Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Converting with Kids
What is it like to raise non cradle Catholic kids in a Catholic Church? In a word: hard.
We come from large Evangelical churches where there are entire wings dedicated to the care and teaching of kids. Walls are painted in Biblical scenes scoping from Noah's Ark to the Ascension of Jesus. Phrases reminding kids of God's love can be found in every classroom, kids praise music is reinforcing the signage, and hundreds of volunteers give their time and energy week after week for the sheer point of sharing Jesus with the smallest among us.
Fast forward to the typical Catholic church, and even finding the Sunday School is a chore. There are no painted hallways, no greeters to help usher you and your child into the age appropriate classrooms (mostly because there isn't, such a classroom), and if you are one of the lucky churches that does indeed have a children's program, chances are it appears to be thrown in as a last ditch effort.. obviously not ranking as high as other priorities around the Church.
It's a harsh critique, but it is the honest to goodness feelings of many Evangelicals who are coming to the Catholic Church out of obedience to Christ, and definitely not because of the lure of vibrant children's programs. We struggled with this for a long time. We got mad, furious, actually, and for many years although truths seemed to be surfacing about the teachings of the Church, they were squashed when we looked at the four precious lives entrusted to us. We had heard enough horror stories from dedicated, ex- Catholic now Evangelical friends. And we had no interest in throwing our kids into a sterile religion that had for decades, failed children.
Unfortunately, with all of that said, we began to struggle with the Evangelical Church as well. While our kids were attending Sunday School and we attended the adult service, there was never a cohesive message among the kids and parents. We learned one thing, and the kids learned something entirely different. And in the craziness of gathering multiple children and making it to the car in one piece after Church, papers would go missing, lessons would be forgotten, and the most depth that we ever got out of what our kids learned consisted of the type of snack eaten and a vague retelling of a Bible story.
But, Jesus was still preached, and the hearts of the teachers for the kids was amazing. To this day, we are incredibly grateful for the volunteers that filled those classrooms week after week, whether our kids remembered them, or not. And the Catholic Church should, and does, have a lot to learn from them. Yet, we became Catholic anyway, because again, it was true, and we had to obey.
The beginning days of having kids in the main Mass with us were frustrating to the max. We left most Sunday's swearing it was the last time we would go, planning on returning the following week to our previous Church. Kids were restless, eyes were rolling, stink eyes were being shot to and from all family members, and no amount of reverent worship was happening, at all. We were still confused on all of meanings of the Mass, and as a result, our kids were even more lost. They wanted the happy stories and crafts of their previous experience, and we just wanted to be assured that we weren't crushing their faith before they even had a chance to experience it.
Slowly, over time, I started to gain hope. I started to see that many of the dedicated adult Catholics who I admired, heard on the radio, and read in books were not all converts. Many of them had been raised in the very environment I was questioning, and seemed to be living vibrant lives of faith, completely in love with Jesus; actively seeking to be his disciples. I gained hope when I considered that I had been given a role by the Lord to be the primary Evangelizer to my kids on the love of Jesus, and that if I was obedient to the His calling, his Grace was strong enough, powerful enough, and vast enough to extend to my kids. For if it was true, if He really did form one Church, if it was indeed his visible body on earth, then actually the best thing I could ever do for my kids, would be to go; to become one with that Church, and to bring that fullness into the lives of our kids so that they would one day share it with theirs.
In doing this, we found a way to marry the best of our Evangelical roots with the sacredness of the Mass. We bought the kids Children's Bibles, and take them every Sunday to Mass. They each have the same one, so that fights are minimized during the readings. We try to review the Gospel reading the night before in our family story times so that the kids are already familiar with what they may hear from the Priest. We ask them to listen for key words, key topics, and reward them with praise and treats after church. Our pastor once told us that in ancient days, the Jewish Rabbi's would dip the young students fingers in honey while teaching them the Law. That way, as they grew, the Law would always be associated with sweetness. It was brilliant, and we have incorporated that practice. Sunday Mass is followed, always, by a large family brunch, including donuts or some type of yummy goodness. A child who can control themselves for an hour for love of Jesus can and should be rewarded. Because Jesus is Love, and to be with Him is to know sweetness and Joy.
