19/365 RCIA

I'm on the RCIA team. Sr. Hildegard has a way of asking me to do things that I have a hard time saying no to. Now, there are things I would say no to. I would never have tried to run the church picnic back when we had a church picnic. I won't join the stewardship commission. I don't have anything to bring to finance or to any task that requires many many phone calls.

There are things I do that are in my comfort zone--it is easy to make a banner. It is easy to water plants (and let them die accidentally, mysteriously...easy, but I wonder if I'm the gal for that job sometimes). It is sometimes excruciating to go to Worship Commission meetings but it's ok because I know many other people are aggravated as well. Children's Liturgy of the Word is easy now that I'm not making the schedule. Cooking for the homebound, delivering food, sitting on parish council. All easy.

And then there are things that I probably should be doing but that fall outside my comfort zone. Long ago, being on the Art & Environment committee was outside that zone, mostly due to Dolores and Roxanne running the show back then. Nowadays it's ok. I've learned how to deal with Lynn as best I can and it's ok.

But all that aside, RCIA is the one thing I do at the parish that consistently makes me feel awkward and unqualified. I'm fine with being there. It's when it's my turn to run a session that I feel like, well, like I used to when I was in a classroom and my principal was observing. Uneasy. I don't know why, although I have some hunches. Perhaps it's because I'm not ever sure I'm representing The Church as well as I should. Perhaps because I don't have the education or background of many of the other catechists--I have the least, in fact, I would venture to say. I know, someone has to be the least qualified and that doesn't mean I'm not qualified at all. I just get all worked up.

Sunday was my first RCIA session since our new candidate Joel joined us. And it went fine, although I wish we had two or three more candidates so that the dismissal catechesis, when we leave after the homily to go "break open the word" more on our own, would have more brains to draw on. The session after mass is even more awkward with just one candidate. On Sunday there were 4 catechists and his sponsor there, which is a big number considering there's only one of him. Nothing I could have added that would have brought more light to the conversation, really. But I was there and maybe that was enough.

I'm a pretty decent writer. I feel like I communicate well on paper. One of my readers (and amazing writer who is no longer blogging, alas) once compared me to Orwell that way--as he put it, "not in the feverishly dystopic way, but in how you put words on paper." Good prose is like a windowpane. The words shouldn't block the view. But when I'm called to take those words in my head and speak them? It doesn't go as well as I would like. It isn't the same.

So I'm struggling with RCIA. Hildegard says they need me. So I think I should stay. But I wonder if someone else would be better. So then I think I should back off. But who is that person? How do we find her? I don't know these answers. So I hang on for now, quietly dreading the Sunday when it's my turn but knowing that it is something that needs to be done. So I'll go eat my powder milk biscuits...which of course give shy people the strength to get up and do what needs to be done. Heavens they're tasty and expeditious.

25/365 I'm not as Catholic as I thought I was

Huh.

I've been dabbling in genealogy again. I do that when I need to kick other bad habits or when I need something, anything, besides facebook to stare at when it's late at night and the computer is free. And it turns out I'm about half German and the other half is split, not evenly, between Irish and English--although the English is really Norman and we can trace it back incredibly far into France and beyond.

The English, of course, were not Catholic (recently Methodist, and before that, Anglican). The Irish, just as obviously, were--we were from western Ireland. The Germans I always simply assumed were, since the ones close at hand down in Perryville, my goodness, sent a priest to scope the place out before they moved en masse to southeast Missouri. This always makes me laugh a bit. The idea that Fr. Miguel would go find a good place for us to settle down in, say, Mongolia, and then send us 140 character messages on twitter to tell us where to go.

But recently I started looking through my grandmother's father's side of the family. Someone else has already done the hard part for me and all I have to do is click to accept once I see that the dates match and the names make sense. I prefer hunting for the Irish amongst the diaspora as opposed to this orderly (German) way of having it all spelled out for me. But it is good to get done as well.

But I was looking closely at the records and things just didn't seem...Catholic. And a quick Google search (of course) found what I suspected. Lutherans. I was disappointed, I'll admit. But then I looked at some other records.

Mennonites!

I will not hide my excitement.

I know it has nothing to do with my current parish life. But it made me want to call the one Mennonite friend I have and tell her. Dork that I am. I'll probably tell her anyway when I see her (our daughters attend the same school).

But what it does have to do with, parish-wise, is conversion. My mother's mother converted from Methodism. Obviously somewhere along the line somebody converted from Lutheranism. And how did the Mennonites get mixed up with Catholics in Pennsylvania, home of the Quakers, anyhow?

