An Inside Job: Conversion IV

The 1000sq ft home that had served us as a newly married couple was no longer adequate for child rearing so off to Farmington Hills we went and a new parish: Our Lady of Sorrows. I had parked the idea of being a "joiner" as far as the catholic church was concerned and became immersed in the wiles of new motherhood and a new business venture that Ron and I initiated. We struggled financially but managed to stay solvent. I really liked the Mother's Group at Sorrows and became involved in learning the craft of parenting from people who, frankly, I grew to respect a great deal. There were many ladies there who did not balk at the notion of having a big family which I thought was charming and eccentric; even if it was baffling to me. I also found them to be willing to lend a hand or an ear as needed. We became well acquainted with the priests at Sorrows and struck up a nice friendship with one of the associates there - Father Bill. To my amazement, I learned that "priests were people too" and even could enjoy a round of golf among other "normal" activities. I continued to grow spiritually, relying more and more on this rosary concept and I knew at some level that there was much more to the Catholic Church than I cared to admit. But I wasn't ready. Instead, I decided to distract myself by being busy about things. I became a Stephen Minister (Similar to the work of the St. Vincent de Paul Society) and - get this - I decided that it would be good idea for me to take Holy Communion to the homebound. Not content to stop there, I taught a bit of religious education at the OLS school. Not bad for a rookie! When I look back on all of that now, I've determined that God was working on me from the outside-in. *A Word of Caution to all Pastors & Catechists: It would probably be a good idea to review the credentials of your parish volunteers from time to time!*

Through a strange turn of events, Ron and I received an opportunity to move our business out of state and make a start fresh in a warmer climate. Both of us were weary of window scraping and 4-5 months of snow drifts. We considered Arizona. Ron had family in Phoenix and I, having traveled to Tempe with my marching band in high school became smitten with the desert. We took a chance and made a bold move; one that I have never regretted. On an unforgivably cold February morning as a half foot of ice lay beneath our moving truck's wheels, I left Michigan - the state that I had called home for 30 years. The snow finally melted off in large chunks in San Antonio, 3 days later. By the 4th day we were in bright, glorious, sunny, orange-blossomed, Phoenix Arizona. God is good! We settled into a townhome and another new parish: St. Paul Catholic Church.

St. Paul was a handsome church with a large congregation. We made friends quickly and Karsten found playmates in a well-attended play group, called PlaySpace. Many of the moms in PlaySpace also were part of another group called the Moms to Mom Sharing where I later became involved. I sort of picked up where I left off, minus making the home Holy Communion visits. Missing music, I joined choir instead. I flew beneath the radar at St. Paul for a few years, never admitting to a soul that I was a non-catholic. I countinued to receive Holy Communion every Sunday and sing in the choir without so much as a question from anyone. Until one Saturday.

The Moms to Moms group was looking for a co-chair and my friend Hollie persuaded me to join her for a training session. I indulged her and traveled to the one-day seminar not too far from home. Hollie smoked, so on breaks we would go outside so she could have a cigarette. Hollie was a deeply spiritual woman and I always enjoyed her stories. She had 4 kids and not a lot of money but seemed intrinsically happy all the time. I don't really know how we got on the subject that afternoon, but Hollie eluded to the fact that she was a former Lutheran before joining the Catholic Church. I was surprised. I had no idea that this woman who I had known for close to 2 years was a convert, let alone that we shared a Lutheran background. We talked for awhile and I think what I began to realize is what finally did it for me. Hollie had also "faked it" in the same way that I did. Masquerading as a Catholic and receiving Holy Communion. Some advice had been give her to "fast" from the Eucharist while she prepare to enter the Church. And fast she did. She told me that it transformed her. The more she fasted and restrained herself, the more in love she became with the Jesus of the Blessed Sacrament. Something was changing her...for the better, and why? Not because she clamored after something she felt she deserved, but because something she loved so much that she was willing to accept obedience to the Church that He inspired. If I believed in Jesus, and I certainly did, then why would I not also believe in the Church that He established. And if I could believe in it enough to not only attend as a faithful, pseudo-Catholic, but also to raise my child in this Church, then why would I not go the distance? And where had I ever considered that doing something half right, was right? The questions stirred a lot of pain in my soul but they did lead me to action. Hollie helped me get the big picture. And if she could fast from the Eucharist, so could I.