We sit up front, the very first row, actually. As we learned from the early days that a child who cannot see will not pay attention. The Mass is brilliantly laced with so many visual delights that a child can't help but be drawn in, if they can see. Sitting closely to the Priest who lovingly baptized them all, who they know and enjoy, helps them to focus. Although we fail often, now instead of sending stink eyes for disobedience, we try to calmly show them what they are to be doing. When we kneel, they kneel. When it is time to pray, their eyes should be closed. When it is time to sing, even though all but one cannot read, their fingers are traced along with the words in the song book.
In a sense, they are learning that to honor Jesus is to participate with his body. To love him means to put aside immediate desires and quiet hungry bellies because this Jesus who we bow before is worthy of all praise, and all adoration (even we adults struggle to know this many days). They are learning the correct motions and postures now so that as they gradually learn the depths of the Mass, their bodies will reinforce their hearts. To kneel is to know ones position before the Lord, to pray is to listen, and to sing is to give due honor. These are things that are learned from doing, not simply by telling. This is the benefit of getting out of the classroom and into the Mass. This is where the Mass becomes a brilliant teacher of the reverent Christian life.
I write all of these things not to claim that we have figured it out or that our kids are star Catholics. Hardly. This is written from a Mom who just last week scolded her kids because (again), they were climbing on the statues after Mass. Big No No. This is written from a Mom who still longs for vibrant children's programs, who is constantly breaking up the daily battles of who called who a mean name, and who has to remind one adorable set of twin boys that crawling under the pews at the conclusion of Mass is not exactly, appropriate.
This is written by a Mom who wants to encourage parents who may be in the same position that we were two years ago; swearing that they would never successfully be able to sit with their kids in Mass and actually like it, terrified to take them from the warmth of an Evangelical setting to the unknown hour of Sunday Mass.
If I could say any encouragement, it would be to have patience, and be amazed at what God will do with your obedience. We have learned that our parenting must be more purposeful than ever. We are constantly teaching our kids Scripture lessons, teaching them about the different aspects of the Mass, and daily proclaiming the love that Christ has for them. As a result, incredible conversations have been discussed, and we have been blown away by their minds, and the questions which they ask. We are shocked at some of the theological truths they are grasping, slowly letting stories become concepts, that become exciting realities in which they can confidently place their hope.
The Mass can be difficult to walk in and understand upon first experience, but that does not make it impossible to love. Our hope is that some day the Catholic Church will be the best place around to bring children to learn the love of Christ. Perhaps it already is with the fullness of the Eucharist. We are grateful that our initial frustrations taught us that parenting Christian kids means realizing with holy fear the great responsibility we have been given. Whether or not they go to Sunday School or listen in a Mass, kids will look to their parents first for guidance and example. If we vibrantly love Jesus, they will hopefully want to love him too. For we have been promised: train up our children in the way they should go, and when they are old they will not depart from it.
Raising a child in a Catholic Mass is hard. But on many days so too is following Christ. It means taking up a cross, which embraces hurt and confusion, and completely trusts in the one who carried the ultimate burden. This is the hope that I have for our Catholic kids. I will do my best to bring them to the Savior's feet, and may his mighty Will complete the rest.
Monday, May 12, 2014
The Difficulty of Realizing Sacred Priveledges - thoughts from Blessed Cardinal John Henry Newman
"We begin our Catechism by confessing that we are risen, but it takes a long life to apprehend what we confess. We are like people waking from sleep, who cannot collect their thoughts at once, or understand where they are. By little and little the truth breaks upon us. Such are we in the present world; sons of light, gradually waking to a knowledge of themselves. For this let us meditate, let us pray, let us work,—gradually to attain to a real apprehension of what we are."
