I gave my talk/lecture this evening on the Eucharist.  I was nervous and highly dubious about it the past few days.  I got there early this evening, and while I was still nervous, I wasn’t nearly as nervous as I have been.  I hadn’t even practiced the talk.  That was really the only thing that made me nervous.

Anyway, I gave the talk (half of it was theology, half of it was my own witness).  Well, I took the opportunity to apologize to several people beforehand for being forced to sit through it, because I am not good at giving talks.  I thought (still do) I did a mediocre job.  I didn’t do poorly, but I didn’t do anything superbly either.  That worked for me.  I know, I know.  Why is a perfectionist content with mediocrity?  Well, this perfectionist hates being the center of attention, and she finds that she exudes more confidence and intelligence through writing than speaking.  If I don’t shine out in a talk, then I won’t be asked to give one again, right?  Of course, it’s such a critical talk, and it is faith formation for people planning on receiving sacraments at Easter, so I couldn’t do a poor job either.  I wanted them to get something out of it, but I wasn’t exactly hoping for people to come back asking for more, if you understand my meaning.

When I finished, everyone clapped.  I figured it’s common courtesy to clap after someone finishes talking, so ok, whatever.  After we were released to our break to get snacks and head off to small groups, I was bombarded by several people.  Everyone told me the talk was perfect.  The quiet girl in my small group spoke up for maybe the second time this semester and told me she thought it was the best talk of the semester, and she thanked me for that.  A catechumen told me that my talk completely inspired and excited her.  She said she was so touched and so thankful for my words, and she proceeded to ask me if it would be all right if we could maybe get together some time to talk.  An acquaintance’s husband I don’t really know that well came up and pulled me into a hug, telling me what a fantastic job I did.  Ok, I thought, this is really weird. 

I slipped out and went to my small group that I lead.  They all sang me praises while I lit up bright red.  I thanked them for their kindness and tried to transition things back to the discussion questions.  I answered questions they had for me, and we just talked about the discussion questions.  Things went well.  We ended our small group time with a closing prayer and then headed back downstairs for final announcements and a group closing prayer.

After the group closing prayer, I was once again assailed on all sides.  A fully catechized Catholic came up to me and said that she felt the need to personally thank me for both my talk and my witness.  She went on to explain that she had her First Communion when she was in second grade, so she just got used to it and never really perceived it as special.  She told me that for a while she stopped receiving Communion at all, but that recently within the past year she started back up and was finally starting to feel something special because of it.  She said that my talk really spoke to her and what she’s currently going through, and she said it just really comforted and encouraged her.  I was honored and thankful that she shared her story with me, and after getting her name, I gave her a hug.  She thanked me again and headed out.

Then the husband of a friend (he has become my friend, too) came over and gave me a hug.  He said I did an awesome job and said that he was proud of me.  He then told me that I need to come over to their place more often.  His wife nodded in agreement and said, “We’ll cook for you!”  My oh so eloquent response was, “Hey, I like food.”  It seemed better than saying that I was not terribly fond of the hour or so commute to their place.  (Of course, it’s worth it to spend time with friends, but such a waste of time if you don’t have a book!)  The darling I am sponsoring this year came over for the third or forth time and hugged me tightly and said that my talk was amazing and that she loved it and she loved me and that she felt so lucky to have me as her sponsor.  I squeezed her and kissed her cheek, all the while thinking that if anyone was lucky in this deal it is me.  Watching her just made my heart swell.  She seemed so proud of me.  I still don’t understand why, but she seemed touched by the talk and said that it made her even more excited than she already is.  I guess that’s all that matters.

Several people I don’t even know came up and thanked me for the talk.  As an afterthought they congratulated me for a job well done.  Several hugged me, and again told me how deeply I touched them and how no book could have conveyed what I said or excited them the way I did.  Then I started wondering, what exactly did I say in my talk?  Did I give them the answer to life?  Did I impart some great wisdom?  Crap.  I missed my own revelations!  Oh, wait, Br. Sam’s got it on tape.  A couple of girls from my small group told me that the apology was completely unnecessary.  I had to think for a minute before I realized that they were talking about my apology before I gave the talk, because I was convinced it was going to be horrible.  That made me blush.