A surrender. The added embellishments of what I perceived as public humiliation & embarrassment did ensue, but what I discovered was that I was no better than anyone else. My pride had kept me away from the church and my pride would have to be lovingly and thoroughly dispensed with. It was a most appropriate penance.

On April 6, 1996 at St. Paul Catholic Church, after 7 months of formation, I became a Roman Catholic. Ron and I had our marriage blessed at the Vigil Mass and I returned to Mass the next day to sing. I wore the tea length dress that I wore on the day I married Ron. My reception into the church is a true BIRTHday. I came from the darkness of my ignorance into the light of understanding & the new life of the sacraments. I give the glory to God whom I love above all things and my thanks, admiration and love to Our Blessed Mother and the wonderful brothers and sisters that have been placed on my path. The place where I now call home is a parish in Carefree (no kidding) Arizona: Our Lady of Joy. Can't help but chuckle over the "ironies" in all of this...
St. Paul Lutheran to St. Paul Catholic
Our Lady of Sorrows to Our Lady of Joy
The Moms Groups in Michigan and in Arizona where I was "mothered" by many but spiritually by Our Lady in the Rosary which I prayed for the first time 5 years before entering the church. Coincidence? No way. Like I said, it was an inside job.

Never Say Never: Conversion III

As I reflect on this early church experience, I recognize a few things that drew me into it. For one, the idea of attending church seemed novel to me. I loved the ritual of the service, the formality of the worship and I especially liked receiving Holy Communion. We would proceed up to the communion rail and kneel to receive the torn bread and the wine in the little cuplets. (Pity the poor soul that had to clean all those). As a Lutheran, I was taught and I did belive that I was receiving the actual Body and Blood of our Lord, Jesus Christ. While we knelt, the 20-25 or so folks who were receiving also received a little sermonette. A bonus! The Lutherans were big on preaching and since I had no prior church experience really, this was the best thing since grape jelly. Everyone also dressed nicely for church. It was a rarity that someone came in casual slacks & never did they arrive for church in blue jeans; most of the women wore skirts or dresses with nylon stockings. Church was an elevating experience. When I was in elementary school, 2 of my best friends and a lot of other people I hung around were Catholic. I was envious of their 1st Communion outfits and experiences and I was curious of the gathering they all attended after school called Kattywhatever. What a weird name for a bowling league? After the 6th grade, a lot of them went off to Cabrini and Gabriel Richard. And then I rarely, if ever, saw them again. As a newly minted Lutheran, I sort of felt "on a par" with those who had gone on to higher spiritual endeavors.

A high point of my Lutheran experience was when my mom and dad became members at St. Paul. I couldn't help but feel a whole lot of personal pride that somehow I was behind a deepening of their faith. Besides, Dad was also renouncing his weird affiliation with the Masons, which, to this day, remains a family mystery. The questions were answered, the housecall completed, the family was going to church. It all made so much sense. Until I graduated.

Off to East Lansing and MSU where I would sow my oats. And sow I did...right into the land of the pagans. I started strong with testing out a few Lutheran churches but nothing felt right. Not only was I unable to replicate my St. Paul Lutheran experience, I wasn't even able to muster up enough motivational guilt to care too much. Let's just say that getting up at 7am and riding my bike to church just wasn't on my A list. I received my requested inheritance and I went off to live with the swine. It would be many years before I found my desire to return to church. In this time, I went through what I now believe was a hearty depression as I experimented with all sorts of new hobbies that jaded my character and soiled my garment. I met and married my college sweetheart and shortly after landing my first job, I hit a wall. Divorced within a year of marriage I felt that a geographic cure was in order. I accepted a traveling job which had me tooling all over the state of Michigan and then took a sabbatical to Newport Beach to reestablish my life with my new husband, Ron. Yes, it all happened way too fast.