The words of Blessed Cardinal Henry Newman have continued to be a deep form of comfort to me in closing of Lent and the current fifty days of Easter (yes, the Church celebrates it for fifty days!). Lent, a season of penance, sacrifice, and solemnity concludes with the rejoicing of Easter bells, the Church triumphant celebrating the risen Lord. He who walked through the parched desert and was slain has now triumphed over the grave, restoring us with him and rising to give us, abundant life.
Yet, in this new identity of Catholic, in which I find myself, it is hard to completely assent to what I know to be true. I desire to fully and joyfully appreciate that with which I can now take part, yet it seems as if an assenting of the heart may be slower than the acceptance of the mind. My mind tells me that the Eucharist is the whole person of Jesus before me, and now, within me. My mind tells me that Jesus has called me to his Church in an act of repairing wounds and healing division. It is all true, to be sure. Yet though my mind understands, my heart still suffers as in the days of Lent.
The last two years have been, in our lives, an extended period of Lent. We are tired, somewhat exhausted, and a bit bruised from the journey. And so when I wonder why I am slow to grasp the full weight of Easter Joy, I remind myself of this great sermon. Newman saw the difficultly in understanding immediately any great joy or great sorrow. We, I, find it difficult to embrace with all earnestness and fullness the gift of my confirmation and membership with Christ's body, while a large part of my daily experience still exits among the wounds of the Reformation. Unity has not been restored, distrust and disapproval still exits for our decision to enter the Church, and even though the Eucharist is Fact, it will take time for our hearts to follow the knowledge that has been assented to within our minds. Every Sunday the Gloria is sung and the host of Angels are forever proclaiming the Hallelujah truth of the Risen Christ, but the process to fully comprehend all of these divine Truths, as Newman states, may come slowly, and that should be okay.
So my friend, (Mr. Newman), gives me hope. My conversion need not become realized by the changing of the Church calendar, or a theological grasp of transubstantiation. Rather it will be understood over a lifetime of gradual learning and following of the Good Shepherd who called this sheep by name. I know with confidence that while he asks us to give up the milk of infants for pure spiritual food, he does not demand immediate comprehension, just immediate obedience and trust. He simply asks us to abide, to remain, to return, and to wait. St. Paul in Philippians 1:9 reassures us that discerning the full will of God is a process that is marked by an increase in love, and knowledge, resulting in blamelessness on the day of Christ Jesus. Or in the words of Cardinal Newman, eventually we give up the shadows and find the substance. I look forward to this, the day which I look back and realize that little by little, day by day, the Lord has made sense of this conversion, has produced fruit from it, and has led my heart to an overflowing appreciation of this Sacred Privilege to which he has called me.
"Thus, as time goes on, we shall gain first one thing, then another. By little and little we shall give up shadows and find the substance. Waiting on God day by day, we shall make progress day by day, and approach to the true and clear view of what He has made us to be in Christ. Year by year we shall gain something, and each Easter, as it comes, will enable us more to rejoice with heart and understanding in that great salvation which Christ then accomplished."
Blessed Cardinal John Henry Newman
ps...to read the sermon, (which is fabulous and highly worth the time), go Here. You will not regret it.
Monday, May 5, 2014
First Eucharist
The truth of the Eucharist hit me early on in the conversion process, where many theological truths hit me: on the treadmill. Somewhere between trying to convince myself to go one more mile, and hanging on to every word of a worship song, I realized that Jesus really did mean what he said; his flesh was real food, his blood was real drink, and whoever ate and drank of it had eternal life.
The words of John 6, which I had been studying and contemplating for months, came to a crashing halt while I ran, and I knew then I would spend the next year hungering for Him until I could finally do that, in remembrance, of Him.
I have been asked questions about the Eucharist. What did I think would happen when I ate the piece of bread? How can I believe that Jesus was speaking literally when he also claimed to be the door, the water, and vine? Can I say that the day on which I would receive Him for the first time will be better than the day that I first invited him into my heart?
