Family Contributions

7-year-old Kid's homework assignment:
What have your ancestors passed on to you?

"I got my eye from my DaD"
"I got my smil from my DaD"
"I got my haer from my mom"

C'est fini

I am proud to say I finally became Catholic Saturday evening, April 15, 2006. The whole week leading up to this momentous occasion was filled with all types of religious stuff. Suffice it to say that, ya really had to want it in the end. And I really did.

Somewhere along the way, I started to buy in. All the studying and reading and thinking paid off. The big day itself was exciting, carrying almost the electrical charge of a graduation or a wedding. The ceremony on Holy Saturday was long, complicated and official (we had practiced it on three separate evenings). It started with a fire in a pit outside with the congregation forming a big procession with candles into the church. My Kid was enthralled (all boys are truly arsonists at heart). The big stars that evening were really the people getting baptized. White robes, incense, choirs of angels, fountain, small wading pool, tiny Bishop with a pitcher of water, and candles. All the elements of just a really good show.

Confirmation was pretty anticlimactic compared to the dunkings. A few short words and a blessing with scented oil on your forehead. Badda bing, badda bang. It's done! My sponsor, luckily, was with me every step of the way. "After the oil say Amen." "After peace be with you, say and also with you." "Bow!" Stuff like that. She had to introduce me to the Bishop by my Patron Saint's name which is also my Confirmation name. I had chosen Saint Lucy. Lucy lived in the 4th Century AD and had a troubled life, to say the least. She died a martyr. For various complicated reasons she is known as the patron saint of authors, the blind, eye trouble and writers.

My cousin called on Good Friday to wish me a Happy Confirmation. This cousin is a particularly good friend of mine. The death of her mother inspired my Catholic conversion. Her mother was my Godmother at my Catholic baptism. At her funeral the Priest gave an inspiring homily about the kind of life she lead and how she had contributed to the community and the church. In my Aunt's family, her husband, the doctor, was the one you typically heard about. My Aunt's exploits were relatively unknown. I also was selected to do the "First Reading" at the funeral. I really had no idea what was going on at all. So, sitting in a church pew in the Midwest in early June, I pretty much decided that: a) my Kid needed some kind of moral compass to survive the O.C.; b) my aunt would like him to be Catholic; and c) how can I expect him to do what I am unwilling to do. So, 4 days after my aunt's coffin was lowered into the ground, I found myself in Catholic RCIA class at a church in Newport Beach.

Anyway, to make a short story long, my cousin was congratulating me for the hard work I had put in. She knew that my initial step in this process was partially in honor of her mother.

"Now, when do you get confirmed?"
I told her Saturday.
"Saturday, April 15th?"
Yeah, Saturday.
"That's mom's birthday. She was actually born on Holy Saturday on April 15th."
We were both quiet.
I fittingly hummed the theme song to the Twilight Zone (respectfully, of course).

After the service Saturday night, there was a nice reception for the newly confirmed. Everyone was in a SUPER festive mood. We all congratulated each other, hugged, etc. Finally, when I had enough of the PDAs, I told my husband, sponsor and Kid "Let's get out of here." We had driven separately because my sponsor and I had to be an hour early.

Leaving the parking lot, my sponsor noticed I turned the wrong way. "Where are we going?" she asked. Apparently she had forgotten what I had given up for Lent. "To a bar," I replied. Let's get this party started.

That's because we're special

The young, enthusiastic and altruistic Korean Priest was the speaker at our RCIA group last Sunday (RCIA stands for Rite of Christian Initiation). It was one of our final meetings before our Catholic Confirmation to be held at the Easter Vigil Service on Holy Saturday. Half of our group of fifty would also get baptized as well. I was looking forward to this final meeting because this Priest was going to walk us through all the meaning, ceremony and symbolism behind the Eucharist. As I have mentioned before, beliefs regarding Communion are probably one of THE single biggest differences between Catholicism and Protestantism.

To get started, the Priest began by saying the Eucharist service at our church had recently been evaluated by some type of official liturgist. My Catholic church got an "A" on most everything including adhering to the scripture, executing the ceremony and service correctly as well as other things associated with the Priest's and Deacon's activities and responsibilities.

But guess who got an "F"? I won't keep you in suspense ... the congregation! Yes, Newport Beach got an "F". The evaluator's comments were "never before had he seen a congregation where so many people came late and left early" in all his years with the Catholic church. And, never had he seen such disrespectful attire (e.g. torn up jeans, revealing clothing, flip flops).

The Priest lecturing our group that day clearly expected us to be shocked. Well, big fat surprise. After having held and attended dozens of children's birthday parties in Newport Beach, it goes without saying that you can always expect a few guests to bring their kid 30 to 45 minutes late in spite of invitations or requests to bring the children at a certain time due to a special (and typically expensive) activity planned for a specific hour. And, it is absolutely normal that you will see WAYYYYY too much of mom A, B, or C's red thong underwear or enormous surgically enhanced breasts.

