Earth to Catholics: It's Time To Change

While I normally steer away from controversial topics on this blog, I feel called to respond to the reaction to the Pope's new encyclical, "Laudato Si."  Blessings and peace to all!  

For the past week, I have noted with interest and sadness the strong negative reaction of many Catholics to Pope Francis’ new encyclical, Laudato Si. Apparently, the Pope’s call to radical conversion, not only in how we treat the Earth, but also in how we deal with the economy and our fellow human beings, has made more than a few people smoking mad. It seems to have caused a particular uproar among those who classify themselves as “conservative,” leading to name calling and accusations that Pope Francis is a “socialist,” “leftist,” or even worse, the Anti-Pope.

Last week I wrote a blog entitled, “Why I Remain Catholic,” which centered primarily on the great gift of Christ in the Eucharist. There wasn’t enough space in that blog to elaborate on the second major reason that I remain Catholic, but now seems like an opportune time to expound upon that theme. The second reason I remain Catholic is the because of the authority of the Church, which was instituted by Christ for our salvation, our protection, and our good. What a breath of liberating, expansive air it was to discover and submit to the authority that Christ established on earth to speak and act in His stead—the Magisterium of the Catholic Church, over which Pope Francis presides.

In “Why I Remain Catholic,” I mentioned that when I was a Protestant, I witnessed two church splits and an ego-showdown between pastors, all in five short years. Some of this division was over doctrine, but much of it was over money, posturing and pride. I personally experienced the unhappy result of having no one who was ultimately in charge, as well as the anarchy to which it leads, as various people with varying opinions competed for dominance in the church. Difference of opinion? Start a new church. Another conflict? Split again. Tragically, this scenario plays itself out over and over again in the Protestant world, hence the vast multitude of denominations.

When I returned to the Catholic Church, it took me a while (okay, years!) to become inculcated in a new way of thinking. That “new way” included coming to believe that a higher authority exists than my own set of opinions, my own interpretation of the Bible, or even my pastor’s interpretation of the Bible, for that matter. It also involved accepting the idea that Jesus Himself established the Catholic Church and its governing hierarchy. The “new way” then involved placing myself under submission to this authority with humility and trust, a wildly radical change for me, not to mention a profoundly counter cultural maneuver. (I was famous for saying: “I’ll never place myself under the authority of some man," echoing the sentiments of our culture.)

Embracing this uniquely Catholic way of viewing reality grounded me in something so much bigger than myself, namely two thousand plus years of history, Tradition and doctrinal consistency, along with two millennia of papal leadership which continues to this day. While it may seem like blind stupidity to place oneself under the authority of the Church, untold thousands (maybe millions) of Catholic converts and “reverts” like me have found that it is precisely this leap of faith that, paradoxically, leads not to bondage, but to freedom, joy and peace. Submission and assent are part and parcel of what it means to be Catholic, both of which are sorely lacking in the attitudes of today's Catholic pundits who claim to know more than the Pope, and in fact, more than Holy Spirit, Who guided Pope Francis' election to the papacy.

But back to the Pope’s encyclical. While an encyclical is not an infallible teaching instrument, it should nonetheless be received with an attitude of reverence, respect and assent. Furthermore, a spirit of humility toward and trust in this exercise of the Pope’s teaching authority is called for and should be expected among Catholics, instead of open dissent against the Pope, his leadership and his guidance.

When did it become vogue for Catholics to challenge every word that comes forth from the Pope’s mouth, encouraging division, rancor, and outright defiance, instead of unity, obedience and just some plain old respect?  It seems that our family pundits have been formed more by Jerry Springer and shock T.V. than by Catholic spirituality, a chief mark of which is unity. And why are people so darn angry in the first place? In short, because Pope Francis is challenging us to change. To change our way of thinking and living and consuming for a return to the simplicity of the Gospel. To change the way we treat the world and its people by ceasing to regard them merely as objects of consumption. And to change the way we interact with nature that we may again realize that we are not its lords, but its stewards. The specifics of the encyclical you may find therein. But its message in no uncertain terms calls each and every one of us to conversion—and apparently that really stings.

It reminds me of the reaction the Pharisees had to the message of Jesus, for which they crucified the Lord. It calls to mind the reaction of King Herod to the message of John the Baptist, over which Herod cut off his head. The time has come for a renewal in the fundamental attitudinal disposition of the faithful—in those who claim to be Catholic and especially in those who claim to be more Catholic than the Pope. How can we expect to evangelize and transform the secular world when we refuse to be transformed ourselves?

