Kate asked me in this post, “Having become Catholic as an adult, is there anything you think you ‘missed out on’ that a so-called cradle Catholic may have experienced?”

Yes. Goodness gracious, yes.

Being somewhat—okay, quite a bit—of a nerd, I missed out on CCD. I mean, I got to experience RCIA, but that was only a year, and if we’re being honest, it was really only 7 months. That’s not a lot of Catholic scholarly nerd learning. I loved school, so the thought of getting to read and learn even more outside of school appeals to me. I’m sad to have missed out on that.

Traditions are definitely a big one, too. When it comes to certain liturgical times of the year (Happy new year, by the way! Advent, yay!), like right now, I’m sort of… lost. I’ve never had an Advent wreath. I’ve never had a crèche. I never got to celebrate St Nicholas Day outside of French class, and getting a few pieces of candy in a shoe really isn’t the same at all. I know some things that people/families do, but not very many. I really need to read a Catholic Family Traditions for the Newly Initiated. It’s been 3 and a half years since I was baptized, and yet I still feel like a neophyte in so many regards. Probably because I am.

I guess knowledge of prayers and certain things in the Mass would go along with that. I’m still thrown off sometimes in Mass when the congregation will say something in Latin that they know because they grew up with it, and I stand there like a buffoon, because it doesn’t always happen, and I have no idea what they’re saying or why. Speaking of which, I have a penance for my recent Confession that I need to do but haven’t yet because I don’t know how to pray the particular prayer. I should probably look that up. I actually probably should’ve informed the priest of that fact, but I was nervous to, so I didn’t.

Again, this sort of goes along with everything else above, but general Catholic culture. I’ve said it before, but I feel like a weird half-breed. I sort of have my feet in two different worlds, and that’s molded together to become who I am today, but it’s a weird sort of amalgamation that doesn’t quite make sense to either.

I obviously don’t have the same sacramental experiences that cradle Catholics do. I mean, they don’t remember their baptisms, but they have pictures or videos of them in lovely white gowns. (Admittedly, I did get to wear a white gown to my baptism, but it looked like a choir gown. So not the same thing.) I’ll never know or see the evidence of my family proudly surrounding me at my baptism; none of my family could attend mine. The girls got to wear pretty white dresses for their First Communion, and it makes me sort of sad that I’ll never know what it’s like to be, what, 8 and getting all giddy over getting to pick out a beautiful white dress and shoes and finally getting to receive Communion with the adults. I’ll never know what it’s like to be a teenager on the cusp of adulthood getting Confirmed by the Church, ready to take on a more adult view of faith and preparing to live a more adult faith.

The part that’s the most difficult for me personally, though, is that I don’t get to experience any of it with my family. I mean, I love the idea of getting to wear the pretty white dress and shoes and maybe even a little veil, but the part of that that eats at me the most and makes my throat tighten up is that I never got to experience that with my family in the pew beaming with pride. I got to experience them beam with pride when I won the Spelling Bee, but that’s not exactly the same thing. I also missed out on family prayer time; the closest family time we had was eating together as a family. On holidays. Sometimes we’d eat together as a family when it wasn’t a holiday, but we were sitting in front of a tv.

When I go home, I have to sit by myself in Mass; I don’t get to sit with my family, regardless of it being Christmas or a regular Sunday in Ordinary Time. I don’t get to hug them during the Sign of Peace. I don’t get to pray alongside them. I don’t get to… receive Communion with them. That’s the worst part of it all for me. I often find myself gazing longingly and quite despondently at families who get to experience that together. They probably don’t even realize how lucky they are. That’s something I’ve longed for since before I was even baptized. It’s not easy.

That all being said, I’ve had experiences that cradle Catholics will never experience. For one, and I would wager that it’s the biggest one, I have the immense blessing of being able to remember my baptism. I still remember how I felt. I still remember what it was like. I still remember the overwhelming presence of God, and not in the sense of how the phrase is often used, but in the sense that I could quite literally feel Him beyond any level I ever had. I still don’t have the words. It was the holiest moment of my life, and I remember it. Similarly, I’ve got 19 and a half years worth less sins than cradle Catholics burdening me down come Purgatory. That’s pretty neat. (I often joke that I should’ve held out longer for that very reason—ha! As if I could have.) I also probably had a more mature viewpoint and understanding (if we mere mortals can even claim such a thing) of the Eucharist than most cradle Catholics at the time of their first having taken it. I also more or less have been able to keep track of how many times, and I consider that to be pretty neat. (I’m falling behind on that, though, and my +/- on my count is increasing; I’m choosing not to be angry with myself over this for the reason that most people can’t claim an accurate count, and the fact that I’m within ballpark range is still quite impressive. After all, it’s not so much about the accurate number as the fact that I have an idea of the number and what it means to me.)

All in all, there’s really a lot that I’m sad to have missed, sometimes despairingly so, but I’m fine with where I am. I know that this particular and unique path was meant for me for a reason, and I know that had I been a cradle Catholic who experienced everything that I wish I had, I probably wouldn’t have appreciated it the way that I do now as an adult having not experienced it. Heck, I probably wouldn’t appreciate the faith that I do now. I probably wouldn’t have the faith that I do now. That consoles me somewhat. God does have a plan. This was his for me.

