The Immaculate Misconception

(I was hoping to get this post up in time for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, but it was not to be.  This has been a crazy-busy week, the most important event being the birth of my new nephew, "Baby E!"  Many blessings  to my brother and sister-in-law as they start the journey of parenthood.  They live an hour away and we haven't had a chance to meet the little one yet; we'll see him next weekend for sure, Lord willing! 

Oh, and the statue in the photo above adorns the lovely Immaculate Conception Church in Fairbanks, Alaska.  For more photos of this beautiful little church, click here.)

I remember when Joe and I were dating and I was still a Baptist, we had many in-depth conversations about Mary.  I had always known that Catholics gave Mary special honor, even naming churches after her and reciting prayers to her.  I never really understood why this was.  Joe explained to me that Catholics honor and venerate Mary because she is the mother of Our Lord, and the Church teaches that Mary was preserved from sin--and never sinned-- so that Christ would have a pure vessel to enter this world through. In fact, he was surprised to learn that other Christian faiths did not teach this.   I dismissed this concept at first, saying that I did not believe that at all; Mary was no different from you and me, and she was a sinner just like everyone else.  I figured God must have chosen her because she was particularly faithful and holy--after all, some sinners are more faithful than holy than others. 

One night during a get-together with some of Joe's high school friends, many of whom were Catholic, someone brought up the subject of the Immaculate Conception.  I had heard this term before, and never thought much of it; I assumed it referred to Christ's conception by the Holy Spirit in Mary's womb.  That was one thing all Christian faiths taught, and I could wrap my head around it.  Someone asked the group if they knew what the Immaculate Conception referred to.  Several people said, "why, it's Jesus' conception in the womb of Mary, of course."  The person then explained that even though many Catholics have this notion, it actually means that Mary was preserved from original sin at the moment of her conception.  (I'm pretty sure Joe knew the right answer, by the way.)  This REALLY confused me, because now I'm like, "WHAT??  The Church teaches that Mary was conceived in her mother's womb in the same way that Jesus was?  Like without sex??"  Well, no, I was assured; Mary was conceived in the usual manner, but God protected her from the sin of Adam and Eve.  (I later learned that many Protestants hold the mistaken view that Catholic Church teaches a virginal conception of Mary.  This is not the case.)  Surprisingly, this made perfect sense to me, even though I had earlier pooh-poohed the idea of a sinless Mary.  Why, after all, would God not want a pure vessel for His Son?  Why wouldn't he make a sinless mother to bear Him?  Over the years, since becoming Catholic, I have come to a better understanding of it.  Some ask, "Why does Mary refer to God as her savior in the Magnificat?  That proves she's a sinner."  Remember, Christ is beyond space and time.  Mary was saved by the merits of her divine Son on the Cross at the moment of her conception.  I sometimes think of it as if Mary was baptized at the moment she was conceived--thus having the stain of original sin removed--but an even more powerful one because she lived a completely sinless life. 

I found this wonderful video by Scott Hahn, who explains beautifully why Catholics celebrate Mary's Immaculate Conception.

I have no idea when you'll hear from me again, on this blog anyway (although I expect I'll be around on Facebook and Twitter).  This week, with what little free time I have, I'm hoping to get a good chunk of Christmas shopping done, start sending out Christmas cards, and spend some quality time with little E. and his mommy and daddy.  I might try to see what I can do about moving my blog over to Wordpress, or at least clean up my web albums to make room for more photos to post here, although that might not happen for a while.  Have a great week, and happy Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe!

Here's Moe when he dressed up as Saint Juan Diego for the All Saints Day parade at school last year.

Get Thee to the Church: St. Mary of the Assumption, Upper Marlboro, Maryland

It's where I first started attending Mass with Joe, and where we met Father Joseph Jenkins, who married us (check out this post to see where). It's where I entered the RCIA program in the fall after our marriage (and I remember sitting on the couch in the rectory with the other candidates watching a videotape of a person I'd never heard of named Scott Hahn), and where, with my family in attendance, I was received into the Catholic faith. It was where Father Joe heard my very first confession and many more after that. (Did I ever tell you about the time in the confessional, after absolving me, a quite sick Father Joe asked me if I wouldn't mind running to the supermarket just up the road and getting him some NyQuill? He had a Mass to do and didn't have time. I was happy to oblige, of course; Father handed me a few dollars--so much for my anonymous confession--I got the medicine he needed, and left it and the change on the table in the confessional so he could find it after Mass. I like to joke that it was my best penance ever.) And it was where Larry was baptized--screaming his head off the whole time, and with a full diaper to boot.

