak about others in that way. I remember hearing something about how when you judge others you don't have the opportunity to love them. 

Anyway, so there I am sitting all alone in the circle and judging the other women who aren't saying hi or trying to make me feel welcomed all the while (and here's the kicker) sitting there not saying hi to anyone or trying to make anyone else who might be alone feel welcomed. The beam in my eye was SO BIG that I was having a hard time seeing.

A woman gave a small talk about how, in her day, there was a reverence for the Blessed Sacrament that we are missing today. She talked about how important modesty was and she shared a little of her personal story. It was such a great talk. I really benefited from alot of it, and, yet, some of it made me uncomfortable, which always makes me look within myself and wonder why. She mentioned that she thought it was incredibly disrespectful seeing someone in yoga pants in adoration and how terrible it is to see people in mass in shorts or who had just come from ball games or in halter tops and short skirts. She mentioned how loud the noise is in mass. My heart sank and my pride was starting to rear it's ugly, ugly head. 

I've been the person driving by the church and feeling an undeniable pull to stop in for a few minutes and spend some time with Him in the Blessed Sacrament. The problem was, it's summer and I have two kids who I have to lug around and chase after and, so, sometimes I wear shorts so I don't sweat to death. Would I wear shorts to mass on Sunday? No. But, I figure if the Holy Spirit is leading me somewhere I didn't plan to be, who am I to say "but, umm, I have shorts on and people might think that's irreverent". Because, THAT would be the reason I don't stop. Not because Christ would be offended. I mean, I don't know if He would be offended or not. I know that God is omnipotent and so he sees me when I'm walking around Wal-Mart in shorts. I know that, out of respect, I wouldn't get dressed to spend time with Him and put on a swimsuit. But, when I have no plans of heading to church and something pulls me to Him and I'm wearing shorts-- the ONLY reason I wouldn't go is because of others. Because of what others might think. Because of what my sister or brother in Christ might think. That's terrible. Really. That's my pride. That's my wanting to be well thought of. 

I don't know the answer. I don't know what's right and what's wrong. I don't know if I should pass up the Church because of the shorts or if I should go in despite them. I truly don't know.

I just know that you and I DON'T know. We don't. We can't. We don't know if the woman in yoga pants in adoration has been taking care of her sick kids all day and her mom offered to watch the kids for 5 minutes while she runs to the church. Maybe she's spent all week wiping up snot and she doesn't have any church appropriate clothes clean. Maybe the woman in a halter top in mass recently came back to the Church and she doesn't know that what she is wearing is disrespectful. Maybe the woman wearing too tight clothing just had a baby and has no time or money to run to the store to find something that will fit her. Maybe the family that looks like they're wearing ball game clothes IS wearing ball game clothes because they had a game and today is the ONLY day they can attend mass. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe the guy wearing shorts doesn't care that it's disrespectful. Maybe. Maybe the woman wearing a short skirt likes getting attention from guys and she's using church as her own personal dating show. Maybe. Maybe. That's the point: maybe. We don't know. You and I don't know. We can only do our best. We can only love and set a good example. We can only lovingly correct those with whom we have a relationship. Because, trust me, nothing will get the woman in the halter top going like a perfect stranger commenting on how inappropriately she is dressed. 

It's not our job. It's just not. I am wrong about alot. And maybe I'm wrong about this, and if I am, I hope someone corrects me. Maybe my secular "to each his own" attitude is creeping into my spirituality. I don't know. I know that I want to learn. I want to serve Christ in the best way I can. And, if that means that you need to tell me I'm doing things wrong, then do it! I welcome it! But, not everyone is there, y'all. We don't know where people are on their journey. We don't know. We can't. 