I was essentially awake for about eighty hours.  Last night, after the women’s retreat, it was about 8:30 and I was wide awake.  Knowing motion tends to make me sleepy, I thought that instead of going straight home I would ride the subway for a while to see if that would help matters.  I rode back and forth a few times on the red line (it’s about an hour from the beginning to the end of the line).  Unfortunately, that didn’t really seem to help matters, but it did give me a lot of time to think over the happenings of the day and time to observe a lot of people.  I happen to enjoy both activities quite a bit.

I was thinking back on the day, and my attention kept going to the last hours of the retreat, because we had eight priests come in for Confession and they also had Adoration.  While these normally occur during our weekend retreats, these are not normal occurrences for a day-long women’s retreat.  This was the first time, and I was ridiculously excited.

I happen to love Confession–I mean, in what other situation can you air the very worst about yourself and have someone not only forgive you, but remind you how precious and loved you are?–and Adoration, so to say that I was looking forward to both would be an understatement.  I think I was particularly joyed over the matter because I have been dragging my feet about going to Confession since I’ve had so much going on, so it’s been much longer than I’d like since I last went.  As for Adoration, well, the Catholic Center at BU usually does Adoration on Thursday nights when RCIA is occurring, so I never get to go unless I go on a retreat or go to a different parish.  I don’t exactly have all the free time in the world to go to a different parish, though, because when I come into the city, I always come for a particular purpose.  So, I was pretty much feeling like I had won the lottery.

I thought about a music video we had watched that was particularly meaningful to me on a personal level, and I found myself tearing up over some things that I haven’t allowed myself to cry over in a very long time.  I prayed and thought while I worked on an Examination of Conscience to prepare for Confession.  After a while, the emotional dam I allowed to be opened became overwhelming for me, I think because I had only slept an hour the night before after not sleeping for two days straight.  I was in the ball room which was where the Blessed Sacrament was presented and Confession was occurring, and I just needed to get out.  I couldn’t tell you why I needed to get out, but I knew it sure as my name that I needed to get out of that room right then and there.  I needed air, I needed coffee, I needed to not lose the tight hold I kept over everything that was threatening to bubble to the surface.

I left the room and quickly walked over to the coffee and poured myself a cup.  I chugged it down and ran my hand through my hair and then over my face.  I quickly calmed myself down, by which point a girl in my small group in RCIA was walking by and came over.  She pulled me into a tight hug and thanked me for what I do.  I was completely taken aback.  I want to help people and be there for them, but I’ve never been particularly good at taking a compliment.  I get embarrassed and end up staring at my feet and turning red.  I don’t often get complimented, and I never know what to say when I am, because I often want to argue that I’m not as deserving of whatever label or praise I’m being given.  I know that to do so would be rude, though; after all, it is not easy for someone to humble themselves enough to raise someone else up, and I don’t want people thinking that I am not unbelievably flattered and grateful for their kind words.  So, I sort of stuttered my thanks and just hugged her back with everything I had, because those words meant so very much to me.

I was sidelined by three other young women, all completely accidental.

One knew that I hadn’t slept in a while and asked me if I was ok as she walked by where I was standing, and we sat down and talked about a lot of stuff–Issues, if you please.  We shared our stories, which turned out to be surprisingly similar; we talked about our pain and our coping and our healing and our continued struggles.  We talked about things we don’t normally share with people, much less someone we don’t know very well, and neither of us really knew the other but for having seen each other around a few times and knowing one another’s names.  Although, granted, she knows far more of me than I knew of her.  But still.  We talked for a long time.  At the end, we hugged and thanked each other for sharing our story, because sometimes it’s just nice to talk to someone who gets it.  That does wonders for healing, and it reminds you that you’re not alone.

One was on the floor of a bathroom stall throwing up in the toilet.  The poor thing was all alone.  Everyone else was in the ball room doing Confession or Adoration.  She was on her knees on the cold tile floor suffering all by herself.  I asked her if she was all right, got her to splash some water on her face and went to go get her a mint after she was finished.  I rubbed her back a little and gave her a gentle hug, and then we left the bathroom together to head back and join the festivities.

One was curled into herself crying.  I know her, and I would consider her a friend of mine.  I don’t know why she was crying, and I didn’t ask–that wasn’t what she needed from me–I just wrapped my arms around her and held onto her like my life depended upon it.  I wiped the tears from her cheek with my thumb and I kissed her forehead while I rubbed her back.  Then I hugged her again and held her for a few minutes.  I don’t know what was bothering her, but she came up to me later and hugged me  saying, “Thank you,” over and over again.

By the time I made it back I had missed Confession and Touching of the Garments.  The host was being put away from Adoration as I walked in.  I was crushed.  I missed the best parts of the retreat!

I thought about this while I was sitting on the subway for those hours before I went home, and in the midst of my haze of sleep deprivation, a singular surprisingly lucid thought broke through.  “You were exactly where you needed to be.  You missed nothing.”

And, you know what?  I absolutely believe that.  And I am so thankful for that.

