IVP - Strangely Dim - Confessions of a Former Catholic

Confessions of a Former Catholic

For your Lenten consideration, here's a post from five years ago about the dynamics of leaving, by faith, something good. Incidentally, the event described here is where I met Karen Sloan, author of Flirting with Monasticism--the original "woman of Likewise" (based on release date), which