We decided last weekend that it was high time we took the kids there for a Sunday Mass. We wanted them to see the place that was our parish so many years ago. Larry was too young to remember it; he was just under a year old when we moved to where we live now. It looked almost exactly the same. Except for a new coat of paint and the outdoor Stations of the Cross that wasn't there before, I smiled when I saw the same altar, the same tabernacle, the same slightly uncomfortable pews (I didn't mind, and the kids didn't complain); even the same cantor and the same deacon. There was a different priest, of course (who was wonderful, I might add), and after Mass I made sure I said Hello to Deacon K. I wasn't sure if he'd remember us, but he did.

A familiar sight. I remember the paint being a pale blue, though.

I forgot to look for the baptismal font. I wonder if they still have the one Father Joe used to Baptize Larry? Probably...

My favorite picture of Father Joe. Larry wasn't too happy that day, as you can see.

During Mass, the congregation used to recite the prayer to St. Michael, something we don't do at the church we attend now.

The parish hall, where I took RCIA, with Joe as my sponsor. Looks like it needs some work.

The outdoor Stations of the Cross were put in during the 13+ years since we left.

I wonder if this little statue of Our Lady was here before? I don't remember. I want one.

After Mass we took the boys to Grizzly's, the restaurant (ahem, dive bar) we frequented every Friday night. It hadn't changed much; the fare and decor was pretty much the same. I'm happy to report that they still have the best wings EVER...no, really, we've never tasted wings better than these;

and the gi-normous beers they're most known for.

7 Quick Takes: Blogging, Bristol, and Bailey's (and other things)

1. In my latest Small Successes post, I told you about getting our flu shots last week. We've gotten them every year for the past several years, and so far nobody has come down with flu. (Other things seem to find us instead; Larry missed more than a week of school last winter when a cold turned into pneumonia.) Moe doesn't get the flu vaccine, though, because he is allergic to eggs. He has asthma, too, so the up-the-nose variety isn't an option. I figure if everyone else in the family gets the flu shot, then at least Moe has a little cushion of protection.


Well, last fall, in the middle of the H1N1 scare, we ran across an article that said most people with egg allergies can in fact get the flu vaccine, and such people should seriously consider talking with their allergist about it. I called Moe's allergist and he said yes, that it was true, and that we'd need to schedule a three-hour appointment so they could first test him to make sure he wouldn't have a severe reaction to the vaccine, and then they'd give it to him a little bit at a time. It sounded like quite an ordeal, but certainly better than getting sick. (And when Moe gets sick, it's usually worse for him than his brothers because his asthma always manages to complicate things, and for some reason his illnesses seem to last longer than anyone else's.)

The day before the appointment, the allergist's office called me and said, we're sorry but we made a mistake. We ran out of flu vaccine, but we can still give it to him if you can bring it with you. You'll just have to get two doses from your regular doctor (one for testing and one for administering) and bring it here. I called our primary care physician and explained the situation. The receptionist was completely dumbfounded by this unusual request and put me on the line with the office manager. She listened again to my story and said that she'd have to ask the doctor but she was pretty sure we could do that. It would make insurance billing more complicated since one doctor was providing the vaccine and another was administering it, and we'd need to take the medicine straight to the allergist and bring any leftover medicine back right away and make sure we kept a cold pack on it at all times.

It was a most unpleasant experience for Moe, to say the least, maybe even worse than his annual allergy test which is bad enough. I don't know how many times he was stuck that day, but we didn't go back for the H1N1, which would have involved the same ordeal. He didn't get the flu shot this year, partly because it was so hard for Moe, and partly because it was such a pain in the butt for me. I hope I'm not a bad mother.

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2. Last weekend we made grilled salmon with lime-butter sauce, and it was delicious. We had some left over, so on Monday I made salmon salad with a little mayonnaise, salt, and pepper, and I added a little of the leftover lime-butter sauce, which had solidified nicely in the refrigerator. Yum-O, as Rachael Ray likes to say.

