365/365 Didn't Think I'd Do It

Didja?

What this has taught me is that parish life is the same thing over and over. Could I have written another blog post about Lynn and her special brand of crazy? Could I have posted another recap of a worship commission meeting? Another review of a holy day and how nice the church looked? I could have done it again and again and it would have all blended into an amalgam of sleepy memory familiarity for years and years.

Sometimes I'm at a meeting now and I realize I've been in the parish longer than anyone else. This really freaks me out.

I worry about the future: not about the parish, but about me. Besides attending where I am, there's very little about me that feels attached the greater Church. I'm not angry, I'm just...disconnected. I've tried to leave before and have failed. Becoming an oblate I hope is a step to remain and not a last ditch effort before I give up. I think my faith is strong, but my earthly connections are weaker all the time. I think in the end, my problem with RCIA isn't the teaching or presenting faith or fussy old law professor or any of that. My problem is that I'm not really sure this is the place for me--rather, the denomination for me--and so I feel like I'm being false to present it to those seeking a place. Every time I'm with someone converting from another denomination (as opposed to someone coming to us from no faith background) I think of Sr. Jean's comment that most folks don't need to leave, they just need to go deeper and set down roots. She was talking about me, of course, but I wonder. It's easier with children's liturgy because these kids come from families who are already Catholic. And I know how to do it right...

But I remain here. In my mind I whisper the words "for now" but I will probably remain here. It's too hard to leave. I could spend my life searching and never find a place to call home. Or I could realize that where I am? It already is home. It's good to have certain things certain. I don't have to think about what to do on Sunday morning, I don't have to look up service times or check out directions or tips on how to be a good guest. I just go to my parish and that's what I do. I'm kind of entrenched. Who knows what will happen when my kids leave, but it's almost like I have to say that because of the indefiniteness of my own life and history. Of course I'll stay. But what if I can't? There's always going to be an asterisk because I can't fully say that this is where I am, forever.

But maybe it is. My roots are spread everywhere--baptized at Mary, Mother; first communion at St. Bernadette's; married at St. Cecelia's; confirmed at St. Pius. My children, though, have one taproot, more like Mike that way. Everything on his character sheet is at St. Patrick's in Cairo. And all of Sophia and Maeve and Leo, most likely, all their religious history, will be at our parish. I wonder where that will lead them. I wonder how it will be different for them.

A continual conversion of heart, that's the less than perfect translation of the other benedictine vow: obedience, stability, and conversatio. I may be here, I may stay here, but I will always be saying yes. That won't end. It shouldn't. And so I do.