Continuing on our blog series, here’s a witness story of David Augustine, parishioner, and former atheist and now converted Catholic. He talks about “what we believe,” and how the discovery of the sacraments was paramount in his discovery of Catholicism. David is now studying Liturgical Studies at the University of St. Mary of the Lake in Mundelein.

I came to faith in Jesus Christ in late September 2004 after reading St. Matthew’s Gospel. I was 24 years old. I graduated from college the prior year and, up until that time, considered myself to be either an atheist or an agnostic, vacillating between the two. After encountering the risen Lord in the Gospel’s crucifixion narrative, I entered a Pentecostal church through some acquaintances and was baptized in November of that year. (This particular Church didn’t understand baptism to have any sacramental efficacy in the order of grace; it was an ordinance, completed in response to the Lord’s command to baptize. It was an outward sign of the inner renewal, i.e. the new birth, accomplished through the act of faith.)

I began my ten-month journey to the Catholic faith in November 2006 after I saw an episode of the Journey Home on EWTN. The guest, an evangelical convert named Leona Choy, struck me as spiritually credible; she spoke with gentle warmth and exuded the humility and patience I’ve long associated with Christian holiness. Her conversion stemmed from a period of personal study; as such, she recommended I pick up a book on the early Church Fathers called Four Witnesses by Rod Bennett. I went to my local Catholic bookstore under the cloak of darkness to buy it; the lady at the counter also gave me (free of charge) another book called No Price Too High by Deacon Alex Jones, a former Pentecostal preacher who had become a Catholic Deacon over in Michigan. His testimony was particularly relevant to me because of my Pentecostal background. Deacon Jones wrote in a way I could relate to, handling objections that I myself had, answering in advance many of the questions I was asking. These works, among others, served as my introduction to the worldview of the early church.

Thus it was that I set out of port from the safe and familiar harbors of Pentecostal Christianity onto yet another voyage of discovery through unknown waters. Unlike my earlier conversion, however, this one didn’t center on the person of Jesus or the validity of his message per se; these were already established facts for me. The question raised for me by the Fathers was: What is the Church? What does she look like? In their writings, I discovered – to my surprise – that the Church of the early centuries was both hierarchical and sacramental. She had a clearly defined visible power structure; she communicated God’s grace through visible channels called sacraments. This is a very tactile, Incarnational approach to “doing church”, very different from the ephemeral (transitory) ecclesiology I was accustomed to. No one had ever told me this!

To give just one well-known example of early Christian writing on the sacraments: In his First Apology, written shortly before 155 A.D., Justin Martyr gives a lengthy description of a 2^nd Christian service held at Rome. Here’s how he describes the Eucharist:

“And this food is called among us eucharist, of which no one is allowed to partake except one who believes that the things which we teach are true, and has received the washing that is for the remission of sins and for rebirth, and who so lives as Christ handed down. For we do not receive these things as common bread nor common drink; but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Savior having been incarnate by God’s logos took both flesh and blood for our salvation, so also we have been taught that the food eucharistized through the word of prayer that is from Him, from which our blood and flesh are nourished by transformation, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who became incarnate.” (Trans. by Leslie William Barnard, St. Justin Martyr: The First and Second Apologies, Ancient Christian Writers No. 56 (Mahwah, NJ: 1997), 70)

This is graphic language. It’s obvious that St. Justin explicitly associates the gifts transformed “through the word of prayer that is from Him” with the “flesh and blood of that Jesus who became incarnate”. But I could see how his understanding was derived from the deeds and sayings of Jesus in the New Testament. After all, the Institution Narrative – and the rite that it instituted – stands in need of some interpretation. Why not interpret it in light of John 6:56 (RSV):

“He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him.” St. Justin also says that baptism confers “the remission of sins” as well as “rebirth”. But this too is consonant with New Testament teaching. On Pentecost, Peter preached a baptism “for the forgiveness of your sins; and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.” (Acts 2:38) Likewise, in John’s famous passage about being “born again”, Jesus taught, “unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.” (Jo 3:5)

Nevertheless, in spite of everything that I had read, my first experience of Mass was still rather comical. I went to an evening service at St. James, a beautiful but worn 19^th century parish church in my hometown. An old brick building, it looks as if it was plucked right out of the Irish countryside by angels and planted in the new world. It was mid-winter and it was dark when I arrived. I remember feeling a bit like Martin Luther standing in front of the doors of the Castle Church at Wittenberg holding the Ninety-Five Theses. What was I doing? This was an alien world to me. Nonetheless, I eventually opened the large wooden doors and quietly slipped into the narthex, entering the world of Roman Catholicism.

Catholic worship has an ethos all its own, a way of looking at the world that is best experienced by walking around one of her places of worship. Reading about the Church was one thing; experiencing one of her services was another. I would love to tell my readers that I was carried aloft into heaven by my initial experience of Mass; mostly, I was just confused. Catholics stand, kneel and sit following a rhythm that immediately perplexes outsiders. Anyone watching me would have known I was a fish out of water, struggling to follow along. I didn’t know the structure of the Eucharistic Prayer yet, so I couldn’t follow what the priest was saying. I didn’t know the order of Mass, so I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing either. There were statues everywhere. How was I supposed to feel about all this?

Despite everything, I was still taken by the experience. It felt somehow … real to me. It seemed to me that everything held a deeper significance that was simply waiting to be apprehended. I saw the priest standing at the altar, reverently speaking the Words of Institution into the bread and the chalice: “This is my body”, “This is the cup of my blood”. I saw the statues of Sts. Peter (bearded man holding keys) and Paul (bearded man holding a sword) behind the altar. I saw the clusters of images of Sts. Mary and Joseph flanking the main altar on either side. In one mosaic icon, the gray-haired St. Joseph was suspended in a field of gold, holding the Christ child and a staff of lilies. In another ­– Our Lady of Perpetual Help – Mary holds the child Jesus by the hands while angels hover nearby bearing the instruments of his Passion. There was a large, sorrowful crucifix in the cry room.

The ethos of Catholic worship is, at times, very heavy; I’ve come to learn this is because it is worship embodied, worship made incarnate. The Church takes ordinary things out of our material creation – bread, water, wine, oil, and words – and makes them grace bearing. To our natural eyes, all is normal. But to eyes transformed by faith, heaven has opened and Christ is descending, offering us a foretaste in the here and now of his coming Parousia.

Ultimately, I came to the Catholic faith because I learned to see Jesus present in the worship of his Church, in her sacraments and sacramentals. I could see this idea was firmly anchored in the teaching of the New Testament. I could see as it developed in the teaching tradition of the Church down through the ages. And yes, with time, I’ve even
come to see it in the humble worship of my parish church. This type of “seeing” that comes from faith is a journey and my process of conversion is still ongoing. I suppose it won’t be complete until I see him face to face in the glory of the Resurrection.

In this week’s blog, “how we pray” is the theme, focusing on The Sign of the Cross, which is one of the most ancient Christian ‘formulas’, reflecting the Trinity, contained already  in the New Testament and in the writings of St. Paul. The Sign of the Cross is a physical shape that represents the very core of the message of salvation; it directs us towards the saving work of Jesus Christ; the words we say as we make the sign of the Cross remind us of the doctrine of the Trinity. The Catechism of the Catholic Church delves more deeply into prayer to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit in sections 2664-2670. Below, Shelley Burnett shares her own witness on the responsibility of teaching our children this beautiful prayer that is core to our faith. Shelley, a former English teacher and now, full-time mother, resides in Bristol with her husband, Dan, along with their three young children. 

When I was in college studying education, they told us that a person understands things best when she has to teach it to others. I found that to be true in my job as a teacher (let me tell you about dangling participles), but also in my role as a mother. Being a parent is all about teaching – the hows and whys, rights and wrongs, and ins and outs of life. And as a parent, often times, “Because,” is just not enough of an answer to the questions of young ones.

One of the things we have been recently trying to teach 2-year-old Gavin is how to make the Sign of the Cross. Currently, it involves repeatedly smacking his forehead and chest. On the other hand, 5-year-old Noah, has mastered the motions. Now it is time to move on to teaching him about its significance. And this is definitely not on of those questions where, “because” is an acceptable response.

It’s amazing how children can force us to delve deeper into things. It’s so easy to let something that is routine remain just that – routine. The Sign of the Cross is one of those things that we do so often it could easily (and sometimes does, if I’m being truthful) lose the significance that it possesses. Or perhaps I sometimes fail to take the time to give it the value it deserves. I make the sign, speak the words, but is it an active or passive gesture? I understand it’s significance, but do I really let that wash over me every time I make the Sign of the Cross?

So now I am in the midst of trying to reacquaint myself with everything that this symbol is. I learned some new things in my explorations. The Sign of the Cross isn’t mentioned in the Bible or the Catechism of the Catholic Church in a literal sense. However, the Catechism does talk of the way of prayer, which directly relates to the trinity we invoke through the Sign of the Cross. First, prayer only has access to the Father if we pray “in the name” of Jesus. In praying to Jesus, we are invoked to follow the way of the cross. Finally, the Holy Spirit, Master of Christian prayer, draws us into prayer and teaches us to pray through Christ Jesus.

Funny how a symbol not mentioned elsewhere has become so ingrained into our prayer tradition. What powerful symbolism it holds, reminding us of the Holy Trinity, the Cross on which our redeemer willingly hung to save us from sin, and serving as a reminder of the crosses in our own lives. Then he said to them all: Whoever wants to be my disciple must take up their cross and follow me (Luke 9:23).

I now endeavor to make the Sign of the Cross intentionally, not simply out of habit. And I hope to teach my children the power and significance it holds.

 

“How We Celebrate,” is the second section of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, and includes many teachings on how we worship — the liturgy, and the Eucharist, which is considered the source and summit of our Catholic faith. According to the CCC # 1073, “The liturgy is the summit toward which the activity of the Church is directed; it is also the font from which all her power flows.”   As we continue with this blog series, LeAnn Rogan discusses the term, Transubstantiation, and what happens at Mass when bread and wine is consecrated. LeAnn, along with her husband, Mark, have been active parishioners and leaders at St. Anne since 1999.  They reside in Racine, Wisc., with their two teenagers, McKenna and Adam.

Transubstantiation –“ a 50 cent word” my Catholic gradeschool principal, Charlie Cooper, used to call it.  This was a compliment to the word, of course, meaning it was worth more than the “two cents” adults would chime in when you hadn’t solicited them for advice, and worthy of our serious contemplation.   Mr. Cooper was warning us that this was both a difficult word to spell and to understand.

In eighth grade I admit I didn’t fully wrap my head and heart around it.  I remember telling my mother as much and she just smiled and let me have my opinion cautioning me to patiently await some enlightenment later in life.  It came!

In my 30s I learned something new about Transubstantiation while earning my certificate to teach Catechesis of the Good Shepherd near Washington, D.C.  Yes, you can “teach an
old dog new tricks,” and I confess I’m still learning new things well into my 40s.  While the Catechism of the Catholic Church defines Transubstantiation as:

The scholastic term used to designate the unique change of the Eucharistic bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. ‘Transubstantiation’ indicates that through the consecration of the bread and the wine there occurs the change of the entire substance of the bread into the substance of the Body of Christ, and of the entire substance of the wine into the Blood of Christ- even though the appearances or ‘species’ of bread and wine remain (1376).

It was the work of the late Italian Sophia Cavaletti with pre-school-aged children that really drove home the meaning of Transubstantiation for me.  Here’s a brief synopsis of what I’ve learned happens during the Consecration and Epiclesis at Mass, the time in which the priest raises his hands to Heaven where the Gift originates and the Church asks for the Holy Spirit’s power to hover over our earthly gifts of bread and wine changing them into the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ.

While the bread still looks like bread, and smells like bread, and tastes like bread, it has been changed, in its essence, into JESUS! While the wine still looks like wine, and smells
like wine, and tastes like wine, it has been changed, in its essence, into JESUS!  Wholely and truly Jesus!  Miracles only happen where there is faith and only the faithful can see Jesus in the Holy Eucharist.  What appears to be bread and wine is, in fact, a changed (trans) substance, not only made up of flour and water and grapes, but of Jesus’ own flesh and blood –not a symbol of His flesh and blood, but truly Jesus Himself come to be with us, in us, to change us, too!

I want to be “transubstantiated”, a changed substance.  Oh you’ll keep on seeing LeAnn, but at my essence I will be a new creation, a better me, wholely and truly a child of God in and of the Body of Christ.  I don’t want to be a symbol of LeAnn; I want to be the best LeAnn I was made by God to be.

Receiving Holy Communion at Mass helps me to be mindful of this change I am seeking, strengthens me for the journey toward becoming my best self in Christ.  Growing in our understanding of the tenets of our Catholic faith like Transubstantiation gives us the language, the vocabulary, to talk about what we believe.  Talking about the truth of the Catholic faith can help it to grow in our own hearts even as those truths take root in new hearers of His word.

Be the catalyst for someone new to hear a 50cent word.  See you at Mass!

