An Interior View

Explaining my conversion to Catholicism isn't easy.  Even trying to express it to the the home crowd, I can never get the right balance.  There is too much.

Protestant Fundamentalism/Evangelicalism is a bookish kind of life.  Dominated (rightly) by the Bible, it comes naturally to hand a book to a friend when you are trying to explain the things that matter to you and that are leading to greater spiritual growth in your life.  There are many terrific books about Catholicism that I could give to Protestant friends, but the responses would range from burning the book to politely allowing it to collect dust.  

I keep looking for books that open windows of understanding on my Catholic beliefs and practices with a simple, open-handed honesty that allows the reader to take it or leave it.  My sponsor Jane handed me the first book of this type at my Confirmation--Catholic and Christian. I have finally found a second.

My Life with the Saints tackles the very sticky wicket, the communion of the saints.  I remember discussing my prayer life with a Protestant friend who suddenly gasped and said, "You don't pray to Mary, do you?"  For the record, yes, I do.  For some of my friends that is inconceivable.  For them that means I worship the saints.  For the record, no, I don't.

Understanding how Catholics really think about the saints could be truly helpful in understanding this surprising and important part of Catholic life.  To James Martin, S.J., the saints are our models, intercessors, and friends.  He opens up the intertwining of his life with the lives of the saints, spreading all his inner thinking out for the world to see--including my Protestant friends.  The work of the saints is there to be seen in abundance, but I'm afraid evidence of idolatry is clearly lacking.

You can't convince the hard-hearted of anything, but for those who would truly like to understand their brothers and sisters a little better, this book could be helpful.

institutional bitterness

"You're Marguerite Donnelly's granddaughter," a stranger might say to me back home in Western Maryland.  Living side by side for generations, that said a lot.  It meant I was a Durr.  Durrs are prized for their intelligence and empathy.  They are derided for their emotionalism and vanity.  The next thing to figure out was the relationship between our families.  No one  pulled out guns, but if there was bad blood things cooled off.  Even within families offenses festered.  My great-grandfather didn't speak to his twin brother for thirty years.  He'd stepped off his train because he believed in the union, and his brother had stepped right on because he needed the job.
Living like that is frightening, but it becomes engrained, a point of honor.  It was everywhere I went, just like the pure mountain water.  When I became a Catholic I realized that those habits had to change.  I had to find a new way to live.
"Go forth to love, serve and forgive one another." is one of the things the priest says after mass.  For a while it was so convicting that I thought he said it every week.  Everywhere I went in the Church, I kept bumping into forgiveness and I started to try.
I tried a lot of things, but struggled until I drew on another Durr strength--storytelling. I had a nasty habit of reviewing wrongs and framing them up in such a way that the listener would be moved to take up arms on my behalf.  In the middle of such a reminiscence, common sense said, "This is not forgiving."  So, right there, where the story was most juicy, I forgave.  I forgave all of it, even the emotional impact.  It has turned out to be a very worthy exercise, and my heart is much lighter.
We all have accreted prejudices of many kinds, but those supported by the communities that support us are the worst and most difficult to relinquish.

The journey of a thousand miles

"In the beginning, God created...." I can stop right there as I look for insight from the Bible about division. When God created he divided. Suddenly there was I AM, and I depend, so division is not evil in itself. It can be good. I think that's a reassuring and auspicious first step on my journey of discovery. Contrary to my instinctive response to division, division is not evil.

Division

I've been thinking quite a bit about division lately. Not the mathematical function, thankfully I quit thinking about that a long time ago. I mean the idea of division among human beings. It started as a simple mourning over the open wounds in the body of Christ, but it has grown to a larger contemplation of division itself.
I really only have one area of expertise, and even that is limited. I know the Bible. I've read it from cover to cover at least fifteen times, and I've been immersed in it since before I was born. I don't really mind because the Bible is so rich a source, and always rewards study. I've decided to work my way through the Bible studying examples of division as I come to them. I thought a few of you might find my ponderings interesting, so I'll record my thoughts as I have them.
Hopefully the study will yield insight as to the causes of division, the morality of division, and as an elegant by-product some understanding about unity as well. For we know that..."there is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.