So what’s the bottom line? It ain’t rocket science and it ain’t about climate change. Instead, it is rather pointedly about attitude change, about personal change, about heart change. 

Earth to Catholics. It’s time to change.

Why I Remain Catholic

 

No, this isn't the Feast of Corpus Christi, but I’d like to chime in on a discussion. I want to respond to Elizabeth Scalia’s (The Anchoress, Patheos.com) challenge to present a cyberspace cloud of witnesses all answering one question: Why do I remain Catholic?

So here it is: Why do I remain Catholic?

The short answer is simple: the Eucharist. The long answer is connected to the short answer: because there’s nowhere else to go and nothing else in this life that I desire more.

Though raised Catholic, I came to a personal relationship with Christ in an evangelical Christian church in New Orleans when I was twenty-three years old. The invitation and subsequent decision to give my life to Christ was a total game-changer for me—one that radically altered the trajectory of my life. I am exceedingly grateful for the clear, concise call to conversion I received in that little evangelical church. I still maintain that we Catholics could learn a lot from our separated brethren about pure-D evangelization.

However…and there is a “however”… two church splits and an ego-showdown between pastors left me wandering around looking for a “church home.” Though I won’t tell the whole story now, suffice it to say that Our Lady grabbed hold of me and led me back to the Catholic Church, back to the family table. By the grace of God, I believed and was convinced that Jesus Christ is truly present in the Eucharist,  and there was only one thing left to do. To walk headlong with mouth and heart open to receive bread from heaven—real, living bread—His flesh for my life and the life of the world.

As an evangelical Christian, I had hung on each word that came forth from the mouth of my pastor as though my life depended on it. His sermons were my sustenance, and I gathered like a bird to its mother, wanting to feed right from its mouth. A good sermon? I’d been “fed,” and I’d come back for another. But as the division in our little church increased, the sermons withered, and I was hungry for something more.

I returned to the Catholic Church, no longer lost, but famished, thirsty, wounded. Christ nourished me with His flesh, slaked my thirst with living blood, and gave Himself over to me. Asking no money, no tithes, no payment, He came inside me, closer than I am to myself. For twenty-six years, I’ve consumed Him lavishly and freely, and I still can’t contain the awe.

I don’t pretend to understand the mystery of the Eucharist; I can hardly scratch its sublime surface. But this much I know: I’ve tasted real food and real drink, flesh and blood poured into me right from the Cross, and there is no turning back.  I’ve departed the cult of the sermon and arrived at the heavenly feast. It’s a feast to which, while dim shadows exist, there is no counterpart on earth.

Christ feeds me, feeds us,  His body formed and extended in time and space. His flesh is true food, His blood true drink; it is the life of the world.

Beauty Will Save the World

God showed up our home last night. He came through beauty, and I’m so grateful we didn’t miss Him.

God came in the form of four incredibly talented young musicians and singers, friends of my Nashville-based daughter Kara Klein, who want to transform our culture. They’re part of a new outreach called “Love Good Music,” founded by inspirational speaker and composer Jimmy Mitchell for the explicit purpose of evangelizing our culture through beauty. (See their website at lovegoodmusic.com for more information.)

I’m not sure what I expected, but what a breath of fresh, inspirational air Jacqui and Cathryn Treco, Chris Cole and Shawn Williams proved to be. Their simplicity, faith and joy blew me away, not to mention their jaw-dropping talent. While all who attended the impromptu concert were amazed by the young troupe’s musical ability, their mission is bigger and deeper than to impress others with their gifts. Their quest is to draw the hearts and minds of those present to God through beauty, standing in direct opposition to a secular culture where art forms have become increasingly vulgar, obscene and violent.

These young people understand that the human heart is hungry for the good, the true, and the beautiful. Drawing upon a foundational theme in the Catholic faith—that is, the power of beautiful art to draw men’s hearts to the transcendent—the musicians hope to inspire others through heart-piercing entertainment. Both Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI and Pope John Paul II, a classically trained pianist and a gifted actor respectively, wrote about beauty’s power to pierce hearts and point men to God. Both quoted in their own work the famous line from Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot,” which says, “Beauty will save the world.”  This is possible by reawakening man to the infinite, the transcendent, to that which calls us beyond ourselves. It happens by pointing man to the true artist and creative force behind all that is beautiful, namely God.  This is precisely what Fr. Robert Barron communicates in his immensely popular "Catholicism" series.

Thanks to the young artists who convincingly conveyed the power of beauty last night through their wholesome, delightful art. May we resurrect in our culture a prominent place for such beauty, for beauty can change the world.

Please enjoy the below video clip of Shawn Williams on violin.  Forgive me for the homemade quality of the video, as it doesn't do him justice, but you'll get an idea of his immense talent, which left us all breathless.  And enjoy the gorgeous painting by my dear friend and neighbor, Marcia Holmes, that graces our mantle, entitled "Reflective Oak." God bless!

Download clip here:  IMG_1571

Drinking Mary's Cool Aid

In honor of May, the month of Mary, and in conjunction with my live interview on Dina Marie on KBVM 88.3 in Portland this morning from 10-11 a.m. Central, I am re-posting this blog on Our Lady.  I'll be discussing Mary and Motherhood, so please join us at http://tunein.com/radio/Catholic-Radio-883-s31902/.  God bless!

Susan thought her Catholic friends had drunk the proverbial “Kool-Aid.” A staunch evangelical Christian, she was offended and angry after attending my sister-in-law Hedy’s Medjugorje Rosary group and witnessing what she considered to be “blasphemous” prayers being said to Mary. As Hedy continued to host Rosary groups, Susan felt obliged by conscience to end their friendship, convinced that Hedy was not only in idolatry, but was leading others astray through her devotion to Mary.

Susan and Hedy had become friends several years earlier through their children, as each had several kids attending the same school in the small Gulf Coast town of Pass Christian, Mississippi. The two families had grown very close—even taking family vacations together. But their friendship hit a breaking point when Susan and Hedy both became more fervent in their respective faiths, causing Susan to take a stand against Hedy’s perceived “idolatry”—a stand that left the friends and their families estranged for five years.

Eventually, Susan hit a personal faith crisis wherein she recognized that she could “talk the talk” of Christianity, but was unable to “walk the walk” toward the personal holiness she desired. After seriously reflecting upon the people that she knew who truly “walked the walk” as Christians, Susan came to the humbling conclusion that it was the Catholic women she had encountered along the way who had unequivocally treated her with kindness, patience, love and mercy. Though she still questioned their theology, she simply could not deny the fruit their lives bore.

“How could their lives be so full of the fruits of the Holy Spirit,” she asked herself, “when their faith is so theologically compromised?”   That question led her to a massive interior dilemma about the authenticity of the Catholic faith, which she felt simultaneously drawn to and terrified by. After much prayer and wrestling with God, Susan made a decision not to be led by fear. She returned to the Catholic Church, through which she had made a brief foray a few years earlier when she was confirmed Catholic upon her marriage into a large, Catholic family. (Susan was baptized Episcopal and raised as “nothing,” and her husband had ultimately followed her into Protestantism.)

Susan began to attend Mass and pray the Rosary, while going to the people she had accused of “idolatry” to apologize to them. Surprising even herself, she developed a great love for the Catholic faith, spending the next few years making beautiful handmade Rosaries “in reparation for my blasphemies against the Blessed Mother,” as she tells it.

Fast forward to 2014, when Susan called to ask me where she could buy copies of my book, Miracle Man (which happens to be very Marian, by the way. I, too, had wrestled with Hedy about her devotion to Mary at the same time as Susan—a story I tell in detail in the book. Let’s just say Hedy and the Blessed Mother won.) After meeting me on St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans to buy six copies of Miracle Man, Susan gave the book to her anti-Catholic sister Elizabeth. None of us could have guessed what would happen next.

Elizabeth’s first reaction was severe annoyance at the book’s Catholic overtones and references to Mary, which she found offensive and irritating. But she pressed on to the finish, wanting to know how the story ends. By the time she closed the book, Elizabeth was weeping profusely, and she couldn’t stop crying. She went to bed perplexed, wondering why she had been so profoundly affected by the story.

During the night, she dreamt about “the most beautiful Lady” she had ever seen, who was surrounded by light and filled with a depth of love that Elizabeth had never before encountered. Elizabeth began to follow her, recognizing the Lady as the Blessed Mother. When she awoke, it was clear to her for the first time in her life why Catholics love Our Lady so much, and why she is placed in such high esteem. That story to be continued.

I can happily say that I have indeed drunk deeply of Mary, and oh, how sweet it’s been. She has led me into the heart of the fruit of her womb, Jesus. And He has led me into the heart of the fruit of His sacrifice on the Cross, the Eucharist. Food and drink like I’ve never tasted; the Bread of Angels, the Cup of Eternal Life. I’ll drink that cool, sweet aid any day.

What Holds The World Together

Blessed is the womb that bore you,

and the breasts at which you nursed.      

Luke 11:27

Cut away the umbilical cord, but don’t cut away the heart. Because the heart—the feminine heart—helps hold the world together.

I watched  with tears in my eyes yesterday as the women of the Our Lady of the Lake Altar Society processed up the center aisle of the church, carrying roses and bouquets for the annual May crowning while singing hymns to Our Lady.

 Triumph all ye cherubim! Sing with us ye seraphim! Heaven and earth resound the hymn! Salve, salve, salve Regina!

Hail, Holy Queen, we cry with such resounding joy that it carries a exclamation point! Why? Because we know that our salvation was and is contingent upon the intersection of divinity and humanity in Mary’s hallowed womb. We understand that the world and the Church need the balance of the feminine heart, the heart that mothers children, the heart that gives life, the heart that takes its piercings and releases the offering of blood, sweat and tears into the ground of its saplings, who move too fast from suckling to separating. But even as they pull away, a mother’s heart stays put.

Like the mother I spoke to yesterday, one of the three whom I call, “The Daughters of Jerusalem.” They can often be seen kneeling together praying for and suffering over their children. When I see them conjoined in prayer, I think of Jesus’ words: “Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not over me; but weep for yourselves, and for your children” (Luke 23:28). And I think of Our Lady, who was a daughter of Jerusalem.

“My daughter just had her first baby,” one of the women shared with me before Mass. “She asked when she can expect to get a good night of rest, and I told her you’re never going to sleep again!” she smiled. “Because mothers never stop lying awake at night worrying about their children!”

Then there’s the mother I see day in and day out in the chapel on her knees, praying and weeping for the teen who’s taken to cutting herself; her beautiful, beloved daughter who has turned against herself. I watch her wipe her tears; I see the broken heart she bears as she grips her Rosary with tired fingers and as she does not sit down, never sits down, the entire time she spends each day offering the raw-kneed sacrifice of her bleeding heart for the child to whom she gave life. That, the fruit of a mother’s love, consumed for the fruit of her womb.

And let’s never forget the Mother at the foot of the Cross, standing beneath her Son’s broken body so she can receive, let it fall on her face and her veil, His precious blood—the same precious blood that formed in her womb with her consent. Her primordial affirmation also made life possible for us, hence the adage of the Church Fathers: “Death through Eve, life through Mary.” There she stands beneath His battered flesh, her tears and sweat mixed with His, uttering the unceasing: “yes.” Yes until it’s finished. Yes as she receives His body from the Cross. Yes as He disappears from her sight.

It is good that we remember and sing praise.

Don’t tell me the Church wants us to deify Mary, for that would, indeed, be blasphemy.   But what we need, oh so desperately need in order to be human, is to experience and celebrate more deeply the feminine heart of the Church in this all too lopsided, hostile world.

May after May we remember the Woman who continually births Love into the world. Roses, crowns and hymns are hardly enough to recognize the feminine beauty found in Mary's heart, the axis that every Christian church and every woman in the world needs to reclaim.

Requiescat In Pace

I feel called to share this excerpt from Miracle Man on the sixth anniversary of Bernie's death.  I wrote this final "Bernie Update" to our family and friends days after his funeral on the Feast of St. Joseph.  The Miracle Man taught me all about persevering love, and our journey together infused my being with Holy Hope… the hope that is borne of suffering and birthed through love.    Bernard Joseph Klein, rest in peace.

March 22, 2009,  Final Update

Dear Friends:

Bernard Joseph Klein was buried on the Feast of St. Joseph on Thursday, March 19, 2009. When we awoke, a dense fog covered the area, but by the time we arrived at Our Lady of the Lake Church, the sun had broken through, ushering in a glorious sunny day. It is difficult to share what is in my heart, but I would like to give you a glimpse of the day in Bernie's honor.

The funeral liturgy was absolutely beautiful, as we were graced with the angelic voices of Kitty Cleveland and the St. Scholastica Academy Choir under the direction of a most gifted pianist and friend, Sharon Scharmer.  Fr. John Talamo, Fr. Beau Charbonnet and Fr. Robert Cavalier honored us by presiding over the liturgy, and their presence on the altar in gold robes made present to us Christ's priestly presence in heaven—sacred, redemptive, all-powerful. I have never been so happy to be Catholic as I was on Thursday. I stood in awe and wonder as I watched the rich symbolism of the funeral Mass unfold, reminding us of Bernie's baptismal vows, his presence at the heavenly banquet of the Lamb of God, his marriage to the Eternal Bridegroom. As sad a day as it was, it was equally joy filled thanks to the consolation of the hope of heaven, and the love of our family and friends—all tangible and very real to me as I stood in the church with the symbols of heaven before my eyes surrounded by people who love me, Bernie and our family.

When the funeral Mass ended, we processed to the cemetery of St. Joseph Abbey, where many of the monks and priests of our archdiocese are laid to rest. It is holy ground, full of silence, prayer and majestic oaks. As we drove up to Bernie's gravesite following the hearse, seven Marines stood at full attention waiting for his arrival. It took my breath away to see them standing there and to remember how proud Bernie was of serving in the Marine Corps—the place where he found his personal gifts and his identity as a man. A twenty-one-gun salute and "Taps" followed our prayers, along with the folding of the American flag accompanied by Kitty's gorgeous voice singing "Amazing Grace." It was a moment none of us will soon forget.

 After the services concluded, we made our way to the home of our dear friends, Angele and Gary Darling. Gary is an incredible chef and he laid out a delicious banquet for us, including his famous Jamaican Jerk Chicken Salad and Mediterranean Hummus. We ate, laughed and cried as we remembered Bernie and his unique personality. A gentle wind blew through the French doors that were open throughout the house, and the Holy Spirit was very present as we shared a meal and fellowship in remembrance of Bernie. I returned home that evening with my heart full, feeling as though I had been to a wedding reception instead of a funeral. It was a happy ending to a day I had dreaded and prayed against for months —the funeral of my spouse.

 As I write these words, my heart is full of gratitude for Bernie's love and life. I am grateful for his illness and for three months spent in a hospital room filled with tender moments of love and grace. I am grateful for the outpouring of support, love and prayer that came forth in the midst of such a profound personal tragedy. And I am grateful to God for his faithfulness, and for the reality that he continually seeks after us, wooing us with opportunities to know and embrace his Fatherly love. In the end, that was what this journey was all about—for Bernie and for me.

Thank you for your love and for carrying Bernie on the wings of prayer into the arms of Our Lord. I am eternally grateful, and I know he is too.

With love and thanksgiving.

Judy

Living Joy in a Culture of Death

I am delighted to post my first guest blog by my daughter, singer-songwriter Kara Klein. Kara will be posting here occasionally, when she's not on the road singing and ministering to the youth.   Enjoy!

“Good morning Holy Spirit! Good morning my life!” In Communita Cenacolo, a lay Catholic community in which I spent a year of my life, over 2,000 members in 65 houses around the world wake up every morning to these words.

Mother Elvira Petrozzi, a fiery, fearless, faith-filled nun, started this community 30 years ago when she began taking in addicts off the streets and bringing them to a dilapidated house in northern Italy. There she taught them to pray, depend on God’s Providence, and rebuild their lives. But more than anything else, in these three decades, amidst a culture death, this courageous nun has spread like wildfire to thousands of young people the joy of living.

“Life is a gift from God, born from His heart, which is love. No one can enter into the heart of our life for us. It is a personal journey,” she says. In the last five years of my journey with this community I have watched many people—young and old, children and parents—walk from darkness into light and rediscover the joy of living. Not because life suddenly went the way they wanted it to go, or they discovered some magical secret, but because they encountered Someone: Jesus Christ, who wants to set our hearts free.

The culture of death in which we live goes far beyond abortion, murder and war: at its heart is a generation that does want to live their own lives. And if we do not believe that our lives are truly worth living, how can we fight for the lives of those around us?

As I recently led worship for Cenacolo’s annual Festival of Life in St. Augustine, FL, a priest from Italy spoke of Mother Elvira. Even now, in her 80s, unable to talk or do much of anything, she is still smiling, in love with Jesus and those around her, and in love with her life. Life, in her eyes, is worth living until the day God takes her home, even if it means suffering, for she knows that the cross is the way to the resurrection.

Hearing this, I couldn’t help but think of Brittany Maynard, a 29-year-old woman with terminal brain cancer, who recently took her own life so she could avoid suffering and “die with dignity.” When did suffering become undignified?

With the eyes of faith, suffering is so very precious, for it becomes the sacred space that God uses to work miracles in our lives, pour out His grace, and show us His goodness and mercy. As Mother Teresa says, “God cannot fill what is full.”

This community has changed my heart in so many ways, but perhaps more than anything, it has invited me to embrace the cross, as well as embrace the fullness of life, hand in hand. How do we do this? Through love. Love hurts, love sacrifices, but love fills our hearts with joy! May we become a generation unafraid to love, unafraid of the cross, unafraid of the beautiful resurrection to which it leads, and unafraid to live our own lives to the full.

Kara Klein is a six time award-winning Catholic recording artist, worship leader and inspirational speaker, who has released five original albums and appeared on four international television programs. For the past ten years Kara has traveled the globe, calling people of all ages to embrace, fall in love with and rediscover the joy of life in Christ, and to believe that life is a glorious gift from God that is truly worth living. For more information on her ministry, please visit her website, www.karaklein.com.

Drinking Mary's Cool Aid

Susan thought her Catholic friends had drunk the proverbial “Kool-Aid.” A staunch evangelical Christian, she was offended and angry after attending my sister-in-law Hedy’s Medjugorje Rosary group and witnessing what she considered to be “blasphemous” prayers being said to Mary. As Hedy continued to host Rosary groups, Susan felt obliged by conscience to end their friendship, convinced that Hedy was not only in idolatry, but was leading others astray through her devotion to Mary.

Susan and Hedy had become friends several years earlier through their children, as each had several kids attending the same school in the small coast town of Pass Christian, Mississippi. The two families had grown very close—even taking family vacations together. But their friendship hit a breaking point when Susan and Hedy both became more fervent in their respective faiths, causing Susan to take a stand against Hedy’s perceived “idolatry” that left the friends and their families estranged for five years.

Eventually, Susan hit a personal faith crisis wherein she recognized that she could “talk the talk” of Christianity, but was unable to “walk the walk” toward the personal holiness she desired. After seriously reflecting upon the people that she knew who truly “walked the walk” as Christians, Susan came to the humbling conclusion that it was the Catholic women she had encountered along the way who had unequivocally treated her with kindness, patience, love and mercy. Though she still questioned their theology, she simply could not deny the fruit their lives bore.

“How could their lives be so full of the fruits of the Holy Spirit,” she asked herself, “when their faith is so theologically compromised?”   That question led her to a massive interior dilemma about the authenticity of the Catholic faith, which she felt simultaneously drawn to and terrified by. After much prayer and wrestling with God, Susan made a decision not to be led by fear. She returned to the Catholic Church, which she had made a brief foray through a few years earlier when she was confirmed Catholic upon her marriage into a large, Catholic family. (Susan was baptized Episcopal and raised as “nothing,” and her husband had ultimately followed her into Protestantism.)

Susan began to attend Mass and pray the Rosary, while going to the people she had accused of “idolatry” to apologize to them. Surprising even herself, she developed a great love for the Catholic faith, spending the next few years making beautiful handmade Rosaries “in reparation for my blasphemies against the Blessed Mother,” as she tells it.

Fast forward to 2014, when Susan called to ask me where she could buy copies of my book, Miracle Man (which happens to be very Marian, by the way. I, too, had wrestled with Hedy about her devotion to Mary at the same time as Susan—a story I tell in detail in the book. Let’s just say Hedy and the Blessed Mother won.) After meeting me on St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans to buy six copies of Miracle Man, Susan gave the book to her anti-Catholic sister Elizabeth. None of us could have guessed what would happen next.

Elizabeth’s first reaction was severe annoyance at the book’s Catholic overtones and references to Mary, which she found offensive and irritating. But she pressed on to the finish, wanting to know how the story ends. By the time she closed the book, Elizabeth was weeping profusely, and she couldn’t stop crying. She went to bed perplexed, wondering why she had been so profoundly affected by the story.

During the night, she dreamt about “the most beautiful Lady” she had ever seen, who was surrounded by light and filled with a depth of love that Elizabeth had never before encountered. Elizabeth began to follow her, recognizing the Lady as the Blessed Mother. When she awoke, it was clear to her for the first time in her life why Catholics love Our Lady so much, and why she is placed in such high esteem. That story to be continued.

