Thanks for Asking - A Letter to A Friend

12 November 2013

     Thanks for asking. In deep gratitude I accept the challenge. I'm reminded of a story I heard a man tell at a conference a few years ago. He had been away from the Church for 12 years. He knew in his gut that to get back into the fold he would have to go to confession sooner or later. He had slipped in and out of regular Sunday masses a few times in preparation for facing up to it and had been turned off by either the fire and brimstone of guilt infliction, or maybe worse, homilies that were to him, boring and lifeless and having nothing to do with that Sunday's Gospel reading. Any way, he finally faced up to it and decided to go to confession. He entered the room in face-to-face confession and there was an old priest sitting there who reminded him of Yoda. His first fear was the age of the priest. He began by telling the priest "Father, I confess that I've been away for 12 years from Communion and I need to get back, so forgive me Father for I have sinned." He was shocked with the next thing that happened. The old priest looked up, held up his hand, and asked, "Wait a minute. Wait a minute. How long have you been away from the Church?"
"Twelve years." he said.
The old man smiled, stuck out his hand and said, "First, let me welcome you back! Then we'll work on the confession!"
     It's a true story. If there were ever a Prodigal Son story, that's it. One kindly person made a difference in someone coming back into the fold or turning away from it. If Frank Marsden had never stuck out his hand and said hello to me and welcomed me (a stranger, and non-Catholic,) at St. Mark Parish in Vienna, Virginia, I may never have converted to the Catholic Faith. The beautiful trick was, that started an enduring friendship with a strong Catholic (and really interesting man) who constantly guided me in my own regard for the Church. Thank God for beautiful tricks.

     He was the only one who said hello to me on that day.  I'll never forget it. Frank's gone now, but I think of him everyday and ask myself where I'm at with my Faith.  Just like the person in the above story will never forget the kindly old priest.
     I've always tried to have an open-door policy about my Catholicism. Because, we are all supposed to have an open-door policy with our lives. It's an ideal. I know that. It's total perfection. I know that. It's the Impossible Dream to love everyone. That's why our Church has saints. We're supposed to try to live up to their experiences in loving God and one another. Being a convert you can understand my mystification with all this. I had to start from zero in learning about the Church, its history, its changes, its expectations for what I'm supposed to be as a Catholic. I can never, ever thank all those good priests, teachers, and parishioners sitting next to me who have helped me along the way.  They all exemplified the open-door policy of Jesus Christ and the Eucharist. The Eucharist is our center - the center of our being as Catholics. I may never understand the full implications of that, and that's perfectly OK for this Catholic. I love the jovial priest who can laugh about it and say it's a mystery! I'm suspicious of the priest who feels the need to give me a three-hour academic dissertation on the theological basis of the Eucharist. I can also appreciate that my calling as a Christian is no light or simple matter. The beauty of the Eucharist for me is the requested challenge to better myself through questioning myself and my relationship with Christ, God, and the Holy Spirit. If that isn't the direct center for a person's existence then I have no answer for what is.
     I love my Church and sometimes I'm disillusioned with it. I'm frustrated with the pomp, or in direct opposition of that - oversimplification, the scandals, boring and seemingly non-caring clergy, or questioning that has my brain going down dark alleys. I'm always drawn back to the center of who I'm supposed to be: A Roman Catholic in communion with Christ and the Church through the Eucharist. One of my worst Catholic "experiences" was a visit to the Vatican. One of my best was the recent conversation you and I had about why I love my wife. I'm not afraid to tell people I'm Catholic. I'm not afraid to tell people I deeply love her and my family. I'm not afraid as a male to tell my male friends I love them. After all, we're all walking down that road to Emmaus or Damascus. If we don't share our struggles, we're not really men. The real man in this story is the old priest who wasn't afraid to break ranks and welcome back a lost soul. I wish I could be more like him in my daily dealings with earthlings. But I'm only human, asking for Christ's continual help to show me the right road.