39/365 History: RCIA

It took me a while to realize that Sr. Liz attended our parish. She'd taught one of the classes I'd taken in the Theology department at SLU--Women in a Theological Perspective, which was an interesting choice for me, being nothing like a feminist at the time. Sr. Liz didn't change all that, by any means. It took me a while to get where I am. But she held class in her office in Verhaegen Hall, holding her dachsund Roxie on her lap. She was soft-spoken and this made her words all the harder to take. She could knock you flat.

It was about the time Fr. Bill asked me if I planned to be confirmed at some point--he was gearing up, it turns out, to interview me for a position at the school, but I think wanted all my ducks in a row. Or something. I sort of shrugged. It would probably be a good idea.

Sr. Liz ran RCIA. Sitting around the table with her were Fr. Bill and Dawn Armstrong. And Ralph, the deacon. This wasn't going to work, I kept thinking.

But it did. Sr. Liz became my sponsor and I decided Dawn wasn't so annoying after all. In fact, I liked her just fine. I was in a class, I guess you could call it, with a middle-aged guy named Jim who was converting from Pentecostalism. He made it worth my time, frankly. He had so much to say and was open to anything. It was my first set of real conversations with a convert and I've been fascinated by stories of conversion ever since.

I joined the RCIA program in Lent and was confirmed that Easter Vigil. I'd never been to an Easter Vigil. I've been almost every year since.

As I stood there in a moment before I was drowned in chrism oil, Jim stood next to me, far more nervous than I was. I was simply sewing up some loose ends--he was changing a lot about his direction, his path. I stood there while Fr. Bill talked about the ceremony, and Jim started whispering: Dear Jesus, let this be your will. Over and over again. It was a little unnerving.

We made it through and went downstairs afterward for cake from Dickmann's Bakery, with the strawberry filling, the one that Fr. Bill always liked so much. Sr. Liz gave me a bible, the New American I use as reference all the time, since its pages are sturdier than the one Br. Stephen gave me back in 7th grade ("To my bible trivia champ").

Fr. Bill moved on to other things. Sr. Liz lives with her community now. We've lost touch--her health was fragile and the mother house is far away. But Jim is a deacon now in the diocese somewhere. I suppose it was Jesus' will after all. And I'm still here.