Then the other day I made linguine with garlic clam sauce, following a method I learned from my friend Terri via Facebook: Cook the linguine in water that has a little salt and some Tabasco sauce added to it. Take a whole head of garlic and mince it up, and cook it slightly in olive oil. Open a couple of cans of clams, dump it in the pan with the garlic (juice and all), add a little salt and pepper, heat it up a little bit, and serve that over the linguine. Easy-peasy, and delicious. At the last minute I remembered that we had more leftover lime-butter sauce--not much--and I dumped the rest of that in with the clams and garlic. It was just enough to give it a hint of buttery-ness and a slight twinge of lime. Fabulous, and now I think I'll add butter and lime juice to the clam sauce every time.

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3. Seriously, people, I mean it now. Quit it. (See Take No. 4, here) Now, I'm not one of these conspiracy theorists who swear the votes are rigged, and that Sarah Palin has been bribing people for votes, or that there's some underground movement to give Bristol the trophy. I just think there are a lot of good people out there who like Bristol (I like her too, don't get me wrong) and who support Sarah (I support Sarah, too! Really I do!!) and are using up all their votes week after week on Bristol, never mind the fact that Jennifer is the BEST dancer on the show, and has been all along. Enough is enough. So I want everyone out there in Blog land to memorize this number: 1-800-868-3411. I want all y'all to be dialing it like mad on Monday night.

Don't let Bristol put Baby in the corner.

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4. Speaking of Bristol, that new abstinence PSA that she did with the Situation is one heckuva gi-normous FAIL. If you're gonna teach abstinence, teach abstinence. Don't be wishy-washy. Sheesh. It made my blood boil when I saw that doofus with his shirt open and rosaries around his neck, and THEN he whips out condoms!!? What an insult to Our Lady and the Catholic faith.

Some of you reading this have known me a long time, and probably know that I've become quite conservative in the last 20 years or so. Part of that is because of my conversion to Catholicism, as you've probably guessed, but I also have three kids. One of whom is a teenager and another is fast becoming one. I certainly don't want to be wishy-washy with them.

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5. As I was in my car this morning taking an extra trip to school to bring Moe his lunch because he forgot it, I heard Greg and Jennifer Willits on their radio show, The Catholics Next Door, talking about how SO many Catholics out there don't know their faith, and discussing ways we can make sure that our own kids and the people around us are taught the truths of Catholicism. I didn't hear the whole conversation, but it got me thinking: This blog started out as a way for me to share my Catholic faith with whoever was listening, and to write about the joys and challenges of being a Catholic mom. Now, it seems, I'm writing less about Catholic issues and topics, and more about mundane everyday stuff. Not that the mundane things aren't important (some of my favorite blog posts to read are those about ordinary things--housework, parenthood, fun stuff you're doing with your kids, things like that--and I really enjoy blogging about those things too); but now I'm thinking I should challenge myself to include something Catholic in every blog post.

So all you other Catholic bloggers out there--who's with me?

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6. To those stupid people who have that website asking people to vote on whether or not they should abort their unborn baby: Carry the baby to term, give birth, and put her up for adoption. That way you've chosen life for your precious little one, and she'll be spared the trauma of having jerks for parents.

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7. I've had a scratchy throat and a little cough this week. Probably allergies. Nothing major, just annoying, and it makes it hard to fall asleep at night. I've found some remedies over the last couple of years that soothe that tickle in my throat and help me sleep like a rock:
--Limoncello
--A steaming cup of Celestial Seasonings Cinnamon Apple Spice tea, with a little honey and some brandy.
--Baliey's
I just have to make sure I'm finished with all my tasks for the day before taking my "medicine." It makes me sleepy and relaxed....and forget about trying to watch a TV show or a movie. (My latest plea I'm always giving my husband is "Don't delete it!! I missed the ending!!")

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Jennifer Fulwiler isn't feeling well, and she's taking a week off from 7 Quick Takes. She has her Mr. Linky list up, though, with tons of others for us to check out. Head on over and take a look!

On Becoming Catholic, Part 3: Not the End of the Journey

This is my final installment of my conversion story, "On Becoming Catholic." (Not a very original title, but I'm not one for originality.) If you haven't read the first two posts, I encourage you to click on these links first:

Part One: Baptist Beginnings

Part Two: Things That Make You Go Hmmm...

In the fall after our marriage in 1995, I joined our parish's RCIA program with my husband as my sponsor. I wasn't necessarily planning to convert, but I needed to learn everything I could about Catholicism since this was what I was eventually going to be teaching our kids. During our marriage preparation and RCIA, I discovered that the teachings of the Church that I thought were strange and even oppressive were actually put in place for our benefit. I figured out pretty quickly that the Church doesn't have any "dumb rules," as I had often heard some Catholics lament about teachings they didn't agree with. When I first began attending Mass, for example, I thought it was a little snobbish of the Church to ask those who weren't Catholic to refrain from receiving Communion. I'm a Christian, too, I reasoned; why SHOULDN'T I be allowed to partake of the Lord's Supper with everyone else? Isn't that what Communion is, a sharing of a meal among fellow Christians? I had read the little explanation of the back of the Missalette that said something about Catholics believing in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, and needing to be in full communion with the Church and all, but it didn't register. I knew what Jesus said and did at the Last Supper; and when I would ask my husband about it, he seemed to feel the same way: we don't know what happened at the Last Supper (well, now we do, but it wasn't clear to either of us at the time); so I could probably receive Communion even though I wasn't Catholic, and didn't really buy into the whole transubstantiation thing. Once our priest explained it to me though, I finally got it. When we say "Amen" when presented with the Body of Christ, we are acknowledging that this is indeed the true Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus. If we do this but don't really believe it, we're lying, and abusing this beautiful gift that Christ has given us. Needless to say I refrained from Communion after that until my Confirmation. (I thought praying to the saints was kind of bizarre too, until the priests leading my RCIA classes explained that we ask the saints in Heaven to pray for us, just like we ask our friends on Earth to do the same.)


One Sunday in January or February, Father announced that on a certain date in the near future, we candidates (everyone in our group had been baptized in another Christian denomination) would be asked to make a decision: Would we or wouldn't we become full members of the Catholic Church? Father reminded us that now that we knew the Truth, we had a responsibility to either accept or reject it; or, if we weren't ready, to at least acknowledge that fact.


I think it's time for me to pause for just a moment and confess something to you. It's taken me a long time to publish this last part of my conversion story, because I really wasn't sure how to put into words the real reasons why I decided to become Catholic. I grew up hearing many testimonies from people who had been unbelievers, and some profound incident that caused them to immediately turn their lives around and accept Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior. They dropped to their knees in fear and trembling, burst into tears, and their lives have been filled with joy ever since. On the other hand, most of the stories I've heard from Catholic converts tell of a very intellectual conversion: they knew there was something more to be learned about Catholicism, they read all kinds of books by the Church Fathers, and came to the conclusion that Catholicism was the right place for them. Neither one of these scenarios really describe my conversion. As a Protestant, I always knew God loved me, and even though I ignored Him plenty of times, I don't think I was ever so far away from Him that I needed some dramatic "wake-up call" to make me take Him back. I never really had a specific "conversion experience;" in fact, there were times when I questioned my own salvation because I'd heard other Christians (including the evangelical radio preachers I had started to listen to as a young adult) that if I could not specifically pinpoint the exact time and place that Jesus came into my heart, I was a lost soul. I can't even tell you the exact moment I believed in the Real Presence, or when I knew the Catholic Church was THE Church that Christ had established on Earth. I didn't spend hours upon hours poring over the writings of the Church Fathers; but I did listen to people like Scott Hahn, Mother Angelica, and the priests in our own parish when they spoke about the beautiful teachings of the Catholic faith. I asked lots of questions during our RCIA sessions, and the priests answered them simply and patiently, and every single answer made perfect sense. I found myself wondering why Protestants DIDN'T believe Jesus meant what he said literally in John Chapter 6: "I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst... this is the bread that comes down from heaven so that one may eat it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world." (v. 35, 50-51)