Ron was a Catholic and his faith life seemed strong. He had many pagan traits like me, but he showed up for Mass on a regular basis and even invited me along. This was impressive. Even when he traveled, it was important for him to make it to Mass. Most of the people that I had known - and especially many catholic friends - were looking for excuses to split that whole religious scene. We attended many Catholic churches together and it felt, oddly, Lutheran! Same style of readings from scripture, the reception of Holy Communion (and yes, I was too proud not to participate), and remarkably, a mostly consistent liturgy no matter where we went - anywhere! I was a little freaked out at some of the statues and Marian devotions that I was unfamiliar with but if they were willint to accept me, I would overlook a few of their theological defects.


I began to identify with some of the stories of the saints that I would hear and began to understand that the church is really one big (sometimes dysfunctional) family! Easter and Christmas were done up nicely and I grew a strong devotion to the big seasons of Advent and Lent. These were downplayed in the Lutheran church but in the Catholic cycle, there was order and reason and everything- literally, everything had a rich, sublime character to it. The Catholics seemed to have an explanation behind everything that they did. Even the blasted colors they wore had theological reason behind it. I felt like floodgates were opening again. But I was really quite content to maintain my Lutheran identity; besides I felt that I had made my peace with God and everybody seemed to accept the fact that I would live a humble life as a Lutheran in a Catholic church. I would never turn Catholic. There simply wasn't reason enough.

Ron and I attended a huge Mass in Orange County one spring. Sitting in a packed pew, a Phillipino priest with a very thick accent was delivering his homily. Straining to understand him, the punchline of his message came home loud and clear. "If you are not Catholic, you may not present yourself for Holy Communion". I went numb. What do you MEAN, IIIII can't receive Holy Communion. Who do YOU people think you are?? Ron watched as the blood drained from my face. If there is one thing I could do well back then, it was form a resentment. No one was going to tell me that I could not receive something that I rightfully deserved. No one. And especially not some guy dressed up in a dress. Enter: The Authority of the Catholic Church.

It would be years before I attended another Mass in California.

In July of that same year, I was pregnant with our first child. We returned to Michigan in September and in October took up residence in Birmingham, MI. We found ourselves at a lovely parish in the city of Troy, ironically named St. Thomas More. (There is more to the names of these parishes than meets the eye, I've found!) STM offered a Lenten Mission featuring a few spirited Redemptorist Priests - Father Turk and Father Rooney. It couldn't have happened at a more opportune time. Ron's job at EDS dissolved and we found ourselves in the midst of a financial crisis with baby on the way. Facing day care choices that simply confounded us, I considered doing something that I swore I would never do. Ron taught me the Rosary, and I prayed to Mary.

Whenever I am asked how it was that I converted to the Church, I give a fairly consistent answer: It was an inside job. What I mean by this is that Our Mother had everything to do with it. It is serious business when you get her involved - suffice it to say; you better want what your asking for. Father John Corapi refers to her as the "power broker"! I credit my husband with giving me excellent guidance on the Rosary. It is a powerful prayer which draws us into life, passion and death of our Lord. Explained this way to a non-catholic, it satisfies that "O, it's just a mindless mantra" argument. And, it's a whopping 17 minutes long...a bit of a challenge for this protestant. Besides, I was quite content using my own, exultant, spontaneous prayers. Nonetheless, we began a practice of praying together a nightly rosary.

The employment/financial storm calmed. Karsten was born. There was the matter of baptism; I was struck for the first time, the thought that if Karsten was baptized a Catholic and Ron is a Catholic, and I attend a Catholic Church, wouldn't it make sense that I be a Catholic too? The question reared it's ugly little head: and why wouldn't I BE a Catholic? This was tough. I was already receiving Holy Communion, ahh, that's it. That would be frowned upon....remember California? I would have to go through public humiliation, wear sackcloth and ashes and wait an eternity before someone would deem me worthy enough to be a Catholic. After all, I had heard stories.