Some of those questions are hard to hear when one is in a small way, staking everything that they believed on a seemingly simple, piece of bread. But after reading enough history of the early Church, what they believed and wrote about the Eucharist, after reading Paul and his insistence; "the bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ" and after really discerning Jesus's words in John 6, I knew, that was no ordinary bread. Although he calls himself many things in Scripture, his insistence in John was different from his analogy of a vine, or a door. People never walked away and claimed his thoughts on doors were too hard to accept. They did, however, leave him at the end of John 6.
The Eucharist is hard to wrap our human minds around. How can a piece of bread actually become Jesus? As he reminded his followers that night, "It is the spirit that gives life, the flesh is of no avail." We cannot find the words or the thoughts to believe this by our own human wills. The flesh is corrupt, unbelieving, and at times, blinded. (Romans 8:6). Yet the spirit within us groans with heavenly truths that are only revealed to us by the grace of the Father. (Romans 8:26 and Matthew 16:17). Just as Jesus hid his Divinity under the appearance of a man, so too does he hide his divinity under the appearance of bread and wine. What we cannot see with our eyes can be opened with our hearts.
And so on the night of Easter Vigil, when I walked up to receive Jesus in the bread and the wine for the first time, when the day of my treadmill run had come full circle, so many thoughts flooded through my mind.
I came thankful for my upbringing in a faithful Christian home. Thankful that I was taught to love Scripture, to search for truth, and to have confidence that truth could be found.
I came thankful for the journey of conversion. Thankful that for two years He had called me by name into this place, and for two years he had walked every step of the way with me, even when it was hard, or lonely, or painful.
I came thankful for the friends that sat in the pew in front of me. Thankful for their amazing examples of Catholicism as a living and vibrant body of Christ in which I had found support and love.
I came thankful for the family members who came for that night, and the ones who were encouraging even though not present. Because even though they may not have understood our desire to become Catholic, they love Jesus, and they supported, for love of us.
I came thankful for the priests who had talked with us, prayed for us, from a distance and within our home parish. Thankful that they who had dedicated their lives to the Church and to Christ had sacrificed so much so that I could now be one with my Savior.
I came in honor of my friend who cannot yet receive Jesus, although she yearns so greatly for Him. I came because in the incomprehensible, amazing body of Christ, we have the ability to fill up what is lacking among our fellow members.
I came thankful for my husband who walked beside me. Thankful that even though a few weeks before I had seen frustration and concern in his face, this night, I saw complete peace. This night, together, my beloved spouse led me humbly and joyfully to the fullness of my heavenly One.
I came thankful for this first step in my families life of faith within the Catholic Church. Knowing that although this night was particularly special, it was only the beginning of a lifetime journey. I came to the Eucharist so that one day my kids might be drawn to it, so that the ripple effect of a conversion would continue as far as the Lord saw fit.
I came, because on the road to Emmaus, after the two disciples had walked, talked, and listened to Jesus, they still were unaware of the risen Lord beside them. Their hearts had been set aflame with Scripture, history, the past and present events from Moses to the current day, but it was only in the breaking of the bread that their eyes were open and they saw Jesus. It was after he did that that they remembered his words to do this. (Luke 24). I came to the Eucharist because the Bible itself proclaims that it is here, ultimately, where I find most fully, a union with my Savior.
As I ran on the treadmill that day, I received the grace of desiring Jesus; body, blood, soul, and divinity in the Eucharist. It seemed like a very long time from that day to the night of Easter Vigil. But I am thankful for the journey, thankful for my Emmaus Road, thankful for all of the people who the Lord used and continues to use in my life that have become for me living examples of lives lived among the Eucharist. For this is his body, broken for me. May I always remember to do this, in remembrance, of Him.
The words of John 6, which I had been studying and contemplating for months, came to a crashing halt while I ran, and I knew then I would spend the next year hungering for Him until I could finally do that, in remembrance, of Him.