It always fascinates me to hear stories of conversion. Some convert, I'm sure, because of a friend or a spouse. A few from going to Catholic school. But I always marvel at the ones that come alone--or with a casual acquaintance who told them, sure, I'll take you to church...the spirituality of the human heart fills me with a great joy. And although I remain Catholic, I understand those who leave better sometimes than those who join. At least, those who leave for something (instead of for nothing). Search, seek, come and see. Or bloom where you're planted. But be alive.

28/365 Universal Church

Long ago I remember sitting in a high school theology class and the teacher, a convert from the Lutheran Church, said that the most wonderful part about Catholicism, for her, was the universality. How she could go into a church in Paris, or in Seattle, or Mexico City, and it would be the same. Yes, in the language of the people, but the same. She would know what was going on. She could find out ahead of time the readings for the week. Nothing was based on the whim of a preacher deciding what to preach that Sunday. Sameness.

And I thought that was a nice idea. Somewhere in the world, at all times, mass is going on, and it's my denomination's version of it. It is still a nice idea. I just don't think it's so true for me anymore.

I visit my in-laws in southern Illinois and when I attend mass there, I have many moments where my feet want to get up and walk out. More importantly, my heart already has walked out. So I simply do not attend anymore because it was getting to the point that it was detrimental to my faith life. Same with traveling. I used to make a point to find a church and attend mass while I was on the road. But not anymore. I'm so much more likely to leave rolling my eyes and thinking what a waste of time that was instead of being inspired.

Why is this? I think I've found my little corner of Catholicism here in South St. Louis (and in a monastery in Western Missouri) and the universality of Catholicism is important to me not because of the sameness but because the world is a big place. In a big place there can be much diversity. I am part of the church--I am the Church--and knowing that, I can find my way.

This causes me great difficulty sometimes when it comes to ecumenism. I have a hard time saying that I fit into the Catholic Church but others do not. This makes RCIA a difficult place to serve, but a good place nonetheless.

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.

61/365 RCIA Fig Tree

I lead RCIA this weekend.

I'll go ahead and admit it: I'm terrified of this ministry.

I'm fine with kids, with Children's Liturgy and Atrium, and I could have phoned in the Old Testament class I taught 6th graders at the school, I was so relaxed with that. I don't mind teaching young folks about faith, about the Church, about what I believe and how that might apply to their lives. The Atrium is made easier by being almost completely scripted. Children's Liturgy is also rather rigid. Theology class in middle school, the way I taught it, was about learning facts and history (considering I was teaching a class that was only half Catholic, and most of the other half wasn't even Christian, this was the only decision I could make). We wrote reflection papers but it wasn't the same thing as this.

RCIA makes me really stand at the top of the stairs to my soul and think, "how Catholic am I down there, anyway?" I'm great with the searching part, with inquiry. Is this the place for you? This is why it's the place for me. But something about the catechesis part of RCIA I just have a hard time wrapping my head around. There's the Gospel and the breaking open the Word, and that works ok, but then there's catechesis afterward and the topics never seem clear unless they are all too clear...and letting things flow from the Gospel seems either stilted or too, well, reflection-paper-ish. I'm great at the lectio stage, the "what word caught you/what about the homily/what about the actions/what about your week/what about your life" part of catechesis. But the more formal, well, uh.

Hildegard wrote to me last night and gently reminded me I was in charge this week. "Take a look at the readings and see what topics might flow..." She filled me in a bit about our candidate's progress and made some suggestions. Right that minute I looked up the readings. The parable of the fig tree.

I have some tending if I'm going to bear any fruit here.

63/365 In Retrospect: Thursday

Conversion, Hildegard wrote back. There you go.

We'd been talking via email about what the topic for RCIA should be. I was missing the mark--I'm consistently missing the mark with RCIA. I don't understand what that's all about. Why can I come up with gentle and lovely presentations for Children's Liturgy but can't wrap my head around RCIA? Hildegard asked about topics drawn from the gospel and I finally got so frustrated I asked her why we didn't have set topics.

What I want is a textbook and a workbook and a manual and it all laid out on the table for me.

Right?

Not really. I never taught school that way. I resisted scripted lessons. But then, the Atrium is practically a scripted curriculum. You script it for yourself, but it has to fit into certain very specific guidelines. It makes it very easy and also keeps things in check--nobody can decide to, for instance, teach a whole Atrium lesson on St. Faustina instead of epiclesis. And trust me, there are Atrium folk who would if they could. But they have boundaries because they see the results. And because they're never alone. But I digress.