I can happily say that I have indeed drunk deeply of Mary, and oh, how sweet it’s been. She has led me into the heart of the fruit of her womb, Jesus. And He has led me into the heart of the fruit of His sacrifice on the Cross, the Eucharist. Food and drink like I’ve never tasted; the Bread of Angels, the Cup of Eternal Life. I’ll drink that cool, sweet aid any day.

No Means No, Mama!

My fifteen-year-old son Benjamin and I were laughing out loud the other day about something my grandson John-Henry did last Thanksgiving. A group of us, including then-two-year-old John-Henry and his mother, Gaby, were walking down a steep hill in the South Carolina mountains. John-Henry, being so two, began charging down the hill with reckless abandon. Meanwhile, I could hear his mother’s voice behind him repeating the mantra: “Don’t run, John-Henry…don’t run!”

All at once the little rascal turned backwards toward his mother with his index finger pointed right at her, and yelled: “No means no, Mama!” No sooner had those words escaped his mouth than he tripped and wiped out on the hill, tumbling face first onto the hard ground. Thankfully, he sustained only minor injuries, and we all laughed heartily at John-Henry’s clear mimicking of his mother’s voice saying “no means no” as he ran headlong into open dissent.

I’ve thought a lot about that incident since then, because it reminds me so much of my own relationship with God. Growing up in the seventies sandpit of sex, drugs and rock n’ roll, I considered the word “no” a nuisance and proceeded to do whatever I wished. A four-year stint at a freewheeling Catholic college, where kegs of beer and Zen Buddhism were served up generously, didn’t help matters much. By the time I graduated, I had declared God dead, and screaming “no means no!” while running my own way had become a habit. I finally landed flat on my face, perfectly miserable.

That’s when I found Christ—or I should say Christ found me—in an evangelical Christian church. I discovered that, yes, Virginia, there is a God, and I recalibrated my life to that Reality.   I quickly figured out that if I wanted to find happiness, then learning to say “yes” to God needed to become the foremost goal of my life. Five years into my conversion, I thought I had done a decent job of meeting that objective.

It was then that I returned to the Catholic Church—and fully realized that a robust “no” was still alive inside of me. Though I reentered the Church because of my belief in the Eucharist, I wasn’t the least bit interested in the rest of the “stuff” the Catholic Church proposed, especially her “laws” and “rules” concerning the moral life.

“I will never confess my sins to a man!” I pontificated to a friend. “And how dare the Church try to tell me what to do with my sex life!” I declared in defiance of the Church’s prohibition of contraception.   “No means no, Mama!” I said as I did what I wanted.

I was stopped dead in my tracks when I learned that the contraceptive pill I was taking acted secondarily as an abortifacient, and that I may have been unknowingly aborting my children for years. As a staunchly pro-life woman, I was stunned and grieved by this revelation, and it turned me around on a dime.

Long story short, God mercifully dismantled my disobedience to the Church’s teachings, and I ultimately became a moral theologian and teacher of the faith. As such, I have taken great joy in communicating the Church’s teachings to others, and in demonstrating that God’s laws, articulated through the Church’s living voice, are not meant to restrict our pleasure, but to protect us from harm. When the Church tells us “no means no,” it’s because we risk running headlong into danger—not because she wishes to put a damper on our fun. The Church’s laws, including its prohibitions, reflect her tender, loving protection for her children, much like Gaby with John-Henry.

It is with heartfelt gratitude that I recall these things the day after the first-ever liturgical celebration of the feast day of St. John Paul II—which happens to be the same day on which John-Henry was baptized. As Pope, John Paul II issued the groundbreaking encyclical The Splendor of Truth, which articulated the Church’s moral teaching with such clarity and beauty that I wept my way through the entire encyclical. It was a healing balm on the wound of my convoluted college experience that left me confused and conformed not to Christ, but to a soul-damaging, godless worldview.

I can honestly say that the greatest day of my life, next to the day that I surrendered myself to Christ, is the day that I finally said a resounding “yes” to all that the Church proposes—even though I did not yet fully understand her ways.   Far from finding a bitter, controlling old lady, I found a fresh young Bride, a life-giving Mother and a wise, trustworthy Teacher. She has led me by the hand to true love and authentic happiness, just what I was searching for all along.