Sometimes Love Is Stronger Than One’s Convictions

Sometimes love is stronger than [one's] convictions.” -Isaac Bashevis Singer

It is my experience that one of the marks of falling in love, particularly in its glorious initial phases, is an unshakable desire to be with one’s partner. This desire is such that even when physical presence is impossible, alternative connections are eagerly welcomed: a phone call that simply brings the sound of that voice. A message with words that capture that charm.  A day on a calendar that marks our next meeting. An imagined vision of what he or she is doing at the present moment…

I realized today that I have fallen deeply in love with the simple Catholic liturgy I experienced on weekday afternoons this past summer. I find myself longing for it, longing to be present to it again, the way I have eagerly longed for the comforting presence of my beloved.  

I Couldn’t Stay

Check out my latest blog entry on CTA’s Young Adult Catholic Blog, entitled “I Couldn’t Stay.”

How We Got Here

Check out my latest post at From the Pews in the Back: Young Women and Catholicism, entitled “How We Got Here.”

Watching You Dance

On Thursday evening I looked over the balcony at Century Ballroom as my friends Katie and Frank danced to the final song of the night on the dance floor below. It was the last night of salsa before I head off to Boston, and the only night of the summer when the club hosts a live salsa band.  (I would have liked to think the special occasion was in honor of my departure, but I know it was simply a pleasant coincidence.)  Along with the best sounds the ballroom had heard all season, the live music brought out the city’s best dancers, which made for a night of both great dancing and fantastic viewing.  Of all the swift spins and fast footwork displayed by the evening’s talented couples, however, the most memorable dance, in my humble opinion, was that last one danced by my friends.

The three of us have gone dancing together at least once a week all summer long. And just as I, a clumsy beginner, went from counting out every step (1-2-3—5-6-7…) to moving unthinkingly along with rhythms I instantly recognize, so too had my more experienced friends improved their dance moves. While it was unnoticeable for me when I first began dancing, I have learned that a personal dancing style accompanies this sort of progress: when one attains a certain level of familiarity with the rhythms, steps, and moves, one’s personal style—which is often a reflection of his/her personality, training, and dance community—surfaces in his/her dancing.  Having danced with Katie and Frank for months now, I have gained a great affection for the idiosyncrasies of their styles.  For the neat steps of Katie’s three-count turns.  For the circular swing of Frank’s hands when he leads in open-position.  For the expressions on their faces when they concentrate during a spin sequence, or the sympathetic grins that occasionally break when someone acknowledges a partner’s misstep.

From the ballroom balcony, I treasured every glimpse of these personal tendencies. They were small, endearing reminders that I was not simply watching salsa dancing, but Katie’s salsa and Frank’s salsa.

From the Pews in the Back: My First Reading

Check out my latest post on the blog that accompanies From the Pews in the Back: Young Women and Catholicism, a recently released book to which I have contributed. My post is called “From the Pews in the Back: My First Reading.”

If you are also reading the book, I’d love to know about your “first reading” too!

Catholic Companions

The other night I was startled to find tears streaming down my face in the middle of a downtown Seattle coffee shop.  I was there with a friend, and we found ourselves talking about Catholicism, our common faith, as we often do.  As he candidly shared about the difficulties he faces in his job as a full-time minister, and the many other challenges he faces as a devout and pro-reform Catholic, even my perfect latte (a remedy for so many things) could not appease the emotions that built up internally.  Amid the empathy I experienced for his struggles as a Catholic, I found myself moved to tears of gratitude–gratitude for his companionship in faith, gratitude for the small reminder that I am not alone in my commitment to the Church and my commitment to its reform, gratitude for the reassurance that I am not alone in how I make sense of my belonging to this tradition.

I have many wonderful friends in my hometown, but I can count the number of Catholic peers on one hand, and I think that’s why I was so grateful for my friend’s words the other night. I have inspiring, faithful Protestant friends here, many of whom possess an affinity for Catholic liturgy and the Catholic tradition, but still there is just something different about discussing my faith–its beauties and setbacks–with someone who holds the same personal investment that I do.  I struggle to adequately articulate my faith to friends who inquire about the pope or the sacraments or liturgy because they seek cogent, intellectual answers about these things that are not merely rational in my life–they are personal, spiritual, emotional, traditional, communal, too. Those elements are difficult to articulate to many who are not Catholic, and I often find others frustrated by my inability to sufficiently justify any and all things Catholic. 

Moments with like-minded Catholic friends are all the more precious because of the fact that I often feel somewhat misunderstood by my peers here. I would never wish away the inquiries of my friends about Catholicism–they challenge me in great ways even as they are difficult–but I know that I need Catholic companions too. I need people who I don’t have to explain myself to–or maybe people who understand the parts of my faith that I simply can’t explain. 