I have been asked questions about the Eucharist. What did I think would happen when I ate the piece of bread? How can I believe that Jesus was speaking literally when he also claimed to be the door, the water, and vine? Can I say that the day on which I would receive Him for the first time will be better than the day that I first invited him into my heart?
Some of those questions are hard to hear when one is in a small way, staking everything that they believed on a seemingly simple, piece of bread. But after reading enough history of the early Church, what they believed and wrote about the Eucharist, after reading Paul and his insistence; "the bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ" and after really discerning Jesus's words in John 6, I knew, that was no ordinary bread. Although he calls himself many things in Scripture, his insistence in John was different from his analogy of a vine, or a door. People never walked away and claimed his thoughts on doors were too hard to accept. They did, however, leave him at the end of John 6.
The Eucharist is hard to wrap our human minds around. How can a piece of bread actually become Jesus? As he reminded his followers that night, "It is the spirit that gives life, the flesh is of no avail." We cannot find the words or the thoughts to believe this by our own human wills. The flesh is corrupt, unbelieving, and at times, blinded. (Romans 8:6). Yet the spirit within us groans with heavenly truths that are only revealed to us by the grace of the Father. (Romans 8:26 and Matthew 16:17). Just as Jesus hid his Divinity under the appearance of a man, so too does he hide his divinity under the appearance of bread and wine. What we cannot see with our eyes can be opened with our hearts.
And so on the night of Easter Vigil, when I walked up to receive Jesus in the bread and the wine for the first time, when the day of my treadmill run had come full circle, so many thoughts flooded through my mind.
I came thankful for my upbringing in a faithful Christian home. Thankful that I was taught to love Scripture, to search for truth, and to have confidence that truth could be found.
I came thankful for the journey of conversion. Thankful that for two years He had called me by name into this place, and for two years he had walked every step of the way with me, even when it was hard, or lonely, or painful.
I came thankful for the friends that sat in the pew in front of me. Thankful for their amazing examples of Catholicism as a living and vibrant body of Christ in which I had found support and love.
I came thankful for the family members who came for that night, and the ones who were encouraging even though not present. Because even though they may not have understood our desire to become Catholic, they love Jesus, and they supported, for love of us.
I came thankful for the priests who had talked with us, prayed for us, from a distance and within our home parish. Thankful that they who had dedicated their lives to the Church and to Christ had sacrificed so much so that I could now be one with my Savior.
I came in honor of my friend who cannot yet receive Jesus, although she yearns so greatly for Him. I came because in the incomprehensible, amazing body of Christ, we have the ability to fill up what is lacking among our fellow members.
I came thankful for my husband who walked beside me. Thankful that even though a few weeks before I had seen frustration and concern in his face, this night, I saw complete peace. This night, together, my beloved spouse led me humbly and joyfully to the fullness of my heavenly One.
I came thankful for this first step in my families life of faith within the Catholic Church. Knowing that although this night was particularly special, it was only the beginning of a lifetime journey. I came to the Eucharist so that one day my kids might be drawn to it, so that the ripple effect of a conversion would continue as far as the Lord saw fit.
I came, because on the road to Emmaus, after the two disciples had walked, talked, and listened to Jesus, they still were unaware of the risen Lord beside them. Their hearts had been set aflame with Scripture, history, the past and present events from Moses to the current day, but it was only in the breaking of the bread that their eyes were open and they saw Jesus. It was after he did that that they remembered his words to do this. (Luke 24). I came to the Eucharist because the Bible itself proclaims that it is here, ultimately, where I find most fully, a union with my Savior.
As I ran on the treadmill that day, I received the grace of desiring Jesus; body, blood, soul, and divinity in the Eucharist. It seemed like a very long time from that day to the night of Easter Vigil. But I am thankful for the journey, thankful for my Emmaus Road, thankful for all of the people who the Lord used and continues to use in my life that have become for me living examples of lives lived among the Eucharist. For this is his body, broken for me. May I always remember to do this, in remembrance, of Him.
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