Adventures with Catholicism

And the Red Devils won their Homecoming game!  22-18 was a close but very nice victory over the Westminster Blue Jays, and it brought a nice conclusion to the Homecoming festivities (unless you count the party at the Bowling Alley tonight, which I do not).  The sad part is next week will be utterly normal, and October will be a somewhat harder academic month.  Real life is back in swing and for the first time since starting at Eureka there are no events or holidays coming up to look to… it is just normal college.  It will be interesting to look at school as just school, to see the “daily grind” with fewer respites.  I think I’m up to the challenge.

I had the opportunity to go to a Catholic mass today with my good friend, Belle.  For those of you without a spotless memory, Belle is also teaching me piano and is from New Zealand.  She is a wonderful friend that I am thankful to know and even more appreciative that she felt comfortable enough to share her faith with me (not that it is VERY different than the protestant brand of Christianity, but there are differences; enough differences that I felt lost!).

The parish was old, “white and out”, which was in its own way comforting to see.  The hymns were like ours, except they were sung a cappella.  I think that isn’t a part of traditional Catholicism, but due to the fact that they were without an organist.  The pews were hard and wood, just like any that I would find at any of the numerous churches I have visited over the years- but with kneelers and without communion cup holders. 

Most of the service was done in liturgy, which was interesting.  Even though a few Catholics may read this, and please do not take offence, I did not like that aspect of it much.  It didn’t have as much of the individual soul.  I think that was a part of the intended effect, but I prefer it the other way.  By other way, I mean very little is said in unison, the priest/preacher/pastor prays original prayers, and in general the congregation shapes more of the service.  Although, there is some comfort in that everywhere, every mass is saying and learning what you are.  I find some of that appealing, to be sure. 

I am quite positive they did not know I was a Disciple and never attended a mass before, but nevertheless I was asked to help with the service.  I’m not sure if they grabbed me because they knew Belle, or I was young, or my “minister wannabe” factor was showing, but I was asked to be the gift bearer and to bring the chalice to the priest.  I enjoy the way this parish did the collections of monetary tithes and offerings in that they had a basket in the back of the room.  The basket was never passed, so if you didn’t give, no one would know.  I liked that a lot.  Plus, visitors could not give.  Only people who had been there for a time could have known where the collection was.  Normally, visitor confusion is never good, but I liked the inability to give monetarily to the parish.  It makes the service more of a gift then.  The bringing of the chalice was also the only way I got to participate with communion.

Naturally, the universal problem for a Disciple came up while I was there.  Communion was being served, and even though I follow the Christ who was born in a barn and therefore have an open door policy to communion, I had to understand that this meal was not served for me.  I could have gone forward to be blessed, but at the same time, it stung to be blessed by a priest and then turned away from the single most important act of worship, so I elected to stay in my pew as the congregation filed forward for the bread and cup.   

Even though I knew how Catholics believed concerning communion, I was still inwardly angry when the time came.  I was surprised, I thought I had gotten over these poor feelings, but they rose up when it was time to break bread.  I craved to be a part of the body of Christ and to commune with Jesus, to take the bread and drink from the cup and see the risen Christ face to face.  However, I respect their faith, and I understand their reasoning, but I still maintain that the Disciples have the best idea of the meal that heals, the gift from God meant to be a symbol of unity that so often divides.

Belle and I left the mass and walked back to Eureka College and I made her come back to my dorm room.  I wanted to show her one of my all-time favorite gifts.  We got back to my room and I showed her the portable communion set my grandmother Jayne had given me.  It is a beautiful set and I admire it so greatly.  She looked at it confusedly for a moment and then she realized what it was and we discussed it.  She mentioned that she could use this if the priest blessed the host.  I said that in the Disciples way of understanding, any believer can give any believer communion.  I am not sure how she felt about this (as she will probably read this, I have a feeling I will know sooner than later). 

By the end of the adventures in faith that I had today I was thankful.  Not only thankful for my friendship with Belle, or thankful that I lived in a country where I can try out so many different styles of loving one God, but thankful for my heritage.  I thank God that I was put in the place to become a Disciple of Christ with a “big D.”

On the walk home, Belle and I both agreed on one thing above all else: we loved our faith.  How wonderful is it that God can love both of us equally and fully, we who believe similarly yet so differently at the same time.  Praise to our Creator!

The identity statement of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ):

We are Disciples of Christ, a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world.  As part of the one body of Christ, we welcome all to the Lord’s table as God has welcomed us.