Finally, everyone started heading out.  After the class, the leadership team (myself, two other individuals and Br. Sam) meet to discuss how things went in small group and in class and to address any questions or issues.  So, we all met for a little huddle.  My fellow leadership team members again told me what a wonderful job I did, and I finally expressed my confusion.  I told them that I didn’t understand why everyone was hailing my talk and witness, because I simply thought it mediocre.  I didn’t think I did that great of a job.  Even if I did do well, I certainly didn’t do well enough to warrant the kind of reception I’d been getting.  They looked at me and said, “Yeah, that’s just you, because everyone else thought you did a fantastic job!”  Br. Sam looked at me and said, “Lindsay, it was perfect.  The way you strung it all together–you asked them questions and involved them, you had Biblical excerpts, you had excerpts of tradition to show how little has changed, you explained all the theology in an easy to understand manner, and then your witness–wow, your witness.  Oh, and, no pressure or anything, but I expect your next talk to be even better since this was your first time.”  He winked and laughed at the last part, then he said, “I don’t mean to scare you, but I think we’ve found your calling.”  I just quipped back, “Uh, I think that’d require me to get an entirely different MA.”  He thought about it for a second and said, “Nah.  We just need to find you a diocese that doesn’t require them.”  Then someone said, “Seriously, your first time… that was phenomenal.”  By this point, I imagine I was a shade of red that cannot be described.  Fortunately for me, the group huddle was over and I was free to leave.

Except then I was ambushed by even more people on the sidewalk saying goodbye who hadn’t talked to me yet.  I hurried out of there as soon as I could.  I wanted to do a good job, but I didn’t want to do that well.  I wasn’t even trying to!  Then I realized that God has a sick sense of humor.  He knows I hate giving talks.  He knows I hate being the center of attention.  He knew how to completely freak me out, and He succeeded.  I had wanted things to go well.  I just hadn’t expected things to go this well.  I’m just me, after all.  I’m nobody special.  The entire walk back to my room all I could think about were Br. Sam’s words and everything else everyone said to me, and, to be completely honest, it terrifies me.  If I were to talk to Br. Sam about it, he’d say, “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to be Catholic, much less a brother, and look at where that got me.  I don’t even like going to Mass!”  Where, indeed.

A little over two years ago, I was shaking uncontrollably as seven years’ of joyful anticipation emanated through my entire body.  I was sitting at the very front of the church, trying to take in the readings, but losing them the instant after they reached my ears.  My glance kept going over to Br. Jason every few minutes, my face contorting into a single expression of excitement as I mouthed the words, “Now?”  He half-laughed each time as he smiled and mouthed back, “Not yet.”  Between my long-distance questioning, I would stare at the glass bowl of water before the altar.  I would get goosebumps and shake more.  I would have little recollection of the actual service prior to walking to the front of the church.  That night my entire concentration was focused on that bowl.  After what seemed to be several agonising hours, Br. Jason smiled a smile that filled his entire face and excitedly pointed in the direction of Fr. Paul.  As I walked up to the front of the church with the other catechumens, my glance never left the bowl.  My hands felt clammy, I had trouble swallowing, and my body shook more the closer I got to that glass bowl.  My eyes began to fill with water as I walked up the steps.  It was finally time.  I had difficulty standing still, or even standing at all, and I remember internally laughing when the choir began to sing more songs.  I thought to myself, “I’ve waited for such a long time, and NOW they’re going to sing some more?  When I’m literally three feet away?”  I don’t recall the songs they sang, but I remember clenching my fists and clamping my jaw tightly together in order to try to prevent the tears from flowing.  I remember the music hit me particularly hard and over and over I kept praying in my head and thanking God for bringing me that far.

