After months of speculation, I’m finally going to start writing about the reasons I am becoming Catholic. The truth is, much like my conversion to Christianity from Judaism, there isn’t one single reason I can condense into a 30-second response to curious friends and followers. So I’m going to start cataloging the “explanation posts” here, under the tag “coming home.”
Coming home looks different to everyone. I thought my journey was strange: becoming Catholic while still attending an Anglican church, as a compromise with my Protestant husband (where we have a community who loves us and our children). We still have a lot to work through about the spiritual upbringing of our kids, which makes the future seem somewhat shaky and uncertain.
Turns out I’m far from the only one in my conversion class in an inter-denominational marriage. Other attendees to the conversion class are dating, with the Catholic partner supporting the Protestant one in his/her exploration. Others are there because their adult children converted on their own years earlier.
Still others are rediscovering the faith of their childhoods after difficult divorces, and are wondering if or when they’ll be able to receive the Eucharist. This is where the Catholic church receives a good deal of criticism, supposedly adding stumbling blocks to something that should be free to all.
This is something my husband Josh admitted is one of the biggest stumbling blocks of Catholicism for him: the closed communion table. Why can’t all baptized believers be allowed to participate?
In the beginning of my time as an Anglican, I loved this aspect of our communion table. Every Sunday, my pastor says, “I remind you that this is the Lord’s table, not an Anglican table. We welcome all baptized believers to participate.” There is a large amount of diversity within this tradition when it comes to views on issues like these. Some Anglicans may believe in a divine or otherwise spiritual presence, while others believe it to be purely symbolic. In any case, I find the explanation to be rather convoluted.
As my own views began to change, I realized this was something too important to not share in common with the worshipers sitting next to me. If communion is an act of unity, what are we unified in, if we all believe different things about what we are consuming?
Writer Flannery O’Connor once responded to a Protestant who claimed the Eucharist was “just a symbol”: “If it’s just a symbol, then to hell with it.” A pithy and humorous statement, but nonetheless it stuck with me. Jesus told his followers to eat his flesh and consume his blood, did he not? Wasn’t that flesh and blood offered as a literal sacrifice, not a symbolic one?
There is something undeniably appealing about the Eucharist from a Jewish perspective, when you consider how ancient Israel worshiped in the Old Testament. They did so by offering sacrifices, and the Eucharist is the ultimate sacrifice for our sin. It is not, as some Christians mistakenly believe, an event that is recreated every mass, re-crucifying Christ over and over again. Through mysteries of time and space, we are stepping into the event in real time, becoming participants at Christ’s table.
Because the Catholic Church believes that the Eucharist is the literal body and blood of Christ, there are strict policies about who can receive it, and under very specific circumstances. With this in mind, it makes sense that violating a holy sacrament like marriage is one such circumstance that could hinder someone from communion.
Protestants are often criticized for being so staunchly against gay marriage while divorce and remarriage run rampant in their congregations, and that criticism is not unwarranted. In fact, in matters of marriage and sexuality in general, there’s a great deal of inconsistency in Protestantism (more on this in a future post).
But the Church doesn’t want to turn people away for having a past. The divorced members of my confirmation class are not told “Sorry, can’t help you,” and told to leave. Because the Church takes the sacrament of marriage so seriously, it treats each case with an investigation to determine the validity of each union.
It’s been fascinating to learn about. Far from a legalistic practice intended to keep the “unworthy” away, I can see just what is meant when Jesus says that the way to life is narrow. That’s not to say we have to earn our salvation with good behavior. No, it means that the call to holiness can place limitations on our lives. But by curious paradox, this is actually a path to freedom, not imprisonment.
There’s just so much I wish to explain to Protestant friends who have expressed concern to me over the last few weeks. It’s not taking the easy way out to say that it’s hard to explain fully unless you’re willing to dive in yourself.
Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash
