Welcome Back, My Child
It's a typical summer Monday for me, post pandemic frenzy I might add. I'm sitting outside on my back patio, watching the 12pm virtual mass from St. John Paul II National Shrine in Washington, DC. Wait, what? Why? Stranger things have happened in my life, believe me—but this was definitely not the norm either.
I'm not sure how many others also felt compelled to watch this live stream, but there were only two people actually in attendance at the mass. It felt so intimate and almost like it was a personal mass, set up just for me. I know, I know—so selfish to even think that. But in all honesty, I felt like I was called to attend this mass. And maybe it was small and just the few of us. Maybe it was intended to be that way. Maybe I'll never know. What I do know is that it worked!
As the tears poured out and streamed down my face, I couldn't help but dig deep. Maybe a little deeper than I normally would. What's wrong? Why am I crying? What is happening to me right now? The questions kept flooding my already overwhelmed and maxed out headspace. It’s been that way for quite some time now.
I've written other blog posts regarding my take on faith, religion and church. Not that I'm an expert on any of it, but rather a person with an opinion. However, I didn't dive in too far, because I figured people would get the message. Apparently I missed my own message? But here I am, at it once again. What is it that I'm trying to convey? What is it that I seek? What is it that I want you to know?
In a previous post (see Losing My Religion) I stated that I was born into the Catholic faith. It's all I knew. It's what I was and that was that. I did all the things I was supposed to do—no questions asked. But I had a ton of questions. I still do. It's worth mentioning that things changed for me, and maybe much earlier than they would have for others. Allow me to back track—to circa 2000. Forever ago. I was afforded the trip of a lifetime and one I'll never forget. It's likely to go down as the greatest experience of my life. And I'm not even kidding.
My grandmother took me on a pilgrimage—a 3-week trip to Israel and Italy, but of more significance, Jerusalem and Vatican City in Rome. I was the youngest person in the group, by at least 10 years. It may not seem like that big a deal, but my 13-year old self literally walked where Jesus walked. I swam in the dead sea. I renewed my baptism in the Jordan river. I watched archeologists continue digging for dead sea scrolls. I saw and felt all the things we hear about on Sunday's. It made it all so real. Can you imagine? Talk about feeling all the feels. It was like being in heaven on earth—an out of body experience for sure. I attended mass in St. Peter's Basilica, celebrated by Pope John Paul, II. Totally awesome, right? He even blessed the crucifix my grandmother purchased for me in the Vatican, that I still often don to this day. It was truly an experience that I will never be able to fully put into words, but will treasure the memories forever. I may elaborate on it in another post, but for now—stick with me.
This pilgrimage was 21 years ago. That's a long time. Much has changed from then until now, and rightly so. As we grow and mature, we too, change. It's normal. I never for a moment, doubted the truth and the feelings I had on that trip as a young teen, however life experiences beyond that point, have forced some questioning. Now that I'm older and I'd like to think a bit wiser, I have become more skeptical. As a result, I sometimes find myself stuck in the depths of my own thoughts and conclusions on what it means to be religious, or have faith or go to church.
If I'm being honest with you and myself, I walked away. I walked away from the church. I walked away from my religion. And although this is incredibly hard to admit, I think sometimes I even stray away from my faith all together. It's terrible. It pains me to write and admit this. But the first step in healing any part of ourselves is admitting the hard truths. This is one of mine! So going back to this virtual mass—it's the first one of any kind that I've attended in probably a couple of years, for various reasons. And the pandemic is hardly an excuse but I'll go ahead and throw it in for good measure. I went from attending Sunday mass every week and engaging in all the Holy days and living out my faith, to maybe saying a quick prayer when I felt desperate. Ugh—I'm the worst, I know. And I call myself a Catholic or better yet, a Christian? Yeah, sure. Such a farce, right? I was kidding myself when I thought listening to all my Christian music and praying for my family and friends and sometimes praying for myself and the things I wanted, was enough. No—it was me doing what I wanted, just being selfish and not recognizing what I actually needed to be doing.
The good news—as much as I continue to cry and beat myself up over this, I've been called back. As I tried my best to listen to the priest and follow along with mass, the voice in my head was so much louder. Through my tears and truly a bit of anger and frustration, I asked the Almighty, “Where have you been?” It was a simple question that I wasn’t expecting to be answered, even though I wanted to know. I was absolutely astonished and quite honestly, speechless, when I got a response. And I could hear it real loud this time. I could hear it over the priest and over my tears and over the birds chirping. Without any hesitation and as clear as can be, I hear, “My child, I've been here the whole time. Where have you been? Welcome back.” Now, if that's not a coming to Jesus moment, I don't know what is. Those were my tears. That's what I heard and it broke me down to my inner core. Guilt? Shame? Maybe. But it was so much more than that.
We can't just walk away from our faith and expect everything to go right for us. I don't think it works that way. Well at least it hasn't been for me. Don’t get me wrong—the Lord is Good and forgiving but we need to do our part as well. And I was not doing my part—not even close. Even though as a teenager I saw things that made it feel more real, I'm still a blind believer, like everyone else. There's no doubt it's a hard concept to grasp. But when you're watching a virtual mass and have the breakdown I had and hear that voice, it really opens your eyes. I may be a blind believer, but I see! And more importantly, I see just what I've been missing. I see what I walked away from.
My intentions of this post are not to be a recruiter for Jesus because I believe everyone has their own way and their own time. I can respect that. I don't think forcing something that's not ready is the way to go. My message for you however is a simple one. Don't ever think you're too far gone—because you're not. The Good Lord is ready for you whenever you are. When the time is right, and you'll know it—you will hear that voice, the one you've been so desperately longing for, saying, “Welcome back, my child!”
If you find yourself stuck. If you find you're praying and not getting answers or not hearing a response, it might be time to listen rather than speak. I'm slowly realizing that my “Why’s” are being answered. They are being answered in unexpected ways. “Be still, and know that I am God.” —Psalm 46:10
Here are some songs that I turn to when I need a little extra push or just a simple reminder. I promise—they are worth your listen.
Truth Be Told—Matthew West
Healing Begins—Tenth Avenue North
By Your Side—Tenth Avenue North
What If—Matthew West
Moment to Moment—Rival Summers
The God Who Stays—Matthew West