I've been in morning mass with Elaina sitting quietly next to me and Dane yelling randomly and squirming. We're all in a small, cramped chapel. I sweat. I try to get him to sit still and to be quiet, but he's 15 months old and he doesn't understand. I've sat there, in prayer, while Father is blessing the bread with tears streaming down my face because I'm torn: I want, so badly that I cannot verbalize it, to be there and yet I worry that I'm selfishly disturbing my neighbor. I've had sweet older ladies make a point to come to me after mass and express how wonderful it is that I bring my kids to mass. I've had someone tell me how great of a job I'm doing and how they know it isn't easy. I've had Fr. Guilbeau tell me (after my apologizing for the noise) not to worry that it just means new life in the Church and that it's awesome. I've had older gentlemen comment on how Dane will be a choir member with that loud, beautiful "singing" voice. And, yet, I wonder. I wonder how many people sitting in the front are rolling their eyes wishing that woman who is sitting there clueless letting her kids "do whatever they want" would shut up her kids. I wonder. 

You don't know someone's heart. You can't. Pray for them. Pray for yourself. Love. 

My Confession

You'll remember from this blog post that I struggled with confession. I used to see it as a good tool, but just couldn't wrap my head around the fact that it was necessary. That was back when I was making my own rules and had made myself my own god. Anyway, there came a time when I fell in love with confession (what a weird thing to say, right?) and I was hoping I could share that particular story here. 

I know that confession, or the Sacrament of Reconciliation, is something that Protestants don't get. I know that a lot of Catholics don't get it because I was a Catholic for 26 years before I really got it. I will address (quickly and incompletely) a few of the main objections.

1. Confession isn't in the bible: ^"21 Then said Jesus to them again, Peace be unto you: as my Father hath sent me, even so send I you.
²² And when he had said this, he breathed on them, and saith unto them, Receive ye the Holy Ghost:
²³ Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained." (John 20:21-23 --that's also the King James Version which I know that alot of Protestants use)

2. Confession is something the Catholic Church made up along the way: Some of the earliest Christian writings (dating back to the first century) make it clear that the sacrament goes back to the beginning of the Church. In 1215, Confession was reaffirmed and emphazised in the Fourth Lateran Council and maybe that's why people think it was "created" later. 

3. I can go straight to God with my sins.: "When it is 'just me and God' it is all too easy to project my own qualities and biases upon God. Then, rather than being created in the image of God, we begin to create God in our fallen image." "Catholics who use this argument tend to not be in the habit of confessing directly to God either. Too often it is used not to justify a different form of confession, but as an excuse to avoid confession altogether." (Rediscover Catholicism by Matthew Kelly)

These points are incomplete, but I wanted to give a little rather than nothing at all in case someone reading this just doesn't understand confession at all. You can use the above as a jump start to learn more if you're interested! It's not my intention to change your mind about confession or to say that I'm right and you're wrong. I only to hope to address some serious questions and misunderstandings that maybe you've only ever had the question to, but were never presented an answer.

So, we all know I struggled with the concept of confession. I didn't understand why I couldn't just go straight to God (which -like said above- I never actually DID). Remember how I read and read and read and read? Well, I read about confession, and I learned something frightening. I had never made a good confession in my life. Not ever. Not once. I'd been to confession. I'd confessed my sins, sometimes completely, but without an ounce of sorrow, sometimes withholding the ones that I was too embarrassed to say to an old dude, sometimes I didn't confess things that I didn't deem sinful (but that clearly were). Anyway, never. Not once. That's scary. So, after I freaked out for a hot minute, I decided to do one, big, all encompassing confession for the 26 years I'd never taken it seriously.

I decided the next day would be devoted to prayer and fasting and my first real confession. I set apart some serious time to examine my conscience, and, when the next day came, I was ready. It was a weekday, and there were no scheduled confession times at my church this day. 

I couldn't get to confession fast enough. Really. Imagine finding out that you have been exposed to a deadly strain of the flu. How quickly would you run to the sink to scrub your hands clean? You might even hop in a hot shower. Anyway, that's how I felt. So, I called my church office asked if Father would be able to hear my confession. The secretary told me she would ask him and get back with me. Pure agony. I had to wait and wait and wait. She called back. Father was very sorry, but he was leaving to go on vacation and wouldn't have enough time before he left town. My pride yelled from inside "Wow, some priest he is! This is his JOB. Here I am chilling with mortal sins on my soul and he's going on VACATION? How badly would he feel if I died today!! This is serious!" 

I caught myself. "Wait. Maybe God has a purpose for this! I don't know what's going on in Father's life or day. Calm down." 