I remember wondering what it would be like–whether it would be like immediate fireworks, whether it would take effect slowly, whether I’d feel anything at all.  Not a large percentage of people get to have the experience I had, and so I had no idea what it was like.  I knew that everyone would experience it differently, since everyone’s relationship with God is different and because everyone needs different graces, and so I hadn’t expected that my own experience would be like that of other people’s, but I didn’t even know what other people’s experiences had been like.  I had met a number of people who had stood there before me, but none of them had ever talked about the sacraments of initiation beyond their side effects on their faith after the fact and to mention that the chrism oil smelled wonderful.

For me, though, it was an immediate feeling of peace–a peace that I had never felt before and only feel now when I receive the Holy Eucharist.  It’s a peace that fills me with a warmth that extends beyond perception of sensation.  It fills me with a joy that is fully penetrating that completely pushes away everything else around me, yet at the same time, puts me in touch with everything around me.  It is the most enveloping, comforting hug I’ve ever received and the sweetest kiss I’ve ever been given.  It’s a sensation that I’ve never experienced outside of my sacraments of initiation or outside of Communion, and to describe it in words seems to take away from what it is.  It is difficult to describe, because there is no comparative earthly experience with which to analogise it with.  I have been hugged, and I have been kissed, but the hug and the kiss I received then and I receive now every time I take Communion are absolutely nothing alike.  Mass is Heaven on earth, and although few people truly experience it in that way, that is what I experienced two years ago and what I (thankfully) continue to experience each time I go up to receive.  (Even now, I still frequently tear up when I receive the body and blood of Jesus and when I am praying afterwards.)

I never realised at the time how invaluable that grace would be to me.  Going into this, I had the misconception that my life would improve infinitely after I was baptised and entered the Catholic Church.  I had read so many witnesses about how becoming Catholic had changed so many people’s lives.  If you had compared those individuals’ statements with those of a methamphetamine user, you’d have taken away the exact same message: “Imagine the most pleasurable experience you have ever had.  Now multiply that times ten.”  The only real difference between the two is that the negative effects of methamphetamine are far more published and well-known.

While my life has improved tenfold in the past two years, it has also gotten infinitely worse in a number of ways.  The truth of the matter is, anyone who tells you that being a Christian (and, in particular, a Catholic) is all good all the time is LYING TO YOU.  This path is not an easy one to walk.  It has the most gorgeous scenery you will ever see in your life, but you have to climb Mount Everest first before you can see it.  Barefooted.  Of course, what God knows and most Christians have yet to figure out is that most people will stay stagnant at the level that will keep them miserable, because it’s what’s easiest.  They won’t get to see the gorgeous views.  They’ll get to see a couple of pretty flowerbeds along the way and maybe a monarch butterfly or two while they stare up at Mt. Everest and the handful of lunatics climbing it in their underwear.  One of the many paradoxes of Catholicism, though, is that it’s easy if you’re a nutcase.  If you put in the maximum amount of effort, it will be cake and you will get to see that paradise and so much more.  The bug bites and bee stings you suffer along the way don’t even bother you if you’ve reached the top.  I’d like to think that I’m about a quarter of the way up the mountain, which in my opinion pretty much stinks.  The people down on the path have their comfy shoes and the occasional pretty flowerbed, and me?  I’ve got sharp, jagged rocks cutting my hands and feet, the occasional rock slide from above and chronic fatigue from the effort.  I do occasionally get to see some neat sedimentary rock accumulations, though, and at particular angles on the way up I can see a glimpse of the beauty awaiting me at the top.  When I get to see the neat rock accumulations of that occasional glimpse of the beauty, it all seems worth it, but when I’m getting cut and sweating constantly and the fatigue kicks in I sometimes look down at that trail and wonder what I was thinking climbing this stupid rock in the first place, because down there was so much better.

