I Do.

So, this past summer, I visited my hometown to see my grama before she moved to Florida.  Providentially, I also learned about this.  The faithful, "On any day they chose, during the Year of Faith, if they make a pious visit to the baptistery, or other place in which they received the Sacrament of Baptism, and there renew their baptismal promises in any legitimate form," they receive a plenary indulgence.

So I went.

It was odd returning to these places that I grew to loathe so much during my pre-teen and teen years.  Jeans, black tshirt, and wallet chain replaced by a modest swishy skirt, blouse, and lacy white chapel veil.  I called in advance to set up a time with Fr.  I brought my Baptismal candle.  After morning Mass, Fr. exposed the Blessed Sacrament in the side chapel before he got up to leave.  I followed him and introduced myself.  I wasn't surprised that, when I mentioned Wisconsin, he brought up CYE and Fr. Quinn.  He's also an oblate of the the Community of St. John.  Pretty cool.

Anyways, we went into Church, and Fr. lit my Baptismal candle.  He had me stand in front of the Altar, but I faced the Baptismal font, which had the tabernacle behind it.  (It annoyed me that it wasn't front and center, but thought the connection between the Blessed Sacrament and Baptism was beautiful.)  As we stood in the cool quiet of the sanctuary, Fr. asked me six very pointed questions, the same asked of my parents and godparents almost 31 years ago:

Do you reject Satan?

I Do.

And all his works?

I Do.

And all his empty promises?

I Do.

Do you believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth?

I Do.

Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary, was crucified, died, and was buried, rose from the dead, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father?

I Do.

Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting?

I Do.

This is our faith, the faith of the Church.  We are proud to profess it, in Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Amen

Now, typically, I absolutely love renewing my Baptismal vows.  It feels so badass.  But, that day my melancholia took over and I almost started crying.  All I could think about was the picture of my Baptism (as soon as I find it, I'll put it up).  My parents holding me over the font while my godparents looked on.  (A week ago when I scribbled this entry in my journal, I didn't even remember who my godparents were.  I know now because I looked it up in my baby book. I'm really disappointed about that.)  The smiles, the dresses, the trust I had as a baby to be loved, held, and protected.  To be taught and given boundaries.  To use my intellect and ask questions.  

I was crying because, suddenly, it dawned on me:

They had NO idea.  NONE.

Before the Baptismal promises (id est: covenant) is made, the parents and godparents are told:
You have asked to have your child baptized. In doing so you are accepting the responsibility of training her in the practice of the faith. It will be your duty to bring her up to keep God's commandments as Christ taught us, by loving God and our neighbor. Do you clearly understand what you are undertaking?
Parents: We do.
Then the celebrant turns to the godparents and addresses them in these or similar words:
Are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duty as Christian parents?
Godparents: We do.
[...]
Dear parents and godparents: You have come here to present this child for baptism. By water and the Holy Spirit she is to receive the gift of new life from God, who is love. On your part, you must make it your constant care to bring her up in the practice of the faith. See that the divine life which God gives her is kept safe from the poison of sin, to grow always stronger in her heart. If your faith makes you ready to accept this responsibility, renew now the vows of your own baptism. Reject sin; profess your faith in Christ Jesus. This is the faith of the Church. This is the faith in which this child is about to be baptized.

They had NO idea.

My parents' generation was born and raised smack in the middle of pre and post Vatican II.  This generation, more than any other, knows hardly anything about the faith.  And, worse yet, they refuse to speak about it.  (Which, I feel, is much to the fault of the generation preceding them.)  

The majority of this generation only knows the what of Catholicism.  They don't understand the what, nor do they understand the why behind it.  Amidst the scores of priests leaving , liturgical abuses, poor (if not completely absent) catechesis, campy happity-clappity music, my parents' generation slowly tapered off, content to settle in mediocrity: falling away from disciplined prayer lives, commitment to reception of sacraments, and allowing others to hand on the faith without close supervision and "constant care."  Not only did I have a very difficult time remembering who my godparents were, I haven't seen either of them for over 20 years.  This clearly shows a lack of understanding of what they were about to undertake.

Ridiculous.

The next sacrament I remember receiving was First Communion.  It was all about the dress and the presents I received.  It was not about that special, intimate relationship with Christ.  I was wearing a mini-bridal gown, but I had NO idea why.  None.  No understanding that now, I am the Bride of Christ.  

