I’m late to the game this week, but the topic is a big one: “Expect Conversion”.

Throughout the book, Sherry Weddell keeps mentioning the one thing so easily overlooked: God isn’t just a Person . . . He’s a Person Who Does Stuff.  With Humans.  He shows up and does His part.

One of the offshoots of faithy-ism is a tendency to act as if God is off in a distant bleacher somewhere, wanting us to put on this or that great ministry program, so He can wave and cheer and go grab Himself another beer at halftime.  Which is why when the SuperHusband and I hosted a local book club for Forming Intentional Disciples, we were pretty alarmed when people kept coming back to our house for another round.  And we kinda cheated — we started with people who were already gung-ho Catholic types.  Still, it surprised.

Turns out God’s interested in this whole “evangelization” thing.  Like it was His idea or something.

***

When people complain about asking the saints for help, or complain that Catholics take this free will thing a little too far, I pull out the analogy — not strictly speaking an analogy — of the four year old helping Mom in the kitchen.  It’s not that God couldn’t bake the brownies without us, it’s that it pleases Him to let us measure the cocoa and mix the batter. And that it’s important enough for our own good that we turn out and do our part, however messy and incompetent and desperate for His watchful attention — that He’ll wait until we’re ready to put down the Barbies and get to work.

Working with God is part of our education as adopted children — recall we are not angels-in-training (as if that weren’t a big enough destiny) — but in fact co-heirs with Christ.  Thus it’s important we learn the family business.

***

What’s weird is that God will let us play with our fake food in the play kitchen for a mighty long time.  Allow me to be very blunt: Mandatory “volunteering”, signed bulletins as proof of Mass attendance . . . all these managerial fixes to the glitches in our sacrament mill system . . . they are symptoms of a very serious problem.  They are symptoms that we’ve turned our parish religious education programs into a cotillion.

Well, cotillion is a popular thing, and Catholic cotillion is a bargain compared to the Junior League.  And plus of course there’s the part about how people really do desperately want to know, love, and serve God, so your program is going to draw comers, even if those comers have no idea what they are really asking for.

But if you’ve got piles of students churning through the program, and they’ll even come to Mass if you threaten them with missing their debut . . . you’re playing with fake food.

***

Fake food is easier than real food.  It doesn’t smush.  Doesn’t sour.  Doesn’t fall apart because you overbeat it.   It’s plastic and you can’t live on it, but it looks good.

Real food is not as impressive-looking as fake food.  It takes longer to prepare, and it never looks as good as that shellacked foam burger-style sculpture thing in the picture on the menu.

Real discipleship is more work.  The results are not so predictable, because it’s humans using their free will to build a relationship worked out over time, and with all kinds of back story complicating that relationship.  But it’s Mom in the kitchen making real brownies, even if they do end up with 4-year-old finger prints and all the pink sprinkles in one corner of the batch.

Because God never brings fake food to the party.  And He is a party God, no two ways about it.  Kingdom of Heaven = Party, the parables remind us.  So you say, “Lord, I wanna work in your kitchen with You.”  And He’s gonna show up.  And start baking.  So plan for that.

I’m going to plead dubious hotel internet, and skip last week and move straight to session 12, “Personally Encountering Jesus in His Church”.

The topic is . . . What are your spiritual gifts, and how can you make yourself useful for a change?

Here’s what I’m noticing lately: There are certain things that I do that cause me to completely forget myself.  I become utterly unaware of Jennifer, and just go into this mode where I’m doing my thing, and it works, and I’m not conscious of any effort.  It just happens.  I forget to eat (not my ordinary state), I forget I haven’t had any coffee (not my ordinary state) . . . I forget everything.  And just do that thing.  I’m 100% present in the task.

If you come to my house you will quickly discover I do not have the Gift of Housekeeping.  And I have to work very very hard to remember to offer you a drink.  I’ll just forget.  I enjoy having guests, but I’m no good at it.  Not my gift.  By way of contrast, I have some good friends at my parish, and they do have that gift.  I walked into their little rental place, and in the first twenty minutes I knew that (a) this couple has the gift of hospitality and that (b) my one friend was going to have to drop dead before I’d ever let her off our ministry’s hospitality committee. (And then, only reluctantly.)  It was a useful follow-up to reading the discipleship book.