All are welcome and invited to participate in daily Mass.  Click here for schedule: https://saint-anne.org/worship/daily-mass-schedule/

Our blog series continues. We’ve now heard from Fr. Bob and several contributors on the four sections of the Catechism of the Catholic Church:  “what we believe,” “how we worship,” “how we live,” and “how we pray.”  Each week, we will focus on one of these sections — either with a personal witness story or some perspectives on a particular teaching. We continue on this path with some thoughts from Les Stahl, music director, St. Anne, on “what we believe” regarding divine providence.  According to the CCC, #302, “God carries out his plan through divine providence…guiding his creation toward perfection.”   Les is a professional composer and musician with a rich history in leading productions, liturgical music and worship programs.

“I Believe in God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth.”

Oh boy, here we go. We casually say these words every Sunday, and it’s easy to just let the words fall out of our mouths as simple memorized recitation. But it is a powerful phrase, packed with more meaning than our casual Sunday brush with it might allow. And one worth unpacking.

The new IPhone has a digital assistant known as “Siri.” You’ve seen the commercials: you can ask your phone anything and it responds with an answer. “Where can I find a good pizza?” and it comes back with a list of restaurants in your area. “How do I get home?” and directions with a map immediately appear on your phone. I asked it “What is the meaning of life?” Depending on “her” mood she comes back with several answers: “To think about questions like this.” (a tip of the hat to Descartes). “I find it odd that you would ask this of an inanimate object.” “I give up.” (probably the safest answer).

To the question “Who is the Creator?” Siri responded with “God is the eternal being that created and preserves the universe.” Okay now we are getting somewhere. What is meant by preserving the universe?” Answer: “Creation has to do with the origin of things while preservation has to do with their continuance. The Bible says that the same God created the universe in the beginning is presently preserving it.” Okay, simple enough.

Catholics call this Divine Providence (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 302). Although creation has its own perfection, it did not spring forth complete from the hands of the Creator. The universe was created “in a state of journeying” (in statu viae) toward an ultimate perfection yet to be attained, to which God has destined it. We call “divine providence” the means by which God guides his creation toward this perfection.

The witness of Scripture makes it clear that God cares for all, from the least things to the great events of the world and its history. Jesus asks for childlike abandonment to the providence of our heavenly Father who takes care of his children’s smallest needs: “Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’. . . Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first his kingdom and
his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well.” God has a
plan for creation and is working it out.

But here is the hard part: God grants his creatures not only their existence, but also the dignity of acting on their own, of co-operating in the accomplishment of his plan. This is where human failings enter into the equation.

One other phrase we casually recite by rote every Sunday in the Lord’s Prayer: “Thy will be done.” That is the meaning of life. Our faith is based on the principle of living a life in consonance with God’s plan. We are invited to be a part of God’s plan by surrendering to it rather than assuming we are the center of the universe, not God. God uses our cooperation. In his goodness, God gives us our free will and the opportunity to cooperate in his plan. Our lives are to be lived in abandonment to divine providence.

We hear the stories of saints and think: “All well and good for them, but I can’t possibly be as holy, selfless, humble, _______ (fill in the blank).” And as for all those folk in the Bible, set before us as examples, there is no way I can live up to their lives. But it’s not their journey that God wants for us; it’s our journey that matters. “We know that in
everything God works for good for those who love him.” The constant witness of the saints confirms this truth. If our lives are a constant commitment to “the journey” we are in sync with God’s plans for us. As we are his creatures, we are graced with God’s perfect love that teaches us the way home to Him.  His only desire is for his beloved children to be reunited with Him in the Kingdom of Heaven.  Hebrews 12, verse 1 and 2: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us rid ourselves of every burden and sin that clings to us and persevere in running the race that lies before us while keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus, the leader and perfecter of faith.”

There is a saying: “Let Go, Let God.” For us the letting go that we most need to do is a type of surrender. We try to keep a tight grip on things that are out of our control. This is like trying to grip the water flowing in a river. Put your hands into the river. If you try to get the water by grabbing it and clenching your fists, it goes right out of your hands. If
you relax and open, gently cupping your hands, the water flows into your palms. By relaxing, opening, and trusting, we can hold onto more of what is precious to us. By letting go, we open ourselves to becoming in sync with divine providence, God’s plan for us.

No one gets to the heart of the mystery of life, or has the key which will unlock all the doors of divine providence, unless we work to live our lives as part of God’s plan. Without that realization, life is an unsolvable riddle.

Back to Siri: “Do you have all the answers?” She irreverently answered: “A fine question. Now can we get back to work?” No one has all the answers, but we can work on it.