Catholic Keepers

This is a reflection from a series of mini-homilies delivered at All Souls Interfaith Gathering during their Sunday Morning Meditation series.

Catholic Keepers

A few weeks ago, Maris led a wonderful meditation with some thoughts on her experience growing up Catholic. She mentioned the Ash Wednesday rite of having the priest smear a cross of ashes on your forehead and say “Remember, you are of ash, and to ash you will return”. She offered a revision of that incantation: “Remember, you are of light, and to light you shall return”.

This made me think of my own Catholic upbringing. I’m the youngest of nine (so, you know, Super Catholic) and the only one of my siblings who refused Confirmation. And though I did regret not getting a bonus name, which I had picked out, Francis, for my favorite saint, it was too late for me by that time: I had discovered Ram Dass and Carlos Castenada and Robert Pirsig.

And I remember the ash Wednesday ritual, but the part of the catholic mass that really struck me, especially the further I wandered from the church, was a little chant, and it went like this:

Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.

That one just went like an arrow right into my soul. Because it leveraged a deep dark secret that I held: that I was indeed unworthy, fundamentally, and asking for healing or divine light was not something that I had any business doing. And of course this is one of the tenets of Christianity, original sin. And I’m not here to disparage that faith or the catholic mass, in fact I have very tender and fond memories of growing up and church and I still like to go to the services sometimes, mostly at Christmas and easter.

But like Maris, I ultimately came to a point where I no longer felt unworthy of God’s love or grace, or even really separate from God or grace or love, but part of a field in which all existed. So while the words no longer held me captive, they also no longer served me. So, like Maris, I revised. And initially, I drafted something like, “Lord, I know that I have suffered under the illusion, that I have been taught, that I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed”, which is obviously not very pithy, so I kept pruning it until I arrived at the only four words I needed, absent of conditions or qualifications of any kind:

I shall be healed.

There was one part of the mass that I did really love. In the middle of what I experienced as a lot of droning and incantations and an almost callisthenic toggling of body positions- stand, sit, kneel, stand, kneel, sit- the priest suddenly invites everyone to turn to their neighbors and convey peace upon them. And it’s like a spell is broken and out of nowhere people are smiling, hugging, shaking hands, with neighbors, friends, family, strangers. It’s like the whole congregation has awakened from a trance and takes a huge cleansing breath. And what I like about it is the way in which, for just a moment, we common folk, we sinners, are empowered to bestow peace upon each other like sanctified high holy priests.

And it seems to me as though there’s no reason to use that power just once a week for 30 seconds in church. We should be using that every chance we get! So as we head into our meditation, let me just say to you, “Peace be with you”. And if you’re Catholic, you know what to say back.

5 min flat

And here is a poem from Rumi:

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.