So I’ve noticed a trend occurring: whenever we have a rite coming up, immediately beforehand, I have a mini-crisis. I haven’t shared much of my personal struggles with becoming Catholic to anyone outside of our RCIA class because honestly, six days of the week, I feel like a full-blown Catholic, and it’s only one day of the week that I really struggle. But now, I confess that as strong a supporter of Catholicism as I’ve been on Facebook and talking with other friends, it’s been a lot harder than it’s seemed.
If one wants to become Catholic, one must first attend RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults), which is a 9-12 month long class about the Catholic faith. There are also several little “ceremonies” or rites that prepare you for the Big Event: confirmation. But for each rite so far, I’ve had a little freak-out fest that leaves everyone wondering if I’m going to require smelling salts or medication.
Our first rite that we went through was the Rite of Welcoming, of which I had nightmares all the night before, and the only thing that got me there was just sheer determination. I was nervous, but it turned out to be a lovely experience. We were asked several questions in front of the congregation about our profession of faith, and then we were prayed over and blessed. Our sponsors anointed our heads, eyes, ears, mouths, hearts, shoulders, hands, and feet, then placed a pretty, carved wooden cross around our necks. It was the official beginning of the whole parish seeing who we were so they could pray for us throughout this process. It was beautiful.
Then there was the Rite of Sending (the ceremony at which the parish sends you forth to the archbishop to participate in the Rite of Election). I hadn’t thought much about the rite until we were actually in the sanctuary, and I began to feel almost sick inside at the nature of what I was about to do. When we were called to sign our names in the Book of the Elect (which forever memorializes the names of new converts), I was so terrified, I couldn’t even feel the pen in my hands. For all I know, my signature could read “Big Bird”. I wanted to run screaming from the building, but I somehow managed to hold it together because I knew that I didn’t want to pull out unless I KNEW it wasn’t the right thing for me, and I didn’t KNOW that. I’m sure a lot of people would interpret my internal turmoil as a testament that perhaps this is not the right path for me, and I have had experiences where I’ve been about to do something, gotten so sick inside that I’ve almost thrown up, and I knew I wasn’t supposed to do what I was about to do. I experienced that when I almost enrolled in community college after high school. Instead, I got sick before I could even ask for the paper work. A few months later, I was at a four-year college meeting the love of my life and some forever friends.
But something in me knew this feeling wasn’t the same. I don’t know how to explain the difference between one kind of nervous nausea and another, but I kind of felt like I was being tested, and rather than turn and run, I needed to push through. So I did.
That evening, we returned to the cathedral for The Rite of Election in which we are presented individually to the archbishop. That experience wasn’t too bad except my sponsor didn’t show up, and I was starting to build that up in my head as a bad omen. Fortunately, our RCIA director (who’s gotten to know me pretty well too) stood in for my sponsor, and distracted my nervousness with hilarious cynical quips (cynical being my favorite kind of quips). When I approached the archbishop to shake his hand, I extended my hand but was still a good distance from him. He took my hand and gave me a good, hard tug so that I had to take a step closer. I chuckled to myself, “So this is how it’s gonna be, huh, Lord? You’re going to tug me in, kicking and screaming, aren’t you?”
As Lukus has watched all of my inner (and outer) turmoil, he’s told me that there’s no rush, there’s no need for me to become Catholic THIS YEAR. I can take my time. Everyone has reminded me of that, in fact. No one wants you to become Catholic if you’re not ready. Unlike in Protestantism when you have that “moment of decision”, there’s zero pressure from Catholics to join the Church. But something deep inside me has known, from the day we started this process, was that it was now or never for me. My decision must be made because I can’t remain in “no man’s land” any longer. I want to know where I belong. I want to have a Home. I need to choose, and I am NOT going to let fear make my decision. I’d rather a floating lady do that for me…