 

This I Used to Believe

Another recommendation! If you’ve been following the blog for awhile, you probably know I am a big fan of “This American Life,” the Chicago-based radio show about the ordinary and extraordinary lives of Americans today. Each show explores a different topic, and a recent episode’s theme was  a spin off of another famous American radio show, “This I Believe.” 

Rather than exploring what people believe and why they believe it, “This I Used to Believe” includes various stories about what people used to believe, and what happened that made them change their minds. 

This episode made me realize how much more fascinated I am with why people believe what they believe than I am with the “what” of their beliefs themselves. For that matter, I am more fascinated with why people disbelieve something than what they disbelieve. 

I am fascinated by people’s testimonies of belief or disbelief because they reveal the complexities of the human person that we can so easily overlook in religion, and philosophy too. Particularly in our post-Enlightenment society, it is easy to imagine that convictions and commitments are the direct result of logical thought processes.  While that may be apart of our “conversions” to/from this or that, the stories I have heard of belief and disbelief have continuously led me to believe that reason is only a part of our complex web of persuasive influences. 

I hope you enjoy the podcast, and hopefully, the subsequent thoughts about why you believe, or don’t believe, some things. 

The Beauty and Challenge of Being Catholic

The Catholic Studies Program at Santa Clara University, my alma mater, is sponsoring me for a lecture this Thursday on the subject of “Catholic Identity Today.” The great Jesuit I am working with pointed me to a wonderful podcast for some inspiration, and now I’m recommending it to you.

“The Beauty and Challenge of Being Catholic” is one episode in a series of podcasts called “Speaking of Faith” hosted by Krista Tippett.  Before listening to the hourlong podcast compilation of eleven diverse lay voices, I read the its written transcript. Tears streamed down my face as I read the text–so you can only imagine how moved I was to hear the podcast’s real voices recite their personal accounts of Catholicism’s beauties and challenges. 

"Welcome back to non-practicing Catholics!"

I’ve been quiet in the blogsphere…but have no fear, new posts are coming soon! In the meantime, check out my latest post on the CTA Young Adult Catholics blog, entitled “‘Welcome back to non-practicing Catholics!’”  

I Want A Ritual

At St. Monica’s Church in Santa Monica this past Sunday, I experienced an emotion I may have never had during Mass before. As the congregation raised its hands in blessing during the recession of the Catechumens and Candidates, I was jealous. That’s right. Jealous.

When I looked across the hundreds of lifted hands I remembered what it felt like to be the recipient of this symbolic gesture. The smiling faces and open palms said, “We are so glad you are here with us. We are so excited for your life in the Church.” That message brought me peace and comfort at my Confirmation at year ago, when I received a similar ritual of welcome and belonging. This weekend I found myself anxiously longing for that sort of ritual experience again.

The envy I felt toward the Catechumens and Candidates made me realize how much I am paradoxically within and without the Church. On one hand, I long for ritual in order to make sense of my life. How Catholic of me, right? On the other hand, the catalyst for my yearning is the very fact that I don’t feel a sense of belonging in Catholicism at times. Why would I jealously long for this ritual experience if I did not feel a lack of belonging in the Church?

In light of all that, I’ve concluded that I want a ritual of my own. We—those of us who identify as Catholic yet feel we live in the margins of the tradition—we could really use a ritual of healing, welcome, and belonging.

Surely, it is not just Catholics who need one such ritual. Many of us feel burned by any number of religions at one time or another. What if religion recognized this, and tried to offer us a ritual to make us sense of the times when it falls up short?

I began to wonder why I feel a need for this type of ritual beyond the numerous ones that already exist in my tradition. What need do I have that the pre-existing sacraments cannot tend to? Why doesn’t the Eucharist or the sacrament of Reconciliation serve as the type of communal symbolic practice I long for? These thoughts have challenged me to reconsider my approach to the sacraments: What if I regularly confessed anger, pain, and bitterness I sometimes foster toward the Church? Could I experience reconciliation in this aspect of my life if I approached the sacrament like this? What if I thought of Eucharist as a personal invitation to life in the Church—one extended again, and again, and again—despite my frustrations and occasionally unkind words toward the institution? With a little intentionality, could these sacraments help me make sense of my ambivalent belonging in Catholicism?

Until I can come up with a ritual of my own for people like me, I am going to try to be more honest with God about the baggage that I bring to the sacraments: “God, I really want to be here, but I don’t feel like I belong here, or that people want me to be here with them sometimes. By the power of Your Spirit, help me work through all this in the ritual we now celebrate together. Help me to believe You are here, and that You want us all to be here, too.”

Amen.