Conversion. I started thinking about this but failed to see what I should talk about because I had a baby with an ever-increasing fever and a house to clean. I would sit at the computer with the catechism next to me, the lectionary for this Sunday, with photocopies from Hildegard, and just be blank.

Which is so incredibly stupid because I'm a Benedictine. But maybe that just fits. Oblates do not take vows but do promise to live out the Benedictine vows in their regular lives as much as they can. And those vows are stability (easy once I said yes), obedience (harder but I can wrap my head around it and I take correction better than I used to), and a vow called conversatio morum. They don't even translate it because the quick translation is "conversion of heart" but it is more than that.

I sat there Thursday night and debated: is it too Benedictine? Could I bring it to the table and present it? Would I get it shot down or the subject changed before I even opened my mouth? And what would I say to someone not even yet Catholic about a topic that even most Catholics would not be familiar with?

And then I had to go make dinner and I put this, pun and all, on the back burner.

64/365 Retrospect: Friday

Conversatio Morum. I remember reading something by some Benedictine that this was the spiritual equivalent of "we fall and get up, we fall again and get up again." It is the conversion of the heart. But it isn't conversio morum. Conversio means a moment of conversion and life is never the same again. St Paul's conversion. You know, that earth-shattering moment that changes your whole life.

But since my life is a novel and not a short story by Flannery O'Connor, conversio isn't part of my experience. Sure, there have been moments of grace, but never a moment of conversion. But I do try to live out conversatio morum.

Conversatio is more of an ongoing conversion. A slow turning towards. Gradually other things fall away, edges round down, we get more and more still. At least that's the hope. I see conversio as fire:, quick, hot, dangerous, energetic. Conversatio is water: slow, seeping, seeking its own level. They are both life giving, but definitely different experiences. And as can be seen in the Burned-over District of New York, fire certainly is harder to handle and easier to get out of control.

We can't spend our lives waiting for fire. But we can spend our lives slowly seeping into the low spaces of life, slowly bringing ourselves closer to an inner truth of God present to us, in us, around us.

And that was my own conversatio morum this week as I tried in vain to get myself ready for RCIA. In vain because by Friday night, Leo had a temperature of 104.1 and things looked pretty dicey. And I started realizing I wasn't working out. Not that this wasn't working out. But I wasn't.

65/365 Ladder of Humility

I knew I couldn't just talk about my thoughts on conversatio morum. That would take 15 minutes and that wasn't going to be enough. On the other hand, we got back from Leo's doctor's appointment with a diagnosis of RSV (respiratory syncytial virus) due to the recurrent ear infection and bronchiolitis. Suddenly my Sunday looked doomed--Sophia was scheduled for an Irish Dance show at a nursing home where my great-aunt lives. I would have very much liked to have gone to the show and seen her while I was there, but I was sending Mike because I had RCIA. He was going to take the kids with him and get Sophia ready alone, for the first time.

Now with a baby with RSV, well, you don't take him to a nursing home. You just don't. So now we had a choice--Sophia could bail, I could bail, or we could cut RCIA short.

I'd already failed to go to RCIA pretty much the whole year. And the whole year before that. I'd led so few catechism meetings that the candidates hardly knew who I was. I felt bad about this--but last year I had a newborn and this year I had a family schedule and a toddler. Girl scout camping, Irish dance, trips to the inlaws, sick baby, and bam. I liked Joel, the candidate from this year, although my time with him was so far only two meetings. I find converts fascinating and I knew Hildegard really liked him, too, and wanted to do the right thing.

So I wrote an email explaining my situation and frustration. I felt bad that I'd become that person. The volunteer who never does her job. I've had them in all realms of life--the parent who never brings back the stuff she volunteered to cut out for the first grade classroom. The girl scout mom who is always late picking her daughter up, doesn't get the cookie form in on time, and always hugs me to tell me what a great job I'm doing. The garden volunteer who never researches that grant. The woman on worship commission who never gets the minutes out (oh, that's me too). The computer teacher volunteer who only comes for the classes she gets along with. We all know this person. And I resent them enough that I hate it when I see myself becoming them. In my defense, I have been Peter Principled: being a mom of two was a breeze, but I have now been promoted to my level of incompetence with three kids. But I still saw the writing on the wall and I sent an email resigning from RCIA effective after Sunday (or whenever I was on the schedule already).