I was dropped off at Catholic school every day where Jesus was treated like a text book, other students were cruel and unChristian, and no one showed excitement for the faith.  There was one priest that I remember who came out to the playground with us a few times and went down the slide, and he was awesome.  But, other than that, church was a boring obligation or punishment: a place where everyone watched your behavior, knew if you did the wrong thing, and had something to say about it after.  My child brain made absolutely no connection between Church and love.  Church and intimacy.  No connection, even, between Church and the real, living, breathing, loving Risen Christ who died for me (for you.  for everyone.).  In fact, I didn't even hear words like that until my early 20s.  

It's exasperating!  As an adult, I'm so saddened and angered that this is the experience that I had of Jesus when I was a child.  No intimacy.  No sacrifice... just an obligation completely void of any emotion altogether.  No.  I take that back.  Many things within the circle of Church were associated with fear.

I'm kind of scandalized just thinking about it.  

For instance, when I made my first confession, the teacher was going to make us all go face-to-face, and I was absolutely terrified. I mean, I was paralyzed with fear.  I remember being so scared that I actually got sick over it.  I asked my mom to talk to the priest to see if we could go behind a screen.  Fortunately, Fr. said yes.   Not only were we to go face to face, but she had two or three priests stationed in the front of Church so that all the parents could watch us during Confession.

OUTRAGEOUS.

Ever heard of "chastity of the eyes" when others are receiving the Eucharist?  You're supposed to avert your eyes out of respect for the intimacy Christ is having with that person.  I would say that the same goes for Confession.  It.  Is.  Jesus.  Christ.  It is Jesus in that confessional via in personae Christi capitis, and it should be a safe and private place.  It should not feel like a freak show at a three-ring circus, which is exactly what I felt as a 9 year old.  

And I don't know how to fix it.  It seems that my childhood faith was an amalgam of campy songs meant to liven up the emotional vacuum that was "faith" at Mass.  Again, it was all "what" and no "why."  It was text and fact without applicability and personal relationship, which is infuriating, because nothing.  Nothing is more personal that reception of the most beautiful Eucharist.  But did I learn that during my 20 years of Catholic schooling?  No.

I guess I'm more disappointed than anything.  I think sometimes that things may have been very different had my parents taken their faith seriously, which would have meant they knew what real love, trust, obedience, and sacrifice looks and feels like.  Perhaps if I'd known Christ in a personal way by the time I hit high school, I wouldn't have done what I did: acted, spoke, and dressed in ways completely antithetical to that which is befitting a Christian woman.  Perhaps I wouldn't have wallowed in self-absorption and pity, and asked more questions.  Because I did.  I wanted the Truth.  And no one knew Him well enough to tell me.  The more I think about it, the more angry I become.  And it's not rage.  It's righteous anger at a terrible injustice.  Like I was cheated out of something.  

But, praise God, I am a new creation.  And I realized it when I had a personal, intense encounter.  I knew and believed it when I made the personal, conscious, logical choice to be confirmed: to take ownership of the faith my parents did so little to foster besides drop me off at the school doors and bring me to Mass.  Fortunately, I suppose, that was just enough to set the foundation, and the Holy Spirit did the rest.  But I'm not satisfied with just enough. I'm starving.  You're starving.  We're all starving.  I don't want McDonald's when I have Gordan Ramsay and Anthony Bourdain at my fingertips.  I won't settle.  

Now it's my faith.  My responsibility.  My relationship.  My knowledge.  My love of Truth.  My mission.

My mission is Christ.

And yes, like my mother said, it's between me and God.

However, that does not mean that my faith is silent, sterile, blind, lame, and drowning in fear, or that I refuse to learn more about it, or that I'll remain immersed in fear and doubt when I don't understand something, or that I can't talk about it, or that I shouldn't talk about it, or that I refuse to talk about it because it hits too close to home and I don't want to change anything about my life because suddenly I wake up and realize I've settled for a mediocrity which breaks my heart.  It's not about passivity.  I'm not an inanimate receptacle.  My mission is Christ.  In the Gospel of Matthew, the first and last words of Christ during His public ministry are commands.  They demand action, metanoia, and radical consequence.  If you feel they don't, you're reading them wrong.

Come 

(follow me).  4:19

Go 

(make disciples of all nations). 28:19

I come to Him first and then go to others to bring them to Him.

THAT is what Baptism is.

THAT is what Confession is.

THAT is what the Eucharist is.

THAT is what Confirmation is.

THAT is, Godwilling, what my marriage will be someday.

And THAT is what we will teach our children every day of their lives: that Christ is real.  He's alive.  He is love.  He casts out all fear.  He is calling.

Come.

Go.