And, why would any of this behavior change in deference to the Catholic church? I noticed some of the RCIA initiates shifting uncomfortably in their chairs during this school teacher style scolding. I am sure a few of them didn't realize that attending church has a specific dress code (glitter tank tops and spike heals not being appropriate) and that the Priest actually expects you to be seated BEFORE the service begins. He ended with a stern warning "I hope your group takes this to heart." I solemnly nodded as I hiked my Paige jeans up and tugged my black Tahari sequins shrug down.

Capital fact

Overheard on the way to Wahoo's for a traditional Sunday night dinner:

Kid proclaims, "Columbus is the capital of Idaho!"

Husband corrects, "O-HI-O."

Priorities

Saturdays can be a little crazy in our house, even with only one Kid. I often wonder "How exactly do parents manage Saturday schedules when they have two, three or four children?" I assume, to get their young ones where they need to on time and also accomplish the plethora of Saturday errands, they rely on neighbors, older children and just simple juggling. This particular Saturday was no exception. Our Kid needed to go to a Spring Soccer game at 9:30AM, clean up, have lunch and then attend a noon birthday party (parent accompanied) at Build-A-Bear in Fashion Island.

In the 45 minutes between both activities, I decided to squeeze in a visit to the dry cleaner which is conveniently located next to one of the MANY Vietnamese owned nail shops in Newport Beach. I was (in my opinion) long overdue for an acrylic nail fill and pedicure and wanted to fit in this urgent personal errand before being subjected to the scrutiny of 10 Newport Beach women at the birthday party. I had the Kid with me which is not the norm for beauty treatment errands but as I said, we were multi-tasking. I sat him down in the waiting area with a book about Pirates (favorite topic this month), some apple juice and a carton of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish and I asked for a chair near the front. I was seated and had two very efficient Vietnamese women working on my hands and feet within about 3 minutes. You have to love good old fashioned American entrepreneurship and ingenuity. Why the Vietnamese chose to corner the acrylic nail and pedicure market is anyone's guess but their entry into this once high end beauty shop treatment in the 1990's changed the whole industry. They immediately cut prices in HALF on this indulgence once reserved for the very rich making well groomed hands and feet a requirement for all women in Newport Beach.

Near the end of my treatment, a thirty-something woman, smartly turned out in a sequins tank top, rhinestone sandals, $175 jeans and a 2 caret diamond ring approached the reception desk and requested a nail fill and a pedicure as well. Before she was seated she went outside to the strip mall parking lot sidewalk and said a couple of words to an 8-year-old boy dressed in soccer clothes (presumably her son) who had the handle of a baby stroller. Ah, I thought, one of my own, another multi-tasking mother. She came inside and was seated quickly, deep in the heart of the salon, about 10 chairs down from me. As I sat there, the boy pushed the baby (who I could now see was an infant) back and forth in front of the window, sometimes disappearing from view momentarily. I glanced over at the mother who was deep in conversation with her Vietnamese salon professionals.

Within five minutes, the little boy parked the baby outside on the sidewalk, in the window of the salon, and came in and sat down in one of the chairs. I assumed he was chilly as a strong breeze comes into this nail shop from the Back Bay, and the outside air temperature couldn't have been more than 65 degrees. My Kid glanced up from his book, noticing one of his own sitting there in the soccer attire. The mother never looked up to see her son facing the interior of the salon, and the baby sitting out on the sidewalk, squirming and fussing in the carrier totally unattended. I could see clearly now that the baby was tiny, less than 15 pounds. In my head, I was screaming "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!" The thought of a baby sitting alone on a sidewalk was just too much for a mother to bear. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized the stupidity of entrusting a baby to an 8-year-old boy. My 7-year-old son, I am sorry to say, has trouble executing three instructions in a row due to his easily distractable nature. For example: "Put on your shoes, put your homework in your backpack and get your jacket" rarely gets accomplished without one of the instructions being repeated. We are working on it.

The din in the shop went up a notch as the Vietnamese women loudly began discussing the situation. I assumed that was what they were gossiping about because they would steal glances outside the window at the stroller. I was starting to go crazy. Should I phone child services? The boy continued to sit and stare at his mother while she continued to chat with the nail ladies.

My pedicure and manicure were completed and I walked to the back of the shop to finish up at the drying station. On my way, I stopped by the woman's chair and said "Shall I ask your son to bring the baby inside?" She glanced up at her son. "No," she said. "The smell." She wrinkled her pretty little powdered nose. She was referring to the chemical smell of acrylic that permeates any nail salon. "And my son is watching him." "Yes," I icily replied. "And he is doing a very good job." I sharply turned on my heal, found a seat at a fan and sat down to glare at the mother.