Fr. Miguel wrote back and asked me to reconsider once life slowed down a bit (it is St. Patrick's season after all). And maybe I can make it work. Because Saturday night, I stayed up late and really thought about Benedict's ladder of humility and conversatio morum. I was ready by Sunday morning to give it my best shot, get out of church by 11:50, and get Sophia to Nazareth House by 12:30. I was ready.

66/365 Isn't God Interesting

"Bridgett?" the voice on the phone said when I answered at 9:15. I was busy printing out my notes for RCIA and making a handout for everyone else to follow along (but not read my goofy notes).

"This is," I replied.

"Hi, uh, this is Joel? And I just wanted to call, I didn't know if I even had your number, but I wanted to call because I'm not feeling well and so I'm not going to be there today and I'm hoping that this doesn't mess you up too much."

I told him I hoped he'd feel better, that lots of stuff seemed to be going around these days. And I explained that this actually made life a lot easier, that I was so glad he called because I had a baby who was sick and juggling everything this morning was going to be difficult.

"So you haven't left for church yet?"

Which I didn't laugh in response to, but we are one of those families who breeze in the door at 9:58 after picking Sophia up from Atrium. "No," I answered. "I'm still at home. I'll plan on seeing you next week, then?"

"Ok."

I canceled the print job but looked at the paper in my hand. The idea behind conversatio is that we discover that we have failed God in some way, and we acknowledge that we have, but we do not stop there and become discouraged or make excuses for ourselves that would lead to hardness of heart.

[expletive deleted]

So I took Sophia to church with girl scout cookies. I walked in, and there was Fr. Miguel. We were reasonably early, in fact. I said good morning. I told him Joel was sick. We both shook our heads, smiling at the irony of the past 24 hours of sturm und drang, as Mike would put it.

"Isn't God interesting?" he exclaimed.

So I sat in the second pew and listened to Miguel's homily smack me across the face (hopefully not intentionally but it, well, spoke to me) and took Sophia home to gather up dress and dance paraphernalia. Spent the afternoon with my 93 year old great-aunt and her son and daughter-in-law as we watched my daughter's dance school wow everyone.

176/365 Another reason why I stay

We sat there on the steps of the sanctuary after cleaning or polishing or something we were doing inside the church.

Sr. Hildegard turned to me with a sigh. She was trying to convince me to become more active in RCIA, which is something I have a block about although recently I've been trying to work through that. Back then I was very hesitant. At some point in the conversation, though, she said something that struck me, and has stayed in my head since, which I paraphrase here because I can't remember the exact quote:

Joining a religion is not about a new list of rules to follow. It's about falling in love with God.

And this cacophony of other voices in the back of my head, whether the Jesuits or lousy public school religion class teachers or that woman who led our Engaged Encounter and totally overshared about her miserable marriage....were silent.

177/365 Upcoming in RCIA

RCIA is the process by which adults become Catholic. If they are baptized and coming from another trinitarian Christian tradition (as opposed to UU, who are not TRinitarian, or the Quakers, who do not baptize, or from places more suspect like the Mormon church or the Jehovah's Witnesses...), then they go through however much catechism they seem to need and are confirmed. This amount varies from a few months to a few years. A fully catechised Lutheran who reads up on his own and has been attending mass with his wife for 6 years is probably, but not necessarily, in a different category from someone who kind of remembers going to church with his mom but he's not sure what church that was. And folks who are not baptized are introduced to the Church in a similar way, although tailored to match their needs and starting points, which sometimes can lead to a longer journey.

Note all the qualifiers in the above paragraph. Our parish does a sort of continuum of RCIA. We don't do a school year style crash catechism course (anymore). Things don't start up in October and wham! end at Easter Vigil. Oftentimes things do end at Easter Vigil, especially baptisms, but they might start the summer before, or the winter before. It's more of a living, organic process than a structured curriculum.

There is a curriculum, based on the weekly Gospel readings and drawing from the Catechism. Topics are wide and varied even on a given week. For instance, I am responsible this coming fall for October 10. I believe, based on a quick internet search (I will double check this obviously before I prepare), that the Gospel is the healing of the 10 lepers, with only one returning praising God to thank Jesus, and of course this one is a Samaritan to boot. So I can touch on a variety of topics: conversion, journey of faith, blessing of the sick, etc.

Sometimes the discussion is dry, and other times lively. I have a great suspicion that I'm not very good at the catechism part, but pretty good at the connecting part. The story telling and, as Sr. Hildegard put it, the falling in love with God part. The problem I have is that I have a hard time summoning the energy to talk about what the Church teaches about this or that topic. So I looked over the topics for this summer and autumn and avoided things like Eucharist and Social Justice (I have thoughts, beliefs, and opinions about these but I don't want to misrepresent, you know?). But I can do conversion, and I can probably even do the blessing of the sick (which is a sacrament).