I absolutely love the step I took two years ago, but I did so blindly.  I thought it was one step.  I thought that was the end, when really, it was just the beginning.  That first step provides the momentum for the second, third and fourth step, and I thank God every day for giving me that grace and momentum to keep walking, because otherwise I don’t know that I wouldn’t have just stopped and given up.  I went through a lot within the first year of my baptism.  In many ways, it was one of the most difficult years of my life.  I hit a very severe depression in the fall, and I was assaulted the spring of my one-year anniversary.  On top of that, I gained the label of being a Catholic, which was even worse than just being a Christian.  For a lot of people, that placed me outside of the realm of relatability.  It made me foreign.  When people had parties, they didn’t invite me; they automatically assumed that I “didn’t do that.”  I might as well have been a marble statue or dressed in a habit.  They didn’t realise that I was no different from them.  I was not and certainly today am not a saint.  I strive for holiness, but I am nowhere close to attaining it.  I’m on the path to do something about it, but that doesn’t mean that I spend every minute of every day in prayer or that I spend my Friday nights reading the Bible.  It never occurred to them that I have interests and hobbies that are in no way related to my faith, or that when I stay in on Friday nights sometimes it’s because I’m studying or watching movies.  (I’m a Christian, yes, but I was a nerd long before I became a Christian.)  No one ever warned me of the difficulties I would encounter going into this.  No one ever mentioned that while it was joyful and wonderful it was also sometimes not so great.  Jesus knew.  He told His disciples.  But, like most Christians, I had no idea.

Of course, then there’s the obvious–giving up sinning entirely to the best of my ability.  I stumble a lot.  I’m really, really great at stumbling.  I’ve perfected it to the point of being an art form.  Again, people will gloss over this all the time, but sinning?  It’s fun–I mean really fun.  We wouldn’t all do it if it wasn’t.  Once I took that first step, though, my path narrowed significantly.  I couldn’t walk off to explore anymore.  It’s not easy.  I still sin, a lot, in fact.  However, I’ve become far more conscious of that fact.  I’ve become more conscious of my actions.  I’ve become more conscious of myself as a person, and that’s an awesome gift.  I’ve gained a certain sense of freedom (yes, through all the “restrictions”) and I’m starting to see and become the person I am meant to be rather than who I want to be or who I am.

Knowing what I know today, if I had the option to go back, I’d still do it all over again.

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I normally would have spent my “birthday” celebrating, but I spent the entire day out helping other people.  I had class 9:30-12:30, and then I met with my Psych partner to work on our paper.  Then I had to go print out some stuff and go choose housing for my friend Whitney who took this year off and is currently in Portland.  Afterwards, I spent 5 hours with a friend helping him out on his final paper for his writing class.  This last one was a big deal, because he always makes fun of my career aspirations because they do not contribute to society (lies!), whereas engineering does.  He came to me looking for help, and I decided to spend my day helping him out.  He did poorly on his previous paper, and I thought it was an opportunity to maybe change his mind about my field by showing him how helpful it really is, even within his field of engineering.  I left my room at 9 in the morning and I got back at 10:30 in the evening.  It is not how I would have liked to spend my anniversary, but, in retrospect, it was an excellent way to spend the day.  I was able to serve God through others and to give back for all the blessings that have been given to me. I’m thankful that other opportunities (however undesirable they may have seemed at the time) came along to help lift me out of myself.  It was a nice reminder that my anniversary actually has very little to do with me, because it’s not about me.

HOWEVER, as a gift to myself (I like making it about me, can you tell?), earlier in February I splurged and spent money to procure myself a ticket to the Papal Mass at Yankee Stadium this coming Sunday!  I was hesitant to mention this before, because I didn’t want to jinx it or say anything until I actually had the actual ticket in my possession, but now I do.  I am so incredibly excited!  The Pope!  I get to see him!  Even though he will probably be the size of a speck in my vision!  (Except they’ll surely have those jumbotron things there, right?)  It is completely worth it, though.  I’m getting giddy just thinking about it!  Oh, and no worries, I promise you all I will bring my camera. 

You still have alllll of today. Go comment!