(Yet another warning before reading this–I have not been proofreading my NaBloPoMo posts, so I apologize if they do not transition well or make complete sense.  I’m trying to just go with the flow–ha! (or not?)–and ignore my perfectionistic tendencies.  I’ve also been writing usually whilst doing other things, so my writing is very…uhm…undeveloped and rough.  I apologize for not polishing my work up more for you.)

This sort of stems from my post the other day. I should probably preface this all by saying that this is not exclusive to Catholics, I’m only focusing on them because that’s where my experience lies, and that this is not true across the board; it is a generalization, and I would like you to take it as such. In fact, take it with a grain of salt. It might be more tolerable that way. This is merely what I’ve noticed with devout, practicing Catholics.  (Also, for the sake of any and all friendships, let’s assume I’m not talking about you.  Have I written enough to try to weasel my way out of being yelled at?  No?  Maybe?  Ok, one more–don’t listen to anything I say, because I’m an idiot.  Ok.  There.)

I’m also highly distracted, so this won’t be written the way I’d like it to be; it’ll be clumsy and probably not concise in the least, so I apologize in advance.

In Catholicism–well, any Christian denomination, really–you hear a lot about evangelization.  Everyone has their own method of it, often times that method being witnessing your faith through example.  I’ve noticed that for a lot of people this basically means that they don’t evangelize at all, but this is one way of saying that they do.  Don’t be confused, I’m not judging–in this society, the topic of faith tends to be a taboo one, and one which often causes tension, if not controversy.  I generally think that witnessing one’s faith by example is the best form of evangelization, but having come from a secular background, I can also attest that while this method  can be particularly effective, it can also be very exclusionist.

You see, people who are not religious, or who do not adopt your particular religious convictions, find this quite wonderful, because they are in no way flooded with undesired conversations.  However, people never really learn about your faith either, and this makes it difficult for conversion or religious toleration/understanding to occur unless non-Catholics seek that information out on their own.  Call me cynical, but I’m guessing this doesn’t happen a lot.  I find this to be rather problematic, because even if a seed for conversion isn’t planted, it’s important to know where people are coming from.  It’s important to understand what someone believes and why.  Though, if we’re being frank, a lot of Catholics don’t even know the answer to those questions (not claiming expertise on my end of things), much less non-Catholics.

So, I’ve noticed that a lot of Catholics tend to cut themselves off from the world.  I can understand their reasons.  After all, as a whole, we’re labeled as being old-fashioned, intolerant and not with the times.  That doesn’t exactly make you want to become chummy with people who perceive you that way.  It also makes for a less dramatic existence.  It makes for an easier existence.  That means it makes for a stagnant existence.  We don’t grow in the ways that we otherwise could, not just personally, but spiritually.  It’s easy to hang out with people who share your beliefs; it challenges you to grow, sure, but it’s a different kind of growth than, say, having to defend your faith to someone who mentally invalidates it.  Anyway, isn’t it God who reminds us that we may live in this world but we’re not of this world?  Hey, He’s giving us our excuse to close ourselves off from people who don’t share our convictions!  Right?

I personally see this result in a huge lack of evangelization and a huge contribution to misunderstanding between people.  It makes Catholics come off as being cold, exclusionist and, well, arrogant.  That’s not exactly the message you want to be sending to non-Catholics, because it’s not true, but having come from the other side of things, it absolutely seems that way.

Of course, then you have the Catholics who are quite extroverted in their evangelization, the ones who speak about their faith in great length and frequency.  That can pose problems, too, because it often become a monologue at that point rather than a dialogue.  Admittedly, having a dialogue can be rather difficult, especially in print.  The point, though, is that that form of evangelization can seem acerbic at times.

I guess this all stems from my personal belief that evangelization begins with conversation and understanding.  You can’t effectively evangelize without understanding where someone is coming from, because people are different, and it’s not an instance of one argument fits all.  You need to know where someone’s coming from, you need to know what they believe and why, and you need to meet them where they are, not where you’d like them to be.  You need to listen to them, not just talk to them, because people believe in their convictions, and they have reasons for them.  It’s a delicate path to travel because people’s hearts are invested in such things, and  people who actively evangelize can unintentionally offend others because of it.

It just seems to me like a lot of devout Catholics tend to fall into one camp or the other–actively hiding away from the world (because the pugnacious non-Catholics annoy the Hell out of them–but, hey, this is good; less time in Purgatory, friends!) (That was a joke.) or jumping into the middle of things, guns blazing.  Neither approach really seems to work, at least in my personal experience, because neither really seeks dialogue and conversation, and both seem to contribute to heightened tension and misunderstanding.

Because, ultimately, regardless of how an individual identifies his or her faith, Catholics believe we are all one in Christ.  We are united by Christ’s death and resurrection, and even if we do not accept this as a personal truth, Catholics maintain that it holds as a universal truth, and one that unites us at that.  If we ever hope to change the world, we must integrate ourselves into it, and we should seek first for mutual understanding and respect.  Should that plant the seed that leads to conversion, then awesome, but if not, I dare say we’d still be yielding a positive return on our efforts.