–> This couple has such an overwhelming gift of hospitality that when they told me they’d purchased a large home in an expensive neighborhood, my immediate reaction was Benedictine, not Franciscan: Good call.  Their home is essentially a public building, with a steady flow of guests to whom they minister. To only have one or two people visiting is a slow day for them. Truly a gifted couple.

***

It’s always nervous business, admitting to your own gifts.  Because of course you open yourself up to the mocking laughter of people who will look at your results and deride your little efforts.  But so what?  At least once a quarter, I get into a rousing argument with my parish music director (whom I adore, in the non-theological, smoochie-huggy girl way).  My whining does not negate her gift.

So that said, here’s the thing about effort and gifts: Longtime readers of this blog and its predecessor know that I am capable of perfectly bad writing.  Still, words come out of me.  It isn’t a question of whether I’m going to write something . . . it’s only a question of what I’m going to write, and how I’m going to write it.  So the effort is a pleasure.  I’d rather write than do anything else.  I write in my head when I’m eating, when I’m sleeping, when I’m cleaning, when I’m driving, when I’m praying . . . all the time.  Enough decades of that, combined with a few pointers from reliable instructors, and you end up sort of competent in your field.

It’s so steady a flow that I have a hard time getting my head around non-literate cultures.  But thinking about such a world, where you have to use your mouth to explain things instead of your keyboard . . . might explain my teaching compulsion.  I suspect the two go together — for me, at least.

***

So.  Gifts in the parish.  I like doing stuff and being useful.  Turning out and offering my services comes pretty naturally to me.  But that idea of multiplie over-lapping opportunities? Definitely.

As I’m putting together our little homeschool cooperative for the fall, something that’s come to my attention, repeatedly, is that our group is not for everybody.  So much so that I asked if the local Catholic school could send a rep to our kick-off pot luck, because we get families who want a good Catholic education for their family, but really homeschooling is not their best solution. There needs to be a pile of different communities within the parish where each family can settle in and find their little spot to grow in the faith.

(The principal said she’d come!  Pray for only friendly people to turn out, please?  We don’t want to be *those* homeschoolers).

–> My experience is that parish conflict seems to be at its worst when:

(a) The parish offers only a few approved outlets for growth in the faith.

(b) Parishioners feel like they must be very bad people if they find this class boring, or that ministry not their cup of tea.

(c) Ministries are perceived as competing with each other.

(d) A preference for _____ is understood as a rejection of ________.

The funny thing about that instinct, and I’ll take the homeschooling example for one, is that preexisting conditions have such a powerful impact on our perceptions.  Homeschooling is perceived as radical because we happen to live in a time when it’s uncommon. Parochial schools are perceived as wildly expensive because we live in a society where public K-12 schools are tax-funded with 100% scholarships across the board, and college degrees are considered a necessary part of preparing for middle-class life.

Compare, say, the experiences of the medieval urban middle class circa 1200, with the equivalent professional family today . . . you get a radically different notion of what a normal education is, and who ought to be teaching what, how, and at what price.  Even though today’s engineer really is just the modern counterpart of yesterday’s blacksmith or carpenter (or engineer). One of the quirks of our own time is that we’re terrified of acknowledging that people have different gifts, and therefore need different types of education.

***

With all that said, here’s a round-up of my favorite resources for college-material Catholics needing a 101 on the faith.  I’m pretty sure the reason we don’t see more good theology programs in our parishes is that everyone is embarrassed to admit that some of the people in the pews are smarter than others.  Like it would be such an insult to Mrs. Nicely the casserole lady if she discovered that Dr.Thinky the professor was off reading a big heavy book about Jesus.  But seriously?  Get over it.  I’ll quit plugging hefty text books the day everyone starts saying my cooking is as good as it gets.  Until then, let’s all be sane and do our respective things.

This week’s discipleship topic hits me in all my worst places.  I’d love to be good at listening, or good at talking — and I can certainly do both.  But getting the timing and topics right?  Not always.

My catalog of weaknesses:

Between my secular and shy-Catholic upbringings, including God in ordinary conversation does not come naturally to me.  I don’t go around saying “God bless you”, or praising God in random moments with strangers.  I really love it when people do, and living in the Bible Belt, I get to hear Jesus Talk, the good kind, quite a lot.  It really breaks the ice, and lets the listener know what they’re dealing with.  If you’re Christian, it lets you know you’ve found a kindred soul; if you’re not Christian, it lets you know you’re dealing with one of those Christian nutcase people.  I approve all around.