I took a chill pill and told Marvin. He suggested I go to confession before 5:30 mass at a different church that afternoon, and I could even go to mass after. Perfect. I would be able to receive Him. It would be the first time I did so with an understanding of what that really meant. It would be the first time I did so while in a state of grace. I couldn't wait. I wanted to make sure this counted. I continued fasting and praying and really preparing. 

The time came for me to make it to confession and my heart was pounding. I walked into the chapel, and sitting on the altar was the Blessed Sacrament. My heart dropped into my toes and my stomach did a flip. I got in line. I prayed that I would feel sorrow for my sins and that I would make a good confession. I prayed and prayed and prayed and waited for my turn. It was my turn. I walked towards the confessional and an old dude walked out. "Hey, can I catch you after mass? I don't want to be late starting mass!" My eyes looked panicked.  I looked at him as if to say "WAIT! NO! I reaaaaaaally need this!" I said nothing.  "Would that be ok," he asked. I said sure. I turned around and walked back to the pew and sat down and tears streamed down my cheeks. 

And then, out of nowhere it hit me like a 50 pound weight. How I felt in that moment was a small, small piece of how I made Jesus feel the majority of my life. This is how it felt to Him knowing that I was walking around with all of these sins and therefore separating myself from Him. This sorrow that I felt. This terrible feeling of being separated from Him and this longing to be near Him and open to His graces. I've been aware of this for only 48 hours and it was killing me. He's felt this way most of my life. This deep desire to be connected with Him is something He's felt and I've ignored. I've never even given it thought. Wow. How awesome is God? Had all the things worked out perfectly (according to my plan), had I been to confession when I wanted to go, I would have never had this epiphany. That was totally the Holy Spirit. I sat through mass with an ache in my body. I didn't want to be separated from Him for one more minute. This sucks.

Mass ended and the priest came to me and asked if I was ready. As an extra stab at my pride I had decided (before arriving to the chapel) that I would make this big, fat, ugly confession face-to-face.

I walk in to the confessional and sit down across from the priest. He starts chatting about how he's sorry that he had to make me wait, but blah blah blah one time when he was hearing confession before mass he kept letting people come and he missed the entire mass and blah blah blah funny story that's taking a long time. I tried to pretend like I was listening. JUST LET ME SAY MY CONFESSION. Ok, his story is done. It's time. 

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession, but I have really been learning about our faith and praying and I learned that I have never in my entire life made a good confession, so, I would like to make a big, all encompassing confession now." 

"Ok, but you're not going to remember..." I cut him off.

I pulled out my five pages of paper full of all of my sins (front and back on composition paper). "Ummmm. I wrote them down."

His eyes get big. "Uh. Ok. Go ahead."

I go through my sins. I cry. I finish. I look up at him. He's smiling.

"Wow. Ok. It sounds like God sent you a wake up call, and you got it."

We talked for a bit.  I said my penance in front of the Blessed Sacrament and I prayed in thanksgiving for a while.

That's how I fell in love with confession. I go pretty often now. I wish I didn't have to go, but for some darn reason I make the same mistakes OVER and OVER. It's exhausting. Thank goodness we have a loving and merciful God!

Similarily, recently I walked into confession with my chest puffed out. I was all proud of my itty bitty venial sins. I mean, I'm a mom and a wife. My sins aren't all that crazy. I thought I would be in and out. Nope. This priest was awesome. He really knocked my off my high horse. He spent a good deal of time talking to me about how damaging and sinful gossip was. He chastised me. It was great. My penance was spending FIVE DAYS off of Facebook. I wish I could confess to this priest every time. My pride could use some stabbing at, and this priest is the man for the job. Make sure you confess to a priest who challenges you! You could stand to be pushed every now and then.  

God's plan is so much better than mine or yours. When I needed to go to confession so bad that it hurt, I was forced to wait so that I could learn something. When I walked into confession feeling like I wasn't that bad, I was scolded. We get what we need at the time. Had the two situations been flipped (the tough priest for the big confession and the other one for the "little" confession), who knows what would have happened. It's good to be uncomfortable! Get uncomfortable!