So I have learned more about the King of Hearts: the suicide king, or Charlemagne...interesting mythology surrounding the card. I suppose everything has a story of meaning behind it. Last night, we entered intot that strange part of Abraham's life...in later years, when he was visited by "the three" which became "the one," and LaCugna, a wonderful Catholic theologian who died some years ago of breast cancer, wrote a great paper on the Trinity using this passage and the icons painted of the visit to Abraham...in which Sarah "laughed" at the impossibility of her having a child in her old age.
Kind of like me wanting to be a priest. It just ain't gonna happen. This business of looking at my mortality...one of the big things for me this week: I'm going to die someday, and I will not die a priest. The lament of that seemed to hold me for several days. I am forced to ask: then why am I here? Why was I given this particular life, in the order and manner in which it was given? What will happen when I see God and God asks, "I gave you so much...why didn't you use your gifts?"
ink
At that point, the romanticism falls apart. My brain knows full well I don't need a collar to do good work. It would simply be wonderful to be able to make that kind of commitment to God. So again...always again...I must let go of what I want and just deal with what's in front of me. What I am allowed to do...in this very unhappy world. It doesn't matter to God, so it shouldn't matter to me.
And then, realizing that, I ask myself again and again...why am I a Catholic? The pretty answer is "When my mother gave me away, she had two requests of the people who would raise me: that I be given a piano and that I was raised a Catholic."
I think whatever faith tradition our parents give us a child is the one that is seared into our brains and nothing can or will ever replace it. Modified yes, but it is core in who we are.
I tried to work it out, I became a Methodist, and later a Methodist minister...and I always felt like I was letting God down. My sadness overtook me and I seriously shot myself in the foot...(I had help) and the idea of going back into that arena has long lost its appeal. I still have great love for the people I encountered along the way. The ones that knew me a bit more authentically I think somehow knew I would return to my Catholic roots, but cheered me on in love that I might outgrow my child like notions of God. The others, perhaps felt betrayed by my leaving...and still others were cheering as I left because my brand of Methodism was just a bit too 'out there.' But I still love them all, even the ones who disagreed with my point of view.
And I thought all was well enough...when I found a post on one of my Protestant friend's FB page. The comment went, "I was forced to go to a Mass, and I remembered all the things I hated about the Catholic Church. I remember why I left it." (Not a direct quote) And suddenly I became quite defensive inside. You can make all the comments you want about the Pope and I'll leave you alone. You can disapprove of priests and I won't argue with you. But if you slam my Mass...
And suddenly an old 60s Star Trek episode comes to mind. Scotty, asked by Kirk, about a fight he had gotten into with the Klingons. It went something like this:
"You did NOT hit the Klingon when he said I (Kirk) was a [slug worm], you hit hit him when he called the Enterprise a garbage skow(?) ?" To which Scotty replied, "Well, sir, this was a matter of pride!"
And I suddenly understood better why I am still connected to the Catholic Church. It is the Mass...the most perfect prayer ever created...that I cannot leave behind. It is the idea that it is presented, in an almost mirror-like manner, every single day, in nearly every moment of every day, somewhere throughout the world. It is the idea that God is present in the Mass...the God comes so close to us...and we come so close to God...inside the Mass is that break into creation that transcends time...and all disagreements and bitterness are suspended, during the act of the Mass...that we deny our own ego for just enough time to let God get close and transform us into something better.
Whether or not the priest is important is only between you and God. He is there to assure that the event follows an order, so you feel safe enough to reach out to God. He is a means to an end...no matter what he might think of himself, in his pretty clothes, he is still only a servant, a participant...albeit a very important participant...in the greatest prayer we could ever offer to God.
Does that make me a heathen? I don't know. Any priest who holds himself higher than servant will be in trouble quickly, and his soul at greater risk than those of us who do not dare to lead. But in the moment of the Mass, the priest is a means to an end...the end being union with God. I don't believe he was designed for more than that.
And I have problems with people who use the "hierarchy" of the church to discount the amazing gift of the Mass. Yes...the bells and whistles are grand. They are designed to inflame the heart for the desire of God. But not of a person, or a thing. And it is here that we must be so very careful.
All praise belongs to God alone. Not to some pretty building or some charismatic preacher/priest. We forget that sometimes.
Why are you here? What do you want?
Do you want to be healed?
Do you want forgiveness...or the power to forgive others?
Do you look for peace?
Are you in need of unconditional love?
Do you wish to see God?
I find these things in the Mass. And yes, it matters to me if a priest is authentic. You can tell the ones who think they are pretty special, just like protestant preachers...and you will separated from God because of that...you came to be healed...but instead, you were entertained...and you left hungry. Humility...find a leader who understands humility...and you will never go hungry again.
Find it where you will, what feeds you...but don't ever mess with my Mass.
I was going to edit this today, but I'm leaving it alone and just going to continue the thoughts on the next page...my apologies to those who might be offended with one of my perspectives on the Mass. Yet, yesterday, in the light of Frances de Sales...I am inclined to believe that he would agree with me. We are called to serve not to be served...
Love, Cindy
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