My early-adulthood evangelical upbringing allows me to feel guilty every time I don’t mention Jesus. Did I just miss an opportunity to share the Gospel?  Souls are at stake!  Say something! On the one hand, you can drive yourself nuts, agonizing over whether you said the exact right amount of Christian Stuff in each conversation.  But realistically: Souls are at stake. If you love someone, you don’t want them to spend eternity in Hell.  So attentiveness to how we use our words is a pretty good habit to cultivate.

Wait a minute – where does devotion to the Holy Name fit into this?

I didn’t grow up with novenas and statues and holy water fonts in the house.  We went to Mass a couple times a year, owned one heirloom Bible, and lit the Advent candles and put out a nativity scene at Christmas.  That was as devotional as we got.  But I think that longstanding custom in many parts of the world to bow the head at the mention of the Holy Name?  Probably it influenced our family conversation.  There was “baby Jesus” in the manger, but He pretty much stayed there.

I know it influenced me deep inside, because when I first discovered that people south of the border name their children “Jesus”, I was floored.  You can’t do that!  Name your kid the same thing as his first cousin if you must, but *that* name is taken!

(Development of cultural broadmindedness update: As long as I pronounce it “Hay-soos”, I’m good.  But don’t try to make me call your kid Gee-zuss.  No can do.  I’m not there yet.)

The solution to the Holy Name conundrum I learned from an evangelical friend: Call Him “the Lord”.  I remember years ago listening to a friend at home group talking freely about her conversations with The Lord, her reliance on Him, her trust in Him . . . so comfortable and intimate.  The person who loves her most in the world, but who is also King of the Universe.

And it reminds you who’s in charge.  Easy to forget that God’s got the internet, the airlines, the kid’s math homework, fire ants, the Republican party .  .  . all of it under control.  Nothing, no matter how stupid or evil, happens that He doesn’t allow — and He only allows it because he’s got the ultimate double-effect back-up plan, in which everything evil gets turned back for good in the end.  The Lord.  There’s only one.  And He’s on the job.

A Time for Talking and a Time for Shutting Up

I fall apart coming and going on this evangelizing thing.  I tend to not mention God when I should, see above + shyness + don’t like to offend + [insert excuse here].  But then I’m such a problem-solver helper-type, that when someone does bring up the whole God topic . . . I go into “Here’s what you do” mode.

Yeah, that doesn’t really fly.

So I’m working on my listening skills.

If you’re good at this, please share?  If you stink at it, you can share that too.

 

The questions this week get right to the ugly bit about reforming the Church: There would be no need for reform if people weren’t doing things wrong.

To be a disciple of Christ is to concede that you do a ton of things wrong.  That it’s your mission in life to find out what you’re doing wrong, and to change — through your own willingness, and through your cooperation with the grace of God.

All this would be unbearable if we were condemned for our sins.  The reason to stick around for Christianity is because God does not demand our blood, He offers his own.  We don’t have a religion that let’s us brush off our sins as “no big deal” or “not really hurting anybody” or “just a mistake”.  It is a big deal.  We do get hurt.

And we freely choose to do wrong even when we know better.   Venial sin is worse than the measles, to quote the much-maligned children’s Baltimore Catechism.  Mortal sin is worse than cancer, to quote I’m-not-sure-whom.  You only die of cancer once; you die of mortal sin for all eternity.

I’m persuaded that Christians today, in addition to having a loose grasp on the reality of God and everything else, haven’t got much of a notion of forgiveness.  We observe (correctly) that our friends are eminently likeable people, so we decide that must mean they are innocent.  We observe (correctly) that God loves our friends, and therefore they can’t possibly be headed to Hell.

The results is that when someone really betrays us, or really commits some serious, shocking harm, we have to switch over to demonizing.  I’m reminded of a murder I read about in the newspaper once. The neighbor observed that the murderer (a mother) loved her children dearly, evidenced by the fact that she made her children brush her teeth every night.  Surely a mother who makes her children brush her teeth before bed wouldn’t murder them in the morning?  Except that she did.  The clean-teeth rule doesn’t hold.