She had turned her head to the woman directly to the right of her, who, I imagined, couldn't have helped but overhear my strong, precisely worded sentence. I only could make out "... the smell" which indicated to me she was defending against my comments (and perhaps discussing the fine points of not minding one's own business). I glanced over at the patron immediately to the left of this mother. Validating my opinion, this woman looked meaningful at me and then shuddered and rolled her eyes while mouthing "ohmygawd." I nodded agreement. Nails only half dry, I couldn't take much more of this.

I got up, deliberately passing quite near the woman as I went to gather up my Kid at the front of the shop who was still sitting next to the soccer playing, non-babysitting son of the Newport Beach multi-tasking mother. Outside the salon, I leaned over the baby and cooed while holding the handle of the stroller and gently moving it back and forth. The baby was still squirming and whimpering. It was too cold outside for a baby to be all alone. This little baby had better get used to it.

Reconciliation

As a Methodist converting to Catholicism, there are a few things that take some getting used to. Early on in my studies I learned that not only was Jesus born of a virgin, but Mary (his mother) was immaculately conceived as well (e.g. Mary's mom got pregnant with Mary without a man involved). AND, Mary remained a virgin throughout her marriage to Joseph so Jesus had no brothers and sisters. I remember the day this was patiently explained to me by a fallen away nun (e.g. left the nunnery for a husband) who was teaching our lesson that day. "I have never heard this before,” I exclaimed. She reassured me, “It’s absolutely true.” Later I learned that it isn’t biblically true but it is considered “dogma.” Outside of the Catholic religion the term “dogma” usually has fairly negative connotations, “a point of view or tenet put forth as authoritative without adequate grounds” according to Meriam-Webster. However, in the Catholic church , dogma “is understood to be a truth appertaining to faith or morals, revealed by God, transmitted from the Apostles in the Scriptures or by tradition, and proposed by the Church for the acceptance of the faithful.” http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/05089a.htm Kind of like a legend but far more serious.

By the way, a movie worth checking out that TOTALLY plays with nearly every element of Catholic dogma is the 1999 movie cleverly titled “Dogma” produced by Kevin Smith (Silent Bob) http://www.dogma-movie.com/main.html . Given my journey, I absolutely loved it. I am sure the church must have hated it (the 13th apostle, abortion, renegade angels, and other things I can’t reveal in order to not give away the punchline). It is a deeply theological movie that pokes fun at many aspects of the Catholic Church. Catholic dogma is why the Catholics are also not big fans of Dan Brown's 2003 book, “The Da Vinci Code” whose plot hangs together by the premise that Jesus and Mary Magdalene had a kid (sorry, if you haven't heard this by now, you must live in a cave). Not Catholic friendly stuff at all.

And, as a soon to be former Methodist, I have always resented the fact that Catholics wouldn’t allow me to participate in their communion. As a kid, when visiting a Catholic church with relatives, I mistakenly went up for Communion and was quickly corrected. It has bugged me forever and probably is the one big reason why I am converting. Come on, what is the hurdle I need to jump to get this handled? Imagine my shock when I learn that Catholics believe in transubstantiation (the Roman Catholic doctrine that the whole substance of the bread and the wine changes into the substance of the body and blood of Christ when consecrated in the Eucharist). “Isn’t this just symbolic," I asked my husband after that particular Sunday lesson. Nope, not symbolic. Essentially, because of the Catholic Priests’ direct lineage from the 12 Apostles, at every Mass they perform the miracle of transubstantiation with bread and wine. And, that instead of speaking metaphorically, at The Last Supper with the bread “Take eat, this is my body,” Jesus was speaking literally. I have had ten months to work on this one and learn that transubstantiation “happens during the Eucharistic prayer of the Mass. At that time, the bread and wine are changed into the Body and Blood of Christ; as the church has always taught. Although they still look like bread and wine they have - by divine power - actually changed into his body and blood.” http://www.catholiclubbock.org/eucharist.htm

The biggest hurdle of them all on my road to Catholocism and the most absolutely foreign concept to me by any stretch of the imagination is Confession more formally known as the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Exactly why do I have to confess my sins to a Priest and why can a Priest forgive me? I had always been taught that only God could forgive me. Again, I learn, it has to do with Jesus and the 12 Apostles. This is not a question of dogma for Catholics but is rooted in the bible.