next post: My Damascus Journey: MI to AZ

Something Lutheran Happened on the Way to Rome - Conversion II

My parents held a prejudice against catholics and pronounced on more than one occasion as it pertained to dating, not ever to bring one home. (I married two!) I always believed that this had something to do with my mom having attended a bday party as a little girl and scored the ultimate prize of a lovely Shirley Temple doll. As mom was walking home with said doll with my Grandma (a spirited woman from Great Britain with a strong middle-england brogue)a little catholic girl from the party approached her and demanded that she trade the doll for an ugly parasol. Somehow compliance was achieved, and thusly, all catholics were evil. I believed that to be the case for quite some time until I actually learned that it was the bad example of a few in-law (or might as well have been outlaw!) Catholics that laid the early groundwork for the bad feeling in the Phillips family.

In fits and starts, my parents would make honest attempts at church shopping. For a little while, we attended a little protestant church of an obscure denomination which eventually turned into a dentist office. I did go to Vacation Bible School and I remember watching Max Von Sydow play Jesus in "The Greatest Story Ever Told" during Holy Week as a kid. I loved that movie (still do) and I was drawn into the drama of the last scene..."and I will be with you until the end of time". Sniff! I wanted to know more and more about this Jesus and questioned my folks more exactly on when I would be baptized like Brian and Jeff. Once they concluded that maybe they would see about getting Rev. Deschant out to the house to do this. That was as close as we got. . Sometime around the age of 15 a few things converged which set things in motion for some spiritual renovations in my life. Paul Menard was my AP History teacher at Riverview Community High School for the 3 years I spent there. I cannot be certain, but I would almost bet that Mr. Menard spent some time, if not a lot of time, in seminary. He was challenging, extremely dry-witted, affable and made the study of History fun and exciting. His most glaring character defect was that he was a UofM alum, but I loved him anyways. We studied World History, US History, Western Civilization, Philosophy, and it all culminated with an Independent Study Seminar in World Religions my Senior Year. Throwing away all of the notes from those three years has remained one of the biggest regrets of my life! I remain indebted to Mr. Menard and the subtle example of faith that he infused into my learning.

At the same time, one of my girlfriends, Wendy, invited me to her church - St. Paul Lutheran. I took her up on it one fateful Sunday and was immediately taken with the whole church concept and started attending on a regular basis. It was as though someone turned on the God faucet and my mind was opened to the constant stream of His love and mercy. Pastor Mike told me to read a little book on the Gospels called "The Way" and I attended Pastors Class faithfully every Sunday. I was on the fast track. By April of that next year, I was to be baptized (yea!) and confirmed in the Lutheran Church.

St. Paul was a large Lutheran Church in Trenton Michigan. It belongs to the Missouri Synod which leans more conservative than the other branches. The church was traditional, baroque with a communion rail and a large glorified Jesus behind the high altar. It had one of those suspended ambos that was elevated from the rest of the sanctuary by stairs. Pastor Pohl (head hancho), had a beautiful sermon delivery and would always conclude his sermons with "And so far". I really don't know if that makes grammatical sense, but it sure sounded cool and everybody respected him. The music at St. Paul was a big deal. Every Easter we'd hire a local orchestra, mix in our own musicians and vocalists with them (I played first chair trumpet at that time) and go crazy on Handel etc. It was a blast. (no pun). The performance would always engender tears and ovations. I lasted at St. Paul until I went away to college. Pastor Pohl stayed on until retirement, Pastor Mike (the younger assoc who ran the Pastor's class) defected to the charismatics and was basically shunned.

Something curious was happening in my soul. Something really glorious. Of the things I managed not to discard, I saved my senior year scrapbook which includes a page entitled "One Important Person". The page is not devoted to any one person, but to our Lord. Some of the clippings and writings are from scripture: Isaiah 53 (Suffering Servant) and 1 Cor 13 (The greatest is Love). I've also got the St. Francis Prayer and quotes that I'm glad I found:
"Dearest Jesus, holy Child
Make thee a bed, soft, undefiled
Within my heart, that it may be
a quiet chamber kept for thee."(author unk)

A Carmelite in the making?

But there is darkness before the dawn.