I happen to like just about everyone, so the Do I Like You? method of moral theology doesn’t satisfy.

In our parishes, the reality that our leaders sin (and err) does not negate everything they do.  A devoted musician, a kind catechist, or a generous priest, doesn’t cease to be devoted or kind or generous on account of this or that unrelated shortcoming.  “How can you say Mrs. Beazly wasn’t prepared for her lesson!  She loves the children so dearly!”  Well yes, she does love the children, and that’s to her credit.  She still needs to brush up on her theology.  And since she loves the children, surely she’s willing to sit down for a quick review of the creed, to make sure she’s got her facts right, no?

And it works the other way.  “How can you say that man is a good priest, when he presides over Disco Mass every Sunday?”  Well, yes, the disco Mass really must go.  But that doesn’t mean Father needs to go.  May the disco Mass perish in the netherworld, and Father chuckle with relief in a safe, happy place where we’ll spend 10,000 years with never a glimpse of shag carpet*.

So on the one hand, sin and stupidity ought to be shocking.  How *could* you spend all these years in church leadership, and not even have a personal relationship with the Lord? Seriously?  And on the other hand, sin and stupidity are such part and parcel of our everyday lives, it gets a little boring.

Which is not to say we shrug and put up with up with it.  Measles, remember?  Vaccinate, prescribe, rest and fluids, visit the sick person, recover slowly, be careful about hand-washing and sharing cups.  But you would no more hate your friend for catching the measles than you ought to hate your friend for catching original sin.  It happens.

Forgiveness is that moment when we let go of the natural horror of realizing things are really, really wrong, and step in and help out the sinner in whatever way we are able.  Sometimes all we can do is pray. Sometimes, for the eternal safety of ourselves and others, spiritual quarantine really is the only prudent option.

(Said with full force of the virtue on that ‘prudence’, not a wiggly fearful over-caution hiding behind the real thing.)

Other times, we can do something more.  When we can, we do.

*This vision of Heaven has not been approved by the Church.  But if there is shag carpet in Heaven, it will be some kind of Divine shag carpet that persons actually want in their homes. Purgatory, on the other hand? All bets are off.

My experience with ‘openness’ dates back to my in-between period, when I’d left the Church during college, and then, surprise, found myself wanting a religion.  Not in the sense of, “I observe that I should want a religion.  I shall look about and find the proper one.”  I just kept doing things that, looking back, were all about spiritual restlessness.

So, for example, I took a course called “Islam and Revolution”, and between that and taking a year of Arabic*, I spent a short time “open” to Islam.  Which had been getting favorable press in the Utne reader, for those who remember that spell.  One evening at Barnes & Noble I stood over the bargain bin and read a short, photo-filled book of Muslim apologetics.  It all made perfect sense.  I was open to it.

(It didn’t take.)

Paganism did take for a while — nothing in my Catholic upbringing prevented it.  If it’s easy for pagans to become Catholics, turns out that road runs both ways.  I was open enough to anything spiritual, and paganism was the most convenient religion around, so easy to fall into.  [See: Utne Reader. There are a few liberal-sized holes in the Bible Belt, mostly around academia.]  Bhuddism, too.  Open open open.

Which makes this stage of faith so treacherous for the Catholic in the pew.  Because honestly, you can join the Church and sing in the choir for 40 years, and still really just be “open”.  It’s not that you’ve made this firm decision that being Catholic is the only way; it just happens to be where you are and what you’re doing, and if it’s enjoyable, you can fall into it out of pleasant habit.  Which is not all bad.

But that leaves you just as open to falling right back out the way you came in.

***

See, the Church is full of wretched sinners.  So much so that we have not just one but *four* sacraments that involve forgiveness of sins.  And three more that assist.

Which means there’s a decent chance someone is going to do something really horrible to you during your time in the Church.  And if you’re only ‘open’, you’ll be just as open to moving on when the friendships or the music or the you-name-it suddenly evaporates, and all you’re left with is your non-faith.  Why be Catholic when it sucks?  No real reason, unless maybe it’s true.

If I were to bet in some spiritual gambling hall where the dealer could report the state of all souls after the bets were placed, I’d hazard that the bulk of American Catholics are “open”.  I say that because everyone I know is real happy with the good stuff they experience at Church — not at all suspicious, no reservations about turning out.  But also, an awful lot of Catholics I know consider the faith up for comparison-shopping.