When Father presented us with this decision we had to make, I wouldn't say it was a no-brainer; no matter how much I loved this new Faith I was learning about, I knew becoming Catholic would be a life decision, and there would be no turning back. By coming into the Catholic faith, would I be abandoning the Baptist faith I knew and loved? I knew that I already believed the Catholic Church was the true church founded by Christ on the Rock of Peter our first Pope, and that the Eucharist was indeed the Body and Blood of Christ. I was beginning to understand some of the other Catholic practices as well--devotion to Our Lady and the Saints, the beauty and necessity of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, the concept of Baptism as a sacrament that removes original sin--but there were other things, like the Assumption, Purgatory, and the Church's rejection of artificial contraception, that I still struggled to embrace. I asked Father about this, and I'll never forget what he told me: If I believed the words of the Creed and in the Real Presence, I was ready to be a Catholic. As far as my doubts and struggles about other Church doctrine, Father's advice was to pray and ask for a better understanding of these teachings. As long as I didn't outright reject Church Dogma ("Don't go around saying that the Church is wrong on such-and-such"), it was perfectly understandable to have some questions and doubts. Receiving the Sacrament of Confirmation, regularly attending Mass and receiving the Eucharist, and taking advantage of Reconciliation, as well as daily prayer, would give me graces to help me understand and accept teachings that I struggled with. "Meanwhile," he said, "do the best you can." I knew then that I wanted to be a part of the Church that Christ founded two thousand years ago, the place where I could physically receive the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus. The fact that Jesus loves us so much that he wanted to be with us in the flesh, and we didn't have to wait until we got to Heaven to be physically present with Him, was amazing to me. I had always believed (and still do) that Jesus is always with us in a spiritual sense, if we invite Him into our hearts; but through the Eucharist He is also with us physically.




And so, on Easter Vigil 1996, I was formally received into the Catholic Church. I am so grateful that my family celebrated with me and supported my decision. My in-laws were there, and naturally they were bursting with happiness that I had chosen to join their beloved faith that they grew up with and raised their children in. (To this day my husband says he is amazed that I decided to become Catholic; he never dreamed it would be possible. Neither did I.) Even my grandmother, who was in poor health, made the five-hour trip with my parents and my brother to share the wonderful day with me. One of my most prized possessions is an olive-wood Rosary that my grandmother gave me as a confirmation gift. This would be the last time I saw my grandmother; she died two months later of a heart attack.

My journey is far from over. In the last fifteen years, through our marriage and raising our children, through the ups and downs of married life, going from working full-time to being a stay at home mom, then going back to work part-time, I have grown steadily closer to Christ through the Catholic Church. I am thankful for the wonderful priests God has made a part of my life, other Catholic moms I have become friends with over the years, the opportunities I have had to teach Religious Education and to be a part of our parish and school family. I still have a long way to go in my Faith journey; very often when it's time to pray I find myself making excuses not to sit down and have some time with God. (So many blogs to read, so little time...let's see what my Facebook friends are up to...) Shortly after becoming Catholic I bought a copy of The Catechism of the Catholic Church. I hardly ever open it. I struggle sometimes with a lack of courage when it comes to defending the Catholic faith. There are some things I do miss about being a Baptist; the wonderful hymns we used to sing (oh, my, don't get me started...if I have to hear "The Servant Song" one more time...and by the way, it's not "Joyful, Joyful, we adore YOU," it's "Joyful, Joyful, we adore THEE." If you're ever in church and the person behind you is singing Thee, Thou, and Thine, when everyone else is singing You, it's probably me. And that dumbed-down version of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing"...oh, never mind. I certainly don't hold Catholicism responsible for this.) I hold a special place in my heart to all the people who helped shape me as a young Christian, and who still go to the same Baptist church where my parents go to this day. Whenever we go to my parents' for a weekend visit, I always think to myself, "THIS time we'll go to Mass AND to the Baptist church." I want to stand with Mom and Dad and all the people I worshipped with, and sing all the old hymns, and listen to the choir sing and the pastor preach. (There is a different pastor now; Reverend A. retired long ago. The current minister is a great man of God who I admire very much.) It always seems that we have such a limited amount of time when we do visit, and it's been many years since I've set foot in my old church. (In fact, more often than not we leave early on Sunday morning in order to make it back home in time to attend the Sunday evening Masses in our own parish.)




When people ask me why I became Catholic, I often find myself at a loss for words. "There were a lot of reasons," I find myself saying. I usually tell them about the beauty of the Eucharist, and how in the Catholic Church, we can be physically present with Christ and even receive Him into our bodies. I tell them that it was the Catholic Church that Christ founded, and he appointed Peter as her first Pope. I explain that the more I learned about Catholicism, the more I grew to love the Church and wanted to be a part of it. Most of the time, these answers seem satisfactory to people. They usually nod their heads, and say something like, "Hm. Okay." If they're Catholic, they'll often excitedly exclaim that the Eucharist is what they love most about being Catholic, and encourage me to keep growing in my faith. I don't usually get into deep discussions with non-Catholics about specific Catholic teachings (except for one family member, but I'm a little reluctant to blog about that at this point, because I love and respect this person so much as a human being and as a Christian, and it seems a little too personal. These conversations give me a lot to think about, though, and encourage me to delve more deeply into Church teaching--and yes, open up that dusty Catechism. Sometime I'll share my thoughts here about the similarities and differences between Catholic and Protestant beliefs.) Putting my faith journey into words (believe me, this is the short version) is just another step toward becoming a better Catholic and a better Christian.