I think what I find hardest about RCIA is it challenges my own Catholicism. Converts tend to be earnest and many of them see the world as very black and white (in my experience). And they are searching on a very basic level for a spiritual home, one that I'm only partially comfortable about living in, and really only because I've found a back porch where I can smoke and drink and be myself (so to speak). They are standing in the vestibule looking in. I need to show them the kitchen and the dining room and maybe the library or den. They don't need to see the mud room, do they? The basement? And I'm always hesitant about that back porch. Not everyone would be cozy here.

This year might be interesting. It could be just one person (that's all we have signed up at the moment), or maybe as many as 4...and things are always changing. Because we have the reputation of an immigrant parish, there are folks on the list who do not speak English as a first language. People I can't assume I have any shared background with, anything on a most basic level in common with. That's scary, too. And then I'm supposed to sit with them with the Gospel and a cozy meeting room and talk about God.

That's no easy task.

Ruminating.

214/365 Adult Education

I went to a little seminar today about RCIA. The title was "How Adults Learn" and I could have taught it. Because, frankly, it's all the same thing through a different lens. It's all college RA training and La Leche League training and teacher inservices and girl scout training and block captaining.

But what it did show me is that Hildegard, who runs our RCIA program, really knows what she's doing. We were surrounded by all sorts of folks who do RCIA at their parishes, and just by listening, actively or passively, I realized we really are doing the right thing. And the folks who come to these seminars are probably in the top percentage of parishes on the "do the right thing" scale already.

The other thing I really noticed was that I was probably the second or third youngest person in the room. What is it about my generation that has just decided to bail on church? Or on church leadership?

The other thing that struck me was as I walked into the parking lot after it was over, on my way to a girl scout training (which was remarkably good for a change). I looked at bumper stickers. And I was reminded yet again how very different my parish is from so many others. And how glad I'm where I am.

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be

RCIA This Sunday

I'm the RCIA catechist this Sunday, for the first time since, oh, Lent? As I've said before, RCIA is something I want to be a part of but even starting my third year of it, I still feel like I'm not qualified. Children's Liturgy of the Word (CLOTW) might annoy me sometimes because I have to miss a homily, but even if I forget and am unprepared, I can make something happen downstairs that will work. And Sadie O'Toole will stand up at coffee and donuts open mic afternoon and say that Children's Liturgy is her favorite part of church.

Or banners, or helping with holiday meals, or whatever. I'm good at things and feel like my work is competent and on par with those around me. This is not true with RCIA but I stay.

We'll have two new folks who are participating in the rite of acceptance this Sunday (the official start to their catechism experience). One baptized, who could come in any time during the year when it seems like she's ready, and one unbaptized. This brings our total to 3, which is nice. One person is a little intimidating for everyone concerned.

Now to plan.

276/365 It's hard to plan...

It's hard to plan when you can't find the outline.

Searching...

277/365 The 10 Lepers

Thoughts on the story of the one thankful leper/story of the 10 lepers. You know the story: Jesus heals ten lepers. Tells them to go see the priests (go to the Temple) and show themselves to prove their cleanliness. They run off, but one, upon realizing he's been healed, returns to Jesus and thanks him. Jesus asks him, a Samaritan, why only one returned? But, having no answer, Jesus simply tells him his faith has saved him.

It's paired with the almost identical story of a healing of a Syrian named Naaman by Elisha. Naaman begs to give Elisha a sign of his thankfulness--but Elisha says no. He won't grow rich from the work of God. So, thwarted, Naaman instead asks Elisha for two mule-loads of earth so he can take it back home and worship God, the one true God, he realizes now.

Huh. He takes home dirt.

In the ancient world, gods were still tied to place (in fact, it's sometimes still true, with centers of religion in different parts of the world). Naaman felt that if he was to worship God the right way, he would need to do it in that place--and if he can't be in that place, he will take that place home with him. Which I guess is kind of like water from Lourdes or pieces of the "true cross." Pilgrimages. Those sorts of activities and desires to be in a certain place to be closer to God. So Naaman goes home with some of the place that belongs to God, and I don't know anything else about Naaman.

So then in the Gospel, there are some more lepers. Jesus sends them, again, to a specific place to be readmitted into the community. One, however, returns, and gives thanks to God at Jesus' feet. The word in Greek is the same as the word for Eucharist. Thanks reserved only for God. Jesus does not correct him as Elisha did for Naaman. And the Samaritan has come to realize that place doesn't matter: the person of Christ does.

