Had you seen me last night you would have watched a comically frightened young woman walk with trepidation into a Catholic Church. Upon reflection I am quite certain that I confused a few people as I stepped into Church, stopped, and sniffed. I'd take a few more steps, stop, and sniff again. I did this down the aisle and all the way into the sanctuary to the very first row. It has been more than six years since I was able to be in a Church during the Paschal Triduum. No one is better acquainted with the outside of Church doors than me. It has been six lonely years, watching and waiting, hoping and praying, wishing that I could come back in. There is an irony in the fact that until I turned eighteen I hated going to Church during Holy Week and I thought Christmas Mass was a bore. And then I went to college and discovered the many joys of being one of the faithful. Regrettably this was followed by my first allergic reaction to incense and suddenly all doors were shut to me.
When I wrote about my allergy and my dealings with the Catholic Church last January I was truthful. I have met few people who knew about my dealings with incense who have not tried to convince me it is all in my head or to suffer through it. Albeit annoying I can understand why they may be confused, but therebe confused, but there is nothing that makes me madder than people who try to fix me. I have an allergy. I have tried just about everything short of voodoo to overcome it. I haven't found a magical cure and I think that this is my cross to bear. I will add that after publishing that post I received letters- that I will hold close to my heart till the day I die. I love being Catholic but I think that the best part is the support we give to one another- okay, the second best part. God's kinda impossible to one up.
Yet I digress, back to my story. I don't know if guilt tripped is the right word, but apparently whining to God works because I found a priest who was willing to abstain from the use of incense during all of Holy Week so that I can be there. Halfway through mass I started crying when I realized that I didn't need to keep looking for the thurible. It was like coming back home after a long absence- I was one with my fellow Christians in Mass during the most holy week of the year. I was jubilant.
And then remembered that it was Holy Week and that it was almost Good Friday and therefore I should be mourning for Jesus' suffering along with the rest of the Catholics. Even though we know that Christ will
Yet I digress, back to my story. I don't know if guilt tripped is the right word, but apparently whining to God works because I found a priest who was willing to abstain from the use of incense during all of Holy Week so that I can be there. Halfway through mass I started crying when I realized that I didn't need to keep looking for the thurible. It was like coming back home after a long absence- I was one with my fellow Christians in Mass during the most holy week of the year. I was jubilant.
And then remembered that it was Holy Week and that it was almost Good Friday and therefore I should be mourning for Jesus' suffering along with the rest of the Catholics. Even though we know that Christ will rise again, He did suffer, He was betrayed, and He did die a most horrible death having done nothing wrong. A single drop of His blood is enough to save the whole world. And it did. And it does. Every day. I don't know how, and perhaps it's wrong, but this makes me feel so loved, and I feel peace.
Oh, and before I forget, Father Matthew Kinney, you are undoubtedly a rock star for helping me.
No comments:
Post a Comment