Years ago, my motto used to be, "I'm a Christian first, and a Baptist second." Now, I don't think it's sufficient to replace the word Baptist with Catholic; I'm not "Christian first, Catholic second;" nor am I "Catholic first, Christian second." I'm a Catholic Christian. For me, the two go hand-in-hand.

(I want to thank my Twitter peep Happy Catholic for encouraging me to begin writing down my conversion story; and to Matthew Warner for writing this article and inspiring me to finally post the rest of it. I hope it was worth the wait.)

On Becoming Catholic, Part Two: Things That Make You Go Hmmm...

Last week I published part one of my faith journey. Here is Part 2.

Every journey has its twists and turns, and my journey of faith is certainly no exception. After I was baptized at age ten, I continued to go to church and Sunday School; and even when I turned my back on God, which I often did, He always brought me back. I had some fantastic mentors during my high school years, and I think I grew more in my Christian faith during that time than I ever had. I could write pages and pages about some of the fabulous people God put in my life and helped me grow in my faith. We had a wonderful spiritual leader, Sunday School teacher, and mentor who happened to be our family's physician, who taught us teenagers about challenges we would face in college and into our adulthood. He didn't just teach Sunday School; on Sunday nights he invited all of the high school seniors to his house to play games and talk about issues that we were facing and would face in the future. Then there were Brenda's parents, who taught Sunday School together, and were fantastic examples to me (and still are!) about what it means to love and serve Christ by loving and serving others.

College was not the holiest time of my life; even though I was involved off-and-on with the campus Baptist Student Union, I pretty much slept in on Sundays and stayed away from church. I occasionally went to my home church with my parents (my college was only about a half hour drive from my hometown), but most of the time I was absent. I think that was pretty much due to laziness on my part, not rebellion. My senior year found me living in an apartment only a block from the Baptist church in my college town, and I began attending services there some weeks, and even joined a Sunday School class for college students; but again, there was many a Sunday when I stayed in bed. (When I started babysitting the minister's daughter regularly, though, I tried to make more of an effort to show up.) After college, I began attending church regularly again, right where I grew up. It was wonderful to be a part of that congregation again after several years as a sporadic attendant. I joined a Sunday School class for adult singles, began singing in the choir again, and for a short time I taught Sunday School for elementary kids.

One of the most moving experiences I had during this time was helping to
chaperone the church youth group on a mission trip. It was the year after Hurricane Andrew had slammed South Florida, and we spent a week working with Habitat for Humanity building a home for a displaced family. It was great to see the kids come together as a group, and as we worked together during the day (in oppressive heat and humidity) and studied the Bible and prayed together at night, everyone grew closer to the Lord and to each other. I think it might have been the first time that I really could feel the Holy Spirit move through people to touch the lives of others.

It was also during this time that I met and began dating my husband. I knew he was Catholic, and at the time I knew very little about the Catholic faith. I knew that Mary and the Saints were important to Catholics, and they had this thing called a Rosary which was a chain of beads they would hold while they said the Hail Mary over and over. I remember playing at my friend Mary's house as a child, and she would sometimes get out her Rosary and try and teach me the prayers. (I also remember being bewildered by this strange behavior.) I knew Catholics called their church services "mass," and the people "had communion" every Sunday. (Plus, they used *gasp* real wine.) I thought it was pretty strict of the Church to require people to attend every Sunday; as a Baptist, we were certainly encouraged to (and as a child and a teenager, I was required to by my parents, for which I am grateful), and for some odd reason Catholics had to go to confession if they wanted God to forgive their sins. There were very few "anti-Catholics" in my Baptist church, thankfully; even though I knew Catholicism was vastly different from my own Baptist faith, I was never taught that Catholics weren't Christian. I remember my mother telling me once that even though different denominations, including Catholics, had different ways of worshipping God, we were all Christians. We just had different ways of expressing our love for Jesus.