Spark of Faith-Conversion Part I

Everybody who plumbs the depths of their faith probably has a conversion or reversion story in there somewhere. This being the beginning of a happy new year, tucked into the year of St. Paul and a week or so prior to the feast day of his conversion, I've decided to commit mine to the blogosphere so that in might give live on in posterity (and give some of you a few laughs)! Besides, I like to read the conversions & reversions of others, so why not add my own to the mix?

I was always "spiritually-minded" in a sense. I never had a doubt that there was a God in heaven and my early childhood was sympathetic to curiousities about a God of the universe who had immense power, strength and love. My folks decided, for their own good reasons, to delay baptism for me, the youngest child and only daughter in the family. My brothers were both baptized Methodists in my Mom's tradition but we were never threatened with church-going unless it was Christmas. I essentially learned that they figured it was best that we all "make our own decisions" about religion later on in life; something that I ungrudgingly but vehemently disagree with now as a parent. My mom once gave me a magazine cut out of The Lord's Prayer - retrieved from, ironically, Better Homes and Gardens, which I hung in my bedroom on a styrofoam bulletin board. Sometimes I prayed the Our Father when I was by myself. I also remember saying the bedtime prayer...."Now I lay me down to sleep" and I modified the ending to say: "There are 4 corners on my bed and 2 angels at my head, now God bless everybody; Amen". I was also very taken with a particular good shepherd nightlight-picture that was hung in my room (see above). It was fun to turn off all the other lights and just have this one illuminated showing (as my 16-yr old would lament) a way too "politically correct" image of our Lord. To this day, I still have this image hung at my bedside. And yes,he still thinks it's too "white".

I was probably about 7 years old when I decided to test the God of my understanding. From the refrigerator, I absconded with a corsage my mom had worn from a recent dinner party. I took it upstairs to my bedroom where I placed it on the plastic stool of my small vanity, right below the Good Shepherd picture. I really wanted God to show Himself and accept my little floral offering. We lived near a blasting quarry where a few times per week they would blast for salt. Sometimes the jarring from blasts had the ability to loosen the floorboards. On this particular evening and as it happened, right in the middle of my petition to the Lord... bet you can imagine what happened next? A rather large blast permeated the house causing the Good Shepherd picture to quake right off the wall and fall to the floor. A first! I don't remember regaining my composure, or flying down the stairs until I appeared, ashen from the fright, in front of mom who asked what in heck I had been up to. "Nothin'". I'm not sure how my little 7-year old brain processed this event at the time. I do know that I never attempted that circus stunt again and that it also left an indelible memory almost as fresh today as it was then. It is my belief that most folks grope around for a visible/physical sense of God and what we end up doing is forming attachments to these characteristics of God in people/places and things. It works for awhile, until God pushes us to deeper conversion. I'll get into that later.

Somewhere around 1579, shortly after his escape from the mean monks who imprisoned him, St. John of the Cross drew a sketch of paths up a mountain to protray the spiritual life. Along the pathways, the soul seeks God in all kinds of good things however realizes that God is "not this, not that". Even at the top of the mountain, God is no-thing. Nada. No matter how hard we try, we cannot seem to grasp with our senses what God actually IS. We cannot see Him face to face. We cannot wrap our minds around him mentally for that matter. But that doesn't stop us from trying. In the words of Gerald May from his Book, "Dark Night of the Soul", he writes..."Thus every part of us is, at its core, a desire for love's fulfillment. Though we seldom recognize it, our senses seek the beauty, the sweetness, the good feelings of God. Our mind seeks the truth and wisdom of God. Our will seeks to live out the goodness, the righteousness of God. Our memory and imagination seek the justice and peace of God. In other words, we yearn for the attibutes of God with every part of ourselves. Human beings are two-legged, walking, talking desires for God." Or in the words of one of my favorite saints, Our hearts are restless, O Lord, until they rest in you. (St. Augustine).

Later on, St. John and St. Augustine both were immensely important figures to me on my journey of faith and their writing and espcially the influences of Carmelite spirituality continue to be guiding forces for me as I struggle in my own Dark Nights.

Next post...Conversion part II: Something Lutheran happened to me on the way to Rome.