When you find it difficult to have faith...

I hope that the title of this post doesn't sound too dramatic (I bandied about with several different options before settling on this one), but I think that when you have a blog, it's important to be honest. That's what makes the content compelling, and that's what builds trust and community. I always keep it real here at Life of a Catholic Librarian, so this week I decided to write about the struggle I'm having right now. Of course, this isn't about ME at all, it's about a crisis in our Church (including my own diocese), but it has set off an emotional buildup within myself, to be sure.

I don't often refer to current events here in my posts, but this is one of those times wherein one simply has to. In my lifetime of being a Catholic, I've never felt the way that I do right now. I'm not going to leave the Church, but in all honesty, it hurts right now. It rather hurts my heart to be Catholic. I feel deeply upset at the way some of our spiritual leaders have abused their power and physically and emotionally abused others, both children and adults. It is quite easy for a person to think: "How can this be Christ's Church? How can I stay here?"

I know. I do.

I don't have any answers. I'm just trusting that given that it *is* Christ's Church (I firmly believe this), He will make all things new, and bring some good out of all this evil. We humans tend to screw things up royally, and need God to guide us. We need that more than ever right now.

When I went to Mass this weekend, I have to admit that I was feeling pretty low, based upon all of the above. And I did not have the best experience. Remember that whole bringing-up-the-gifts-too-early-debacle I detailed about a month ago? Well, I was once again back at the 8 am Mass because Henry was serving. This time, Anne was with me. That same sweet usher was looking for volunteers again, and this time, Anne eagerly volunteered us.

😳

I mean, I like helping out, I'm just not my most awake and with it at 8 am on Sunday morning. So I was extra vigilant, keeping an eye on the ushers as they collected the envelopes, and then waited for them to definitely process up the aisle, bound for the small table with the gifts, before Anne and I got up to join them. Everything went great, and Anne bowed to the altar just like I taught her. I reflected on the Gospel reading after communion (which was right on point, btw. In fact, let's pop it in here):

"Many of Jesus' disciples who were listening said, 'This saying is hard; who can accept it?' Since Jesus knew that his disciples were murmuring about this, he said to them, 'Does this shock you? What if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? It is the spirit that gives life, while the flesh is of no avail. The words I have spoken to you are Spirit and life. But there are some of you who do not believe.'...As a result of this, many of his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him. Jesus then said to the Twelve: 'Do you also want to leave?' Simon Peter answered him: 'Master, to whom small we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God."

For realsies, YES?! There could not have been a more perfect Gospel reading this week, but let's come back to that. Let's return to my traumatic experience at Mass. 😭 So,  everything was going soothingly well. Then Mass ended, and Anne and I waited for Henry to come back from the sacristy.

Sigh.

A man comes up to us. I recognize him from Mass, but I do not know him, or even his name. He comes up smiling at us, so I assume he's going to say something nice. Because that's just what I do, I assume the best of people. While still all smiley, he tells me that when *he* brings up the gifts, he gets up as soon as Father gets out of his chair, rather than waiting for the ushers the way that Anne and I did. Then he says:

"I heard the lady in front of me tsk, then say: 'amateurs!'"

And he bursts out laughing like this is the funniest thing he's ever heard.

Friends, I was not laughing. In fact, I said nothing while he laughed, until he got the hint and slunk away. I would not normally react like that; I would play along and pretend I got the "joke" so as to put the other person at ease. But I was really stung. I felt hurt by his words, and that he went out of his way to relay them to me. He couldn't have known that I was generally feeling low that day, upset about everything that we were all just finding out about, and that this would make me feel infinitely lonelier in my faith. But for the rest of the day, I felt terrible. I thought to myself: "what am I even doing here?"

And I'm glad that my thoughts took that turn, because that brings us full circle back to the Gospel reading: I'm here because of the Eucharist.

That's it, really. Although there are many close friends in my community (both locally and online) that I share my faith with, I'm not Catholic because of the people. I'm Catholic because of the Eucharist.

Each morning when I've woken up this week, I think about that. I think about that Gospel reading from John. I downloaded a Kindle copy of the Liturgy of the Hours, and when I can, I pray Morning/Evening Prayer. Randomly, the one I've been able to pray every day is Night Prayer. I remind myself that my faith is about Christ and His True Presence in the Eucharist, and I don't need to feel particularly touchy feely about my bishop or about my fellow parishoners in order for my faith to be firm. Hopefully, that will all resolve eventually, but I don't need to force my feelings into anything. It's the way I feel right now, and that's OK.

It's all a little raw this week, do you agree, my friends? Do you have certain things that you do when you find that it's a challenge for your faith to thrive? Specific devotions or ways of focusing your thoughts and emotions? Perhaps we can all have a virtual group hug this week!

The comfort of liturgy

I sense that this will be a multi-post day :) so stay tuned for some belly dance talk if you enjoy that sort of thing. But it's been a tough couple of days and I wanted to write a bit about that first.

Death is one of those situations in which we take comfort in ritual and being in the presence of others, of our community. And ritual doesn't just involve a religious ceremony. The "wake" process always struck me as being a death ritual that many people find great comfort in. Having the deceased laid out for us to pay our respects to and pray in front of their mortal remains, leaving flowers, gathering together to talk and support each other, processing to the cemetery, etc.

And as a Catholic, I obviously find great sacredness, joy, and comfort in religious ritual and liturgy. It struck me anew yesterday at the funeral, which was at a Christian church of a decidedly non-liturgical bent. We sang some hymns, the pastor presented a sermon, the associate pastor read some scripture. All of these are very good things, things that Catholics do too, of course. :) I just find such great comfort in the standard words and pace of the Mass, in physical sacramentals like holy water and incense, in the presence of holy reminders like icons, statutes, candles and stained glass, in the Eucharist. Everything feels empty to me without the Eucharist, but I understand that not everybody believes as I do.

I'm certain plenty of non-Catholics feel uncomfortable in a Catholic worship experience, so it goes both ways. But I did miss my Catholic "stuff" yesterday quite a bit. This church, though, was very welcoming and the pastors very kind.

We're all still incredibly sad but glad to have the formal events behind us since those do suck the life right out of you. I found out about Michael's death this past Sunday morning, right before I went to Mass for the feast of Pentecost. To be honest, I didn't really feel like going anywhere after I found out, but I knew that Mass would be soothing, and it was. As I reflected on the death of someone that I loved, I realized that someone was being baptized during the Mass. Not an infant, but a young girl of maybe 13. She had on a beautiful white dress, it was so lovely. So it was a full circle sort of day. Someone had died, but there is also life, and where there is life, there is hope.

After Mass Henry and I lit a 7 day vigil candle for Michael. Henry's dream is always lighting a candle after Mass, and he was thrilled to be able to get "the big one." I appreciated having him there with me.