I began asking questions about the Catholic faith to both my then-boyfriend, now husband, and my friend Lesley, who is also Catholic. I remember talking to Lesley on the phone one night about the Eucharist, and when she told me that Catholics believe that the bread and wine become the real body and blood of Jesus, I just about dropped the receiver. "Are you SERIOUS??" No, no, I kept saying; you don't believe it REALLY becomes the ACTUAL body and blood of Jesus, do you? Yes, we do, she assured me, and this is the most important teaching of the Catholic Church. I thought this was by far the most bizarre and outrageous thing I'd ever heard in my life. Surprisingly, I didn't all-out dismiss it as heresy and proof that the Catholic church was un-Christian (by this time I had started to hear anti-Catholic rhetoric from some of my Protestant friends and from the evangelical talk shows I was listening to on the radio); but instead I found it strangely intriguing. Boyfriend-now-husband and I had many lengthy discussions about Mary, too, and he was surprised to learn that Protestants DON'T believe in the Immaculate Conception, perpetual virginity, and bodily assumption of Our Blessed Mother. I had never heard of these things, and I realized that in our church, we never really talked about Mary except at Christmas. It was just assumed that Mary was a sinner just like everyone else, and that she and Joseph had other children after the birth of Jesus. I guess I had always imagined that one day, when God decided it was time to send His Son into the world, he looked down from Heaven and thought, "Hmmm...I need someone to be the Mother of the Messiah. That girl Mary over in Nazareth would be a good choice. I'll ask her." It never occurred to me that God created Mary specifically for this purpose, chose her before she was conceived, and even preserved her from original sin so that she could be a pure and perfect vessel for Our Lord.

I want to stop and talk about my grandfather for just a minute. My dad's dad. He was one of the most holy people I've ever known. My dad says that growing up, the pastor of their church was very anti-Catholic; saying that the Church was the Whore of Babylon, the Pope was the Antichrist, and all that. I don't know if Granddaddy agreed with those sentiments, because I don't remember him ever saying anything about Catholics, good or bad. I do remember one conversation he had with my mother, though, and looking back I realize that he, and probably many other Protestants, honored and revered Mary more than most people realized. The conversation--I think--was about why God chose a virgin, only a teenager at that, to be the mother of His Son. Mom remarked that God, if he wanted to, could have picked a middle-aged mother of five children, who was a holy and faithful Jew, and His Son would be just as holy simply because he WAS the Son of God. It wouldn't have made all that much difference whether Mary was a virgin or not, but choosing a virgin made more sense because it offered proof of Christ's divinity. Well, my grandfather's face turned beet red as he balked at this idea. The Mother of Jesus HAD to be completely pure, he insisted. Christ needed to come from a holy and unblemished vessel, and a womb that had already borne children simply would not do. The mother of the Son of God MUST be a virgin. As I began to learn more about the Church's teachings regarding Mary, I remembered what Granddaddy had said about her, and realized that if God needed a virgin, shouldn't he need someone even more pure and holy than anyone else on Earth? Why wouldn't He want the Mother of His Son to be sinless; even free from the stain of original sin?


When my husband and I started dating, we lived four hours apart, and we visited each other every other weekend. Eventually I got a job closer to where he lived, and we started attending Mass together almost every Sunday. I began to develop an appreciation for the liturgy, and before long I had all the responses and prayers memorized. When we got engaged, we started visiting Baptist churches in hopes of finding one that I could feel at home in. (We had this crazy idea that we'd have our kids baptized Catholic, but we'd take them to both Catholic and Baptist services and eventually they would choose which one they liked better. It didn't take us long to realize that this wouldn't work at all.) I had a friend and co-worker whose husband was a Baptist minister, and I went to their church a number of times; the people there and at the other churches we visited seemed nice enough, but more and more I felt most at home in the Catholic Church. When we married I decided that since we would, after all, be raising our kids to be Catholic, and that THIS was the church I would be attending, I needed to learn something about the faith. I was talking to my mother about all this in her kitchen one Thanksgiving, and she surprised me by saying she thought it would be a good idea to become Catholic, because we would have a common faith to raise our children in. Mothers know best, right? At the time I really didn't think this was something I would actually do, and I'm sure neither of us realized how important that decision would be.

In Part Three I'll tell you about how I grew to love and embrace the Catholic faith, and how my journey as a Catholic has progressed in the last fourteen years. I haven't quite finished with that part--it's difficult to put into words the beautiful ways the Church has changed my life. I'm working on it though, and I can't wait to share it with you here. Soon.