I’ve watched a nearby parish lose half it’s membership over the last several years, and that tells me two things: (1) Someone in administration there has done something really really bad (if I gather correctly, just all-star jerkiness, no particular crime), and (2) most parishioners were only temporarily Catholic.  (No fault of their own, I assume). But it turns out that a large percentage who left have taken up with Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians — and a few just decided sleep late on Sundays now.  They want something, and they’d rather it be Catholic, but frankly they’ll take the best gig they can get, and not worry so much about details.

That’s normal in the ‘open’ state.

What that tells me is that if my parish is privileged to have a regular attender in our pews, we need to be doing everything we can to help that person solidify their faith.

Discussion Question from the Study Guide: Over the next six months, what changes can you personally make to help your parish disciple those who are at the threshold of openness?

We have a couple things going on.  Over the summer, the SuperHusband and I have hosted a little real-life book club of _Forming Intentional Disciples_.  To my surprise, people keep coming back.  And have expressed a desire to work on their own personal relationship with Jesus.  So, yeah, I’ll totally vacuum for anyone who wants to come to my house and talk about God for a while. Or at least I can sweep select public areas.

Another thing that stunned me:  I asked a homeschooling friend to do a little teeny-tiny cooperative revolving around one small thing I wanted to add to our curriculum, and knew I’d never have the self-discipline to stick with if I did it on my own . . . and she said “maybe”.  Next thing I knew, we’d formed a parish ministry, and the local Catholic homeschool moms  got sucked in like ants to a shop-vac, and now I’ve just gone and submitted a whole roster of course plans to my pastor to get his green light on a regular Friday 10-3:30 event.  I had a mom ask for an apologetics class, and a pile more say they wanted in on that.  Mom who swore she could only do every other week, suddenly wants weekly classes. We built the schedule around Mass, adoration, and a chaplet of divine Mercy, and the thank-you e-mails flowed in.  I haven’t told my pastor yet, but there’s a little movement to see about a confession time once a month, if enough moms are interested.

Is it going to be huge? Nope.  (Don’t even know if it’s going to be at all – see “submitted to pastor” above.  We could end up meeting at the library, if we’ve made the poor man faint from this sudden burst of activity — as Simcha says, we aren’t the only people in the congregation.  One of a father’s jobs is saying No when it’s warranted.)  But I’m increasingly aware that if it is a go, it must become one of those ‘overlapping opportunities’ Sherry Weddell talks about — those places for parishioners to find their safe spot to discover the faith.

Not an enclave.  Not a ‘you have to be good enough for us’. A spot where anyone who feels comfortable among the Nerd Moms can hang out, maybe join in the preschool program, or provide us with a lone competent voice for our CD-directed “chorus”. (Bwahahaha . . . but we are DETERMINED to teach our children traditional English and Latin hymns, and no amount of musical incompetence is going to stop us.  Why no, I can’t sing.  When did that ever stop me before?)

And I think that’s the key.  A pile of Catholics in the parish, each being themselves and doing their thing, but always open to the open.  Come on in, and if you like us, stick around.  If not, the St. Vincent de Paul ladies are a lovely bunch, go say hello to Mrs. B, she’ll steer you right every time.  Real choir meets on Thursday.  Youth group on Sunday, they need adults to help with ice cream, why don’t you sit in on the Bible study since you’re here?

The thing about ‘openness’ is that you can end up in a parish just because you found a little group of friends who like you and share a common interest.  And the clincher is that the parish needs to respond with not just We’re a Club for People Who Scoop Ice Cream for Teens on Game Night, but with an invitation to the next step.

*Funny story about the Arabic: 99.9% of that knowledge is now lost in a fog deep in my brain.  Sometimes I get a surreal experience, when I happen on my old class notes, of seeing Arabic words I used to read and write comfortably, and now mean nothing to me.  I was not a particularly good student.  Also: It makes me smile as I remember back to those semesters, to opening a note book and looking at my mysterious scrawl, and wondering which alphabet the notes might be written in.  I suspect one reason I never became Muslim (the Grace of God being the other) is that I heard how much the Arab world values beautiful handwriting, and knew I’d never make the cut.