303/365 RCIA preparation

I sat in the dining room with Sarah, the intern from the divinity school who is working with Sr. Hildegard this semester. I needed someone to tell me what to do and she was as good as anybody, frankly. I have RCIA again this Sunday--we were going to be out of town this weekend but changed our minds last week sometime when we figured out that was a ludicrous plan. Every weekend from August to Christmas is full, so yeah, let's go camping in November. Yeah! So, not really. And I raised my hand to take this week's because I feel lots of guilt about RCIA and how not involved I am because, if you hadn't taken notice, I'm busy. Biz. Ee.

But I did and then looked at my choices. Heaven and Hell, Resurrection, and Life stuff (the Catholic view of life issues like abortion, murder, death penalty, etc). Ugh. I wasn't going to be good at the first, I probably wasn't going to be able to talk confidently about the second (seriously), and the third made me clench my jaw because it reminded me of oh so many bad family dinners and gatherings with my elderly aunt and her family and the angry anti-living-people pro-life attitudes around the table. Don't help the poor, don't help them AT ALL, even their children don't deserve health care or good educations, but you'd better never ever vote for someone who isn't unwaveringly holding the abolition of all abortions no matter what as the first and foremost and, frankly, only issue worth talking about. It nauseates me on so many levels, and I don't support abortion as a way of life, I think in vitro fertilization is a slippery slope to scary stuff, and so forth--but I believe personally that these things should be between a person and her doctor, not between angry foaming at the mouth pro-life advocates and politicians and misguided feminists and so forth. And the evangelical hijacking of this issue and the Republican hijacking of the benighted Catholic population and so forth just makes this whole thing like a recently scabbed over cut on my leg. Let's not pick at it, shall we?

But I reconsidered. I reconsidered because the catechism is really so good at things sometimes. Its chapter on God's Will is Life goes over the whole spectrum of life issues and frankly, we're bringing into the church one completely uncatechized young woman and two women from Africa with language barriers of one variety or another. Perhaps it would be good for me to tackle this with enthusiasm and bring forth to their presence the actual ideas the Church holds instead of what this or that bishop spouted off about or what annoying piece of crap propaganda showed up in their mailboxes or from friends and acquaintances with rigid opinions.

So tonight I'm going to sit down and make a handout and an outline for myself. And it'll be ok.

After preparing and hashing things out with Sarah, we chatted about her future plans and then I gathered up Leo to get ready to leave. Fr. Miguel had me smell and guess the flavor of the coffee creamer in his fridge, which was peculiar and I couldn't quite place. While doing this, Leo went into his office and dialed Nairobi on the phone. Then Sarah showed us pictures of her dog's halloween costume and I went home thinking about all this and kept smiling. The things that keep me here...

360/365 Benedictine Moments

I stay. I stayed this year. Several times, in fact. At several points, I had a choice presented to me to jump ship, change horses, experience the grass on the other side of the fence. And I never did.

Staying, or stability, is good and bad. The downsides are obvious to someone who has been lots of places and seen lots of things: sameness is dull. Staying put might mean missing a great opportunity. It's a bad idea to stay in a bad situation.

None of my situations were bad, or else I wouldn't have stayed. I say no to many things that I decide aren't a good idea as time goes on. I have chosen not to spend too much time with my too conservative relatives on important holidays. I just don't like them and I don't want to ruin Easter with that. I used to, but I decided it was time for a change--many years ago, not this past year. Just as an example.

My situations I decided to stay in this year are far more mundane than making a break like that. School choice. Irish dance school. Worship Commission. RCIA. Children's Liturgy. Girl Scouts.

Girl Scouts remains constant because I know the difference between hierarchy and local troop, just like I understand the difference in my church. I didn't jump ship and send Maeve to the French Immersion school, even though I was tempted, because we are invested in our school community--and there, stability paid off with good kindergarten teachers and my time not split between two locations. I stay in RCIA because I see others leave and I know it makes it harder on those who remain. Same with children's liturgy, although I also stay there because I know I'm good at it. Irish dance school--a few dancers from our school have bailed for a new school which would be a shorter drive and maybe a good choice, but I know the teacher at our school and Sophia didn't feel the need to leave. She just shrugged and said she was happy where she was. And so, so was I.

And I stay on Worship Commission because I won't let that woman win. Probably not the most Benedictine reason, but it does keep me there.