UPDATE:  Yikes, I never posted the link to that...Here it is!!

On Becoming Catholic, Part One: Baptist Beginnings

I'm finally almost finished with my conversion story, to be published here in three parts. Here is Part One. I'll post parts two and three soon. Thanks for your patience!

"Take, eat; this is my body, broken for you."

"This cup is the new covenant in my blood."

These were the words spoken by the pastor during the Holy Communion service, held once every few months in the Baptist church where I grew up. As a youngster, I had a hard time understanding the significance of this ceremony. From the Bible stories I learned at home and in Sunday School, I had a vague recollection of the Last Supper, and knew it must have something to do with that, but I didn't quite know why we commemorated this event with such formality. I remember whispering questions to my mother: "What's that little white square?" "It's a piece of cracker." "Why can't I have some grape juice, too?" "When you're older and understand this better, you can." Later I learned that the crackers and grape juice represented the bread and wine that Jesus gave his disciples, and that it pointed to His body and blood that He sacrificed on the Cross for our sins. This is what I needed to believe in, I was told, in order to become a full member of our church, and to be allowed to participate in communion services. If I believed that Jesus the Son of God died for my sins on the Cross and rose from the dead, if I asked Him to come into my heart, and dedicated my life to serving Him, I could officially become a Christian and be baptized.

My parents started bringing me to church before I was born. My mother often tells
the story of the four women who were pregnant at the same time, and how everyone in the church liked to try and guess which baby would be born first (I was the second). My parents read Bible stories to my brother and me, and encouraged both of us to read the Bible on our own when we were old enough. We were in Sunday School and church every week, and we were all very involved in other church activities--the choir, Vacation Bible School, and every Wednesday night we attended the church dinners (these were a good excuse to hang out with our friends). I had a solid foundation in the Christian faith, and I am grateful to my parents, ministers, and Sunday School teachers for teaching me about Christ and His love for me.


When I was ten, I decided I wanted to be a Christian. By that time, I had a pretty good understanding of the Paschal Mystery (the suffering and death of Jesus, His resurrection on the third day, and His ascension into Heaven--although I never heard this term "Paschal Mystery" until I became Catholic), and I was beginning to feel an appreciation for all that God had done for me. I wanted to give something back. (I've learned, of course, that love isn't a "feeling," and being a Christian is more about a decision to follow Christ, and this is not always easy!) I also knew that there was something very special about receiving Communion, and I wanted to be a part of that as well. I was encouraged by my parents to talk with my minister about this, and they made a series of appointments for me to meet with him on a regular basis. He gave me a copy of C.S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and we discussed the book during our meetings. This really helped me to better understand what Christ was like because it was easy for me to identify with the children's relationship with Aslan the Lion and his unconditional love for them. We talked about Aslan's Christ-like qualities: his willingness to trade his own life for someone else's--specifically Edmund, who had betrayed him--and his rising from the dead the next morning. He also had me read a book that he himself had written on the subject; I'll never forget the title: How to Be A Christian, Happy and Successful. It was a small paperback, bright red with a big yellow smiley face on
the cover. I don't remember the details of the book, but I recall that it was a helpful, easy read. During our meetings, we talked about the books and what it means to be a Christian--I remember that he was very open to any questions that I had, and he asked me questions as well, to make sure I understood what accepting Jesus was all about. Then one Sunday during the Invitation Hymn (the last hymn of the Sunday worship service, when people who wanted to turn their lives over to Jesus were invited to come to the front and speak with the minister) I mustered up the courage and made my way up the aisle. It helped that my friend Brenda decided to make her Profession of Faith at the same time. A few weeks later, Brenda and I donned white garments, entered our church's Baptistry (it always reminded me of a giant bathtub) and were baptized before the congregation. I'll never forget the words of the minister: "Sharon, Who is Jesus?" I replied, "Jesus is my Lord." Rev. A then immersed me in the warm water saying, "I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen."

This was my first step in my journey into the Catholic Church, even though I didn't know it at the time.

In Part Two, I'll talk about growing in my Christian faith and becomig closer to God as a Baptist Christian; and how as I began to learn about Catholicism, I began to ask and ponder questions of faith that I hadn't thought about before.

UPDATE: Part 2 posted, click here!>>>>>