“Since the power to forgive sins was given to the apostles by the risen Christ (Cf. John 20:21-23) the the bishops of today's Church also are entrusted with the ministry of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:18-20) as successors to the apostles. The bishops and their collaborators, the priests, by virtue of the sacrament of Holy Orders do not forgive sins in and of themselves, but "in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," as it is written in 2 Cor.” http://www.aboutcatholics.com/worship/penance_reconciliation/

I was instructed that as a baptized Christian, I needed to go to confession before my first communion and confirmation. I found out the rule was Catholics need to go to confession at least once a year and absolutely during Lent. Since the time was drawing near for my confirmation (April 15), I knew I had to belly up to the bar and get it over with. Where to start? How does one confess the sins of 44 years in an orderly and succinct manner? After all, I did go to high school in Southern California during the 1970’s. Again, I turned to my esteemed sponsor for her wise advice. “Just confess the big ones,” she recommended. Hmmm. I asked my husband what he thought I should do. “Make a list before you go so you can get through it quick.” Write them down? I don’t think so. I asked my RCIA Leaders how they would handle it. “Make a private appointment with a Priest and go over things that are really holding you back on your journey.” Scariest of all.

I decided to show up to a church scheduled Saturday Sacrament of Reconciliation three weeks before Easter. I got there 15 minutes early. So did 15 other people. When the Priest showed up and slipped into his Confessional, the 15 people scattered around the church made a beeline for the pews near his door. I was a little slow on the uptake and ended up in a spot nearly at the back of the line. Each person that went into the booth took about 3-5 minutes. I quickly realized it would be an hour before my turn. And two or three people arrived every five minutes or so after confessions began. Within 30 minutes we had quite a crowd. We quickly deteriorated from silent contemplation to chit chat amongst ourselves. It is the human condition (sin and chit chat). I was trying to appear seasoned and made a comment about the length of the line.

A very elegant older lady (about 70ish) with neatly coiffed grey/blonde hair, perfect makeup and wearing a beautiful cream colored cashmere coat sitting right next to me agreed that indeed this was a large crowd. And, she said, normally there were two priests on Saturdays so this was going really slowly. She hoped we made it through the line before the priest had to stop taking confession. She mentioned she hadn’t been to confession for six months because she had been sick. I smiled and commented that if she was sick, she certainly must not have accumulated many sins to discuss. She said quickly with a wink “It’s always the same old sins.” I laughed out loud and then was silent for a minute thinking about that. It is ALWAYS the same old sins. I told her I had a secret. She looked worried. What was she about to hear in the confession line? I reassured her quickly “It’s my first confession.” She immediately understood “Are you converting?” I told her I was and that I was converting in order to raise my Kid in the Catholic faith according to my husband’s religion and my baptismal religion.

She put her arm around my shoulders and gave it a quick squeeze. “You have been given such a gift.” It was her turn to go into the booth. I was getting really nervous now that my time was almost here. She had been gone nearly 4 minutes. I quickly reviewed my notes (I finally wrote down just the big sins that would help me on my journey—combining all the advice I had received). The door to the booth began to slowly creak open and I grabbed the metal door handle to hold it for the woman. She patted my arm as she walked by.

I went in, not knowing what to expect. A young Korean Priest was sitting in a chair. There was a table with a lit lamp and another chair underneath a portrait of Jesus. I really had butterflies. The Priest gestured toward the chair. I sat down with my little sheet of paper. He nodded expectantly. I felt my voice shaking “This is my first confession.” He gave me a warm smile and said how pleased he was that I came today. He nodded again. I just looked blankly at him. He said “Go ahead.”

So I did. I rattled through my sins from the past 44 years. Nothing too terribly shocking. The usual and the predictable (respect for parents and gluttony, for example). Of course, I can’t enumerate them all here, should my mother ever stumble over this posting. My parents have always wisely had the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy in our family. I ended my sins list with my very real struggle over malicious gossip (bearing false witness) with a heavy dose of pride and anger. You can see how anonymous blogging is quite theraputic. “Those are the big ones,” I said in conclusion. The Priest was quiet for just a moment. “I would like you to meditate on the attributes of our Blessed Virgin Mary and consider her responses in situations that would cause you to be angry, prideful or to malign another’s reputation.” And then he requested the Act of Contrition.

So I read from my paper, “O, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you, and I detest all my sins because of your just punishments; but most of all because they offend you, my God, who are all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly intend, with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, do penance and to amend my life. Amen.”

The priest replied "God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

I answered “Amen.”
The Priest said "How's the line?"
"Long," I replied.

As I left the confesional, I felt truly lighter, freer and strangely giddy. I stopped near the alter at the shrine on the right of the Blessed Mother and knealt down and prayed. Mary was a good woman and a good mother. And, she played a significant role not only in being the Mother of God, but in directly participating and assisting with Jesus’ work. An ancient career girl of sorts.
When you think about it, she was the only witness to many of the famous Jesus incidents including the conception and the birth in the manger. The apostles who wrote about it later certainly weren't there, Jesus was too young, so she must have been the source for the nativity story as we know it. Much to meditate on, I discovered.

When I got home my husband asked me how it had gone. I told him that thirty minutes had passed since my last confession and I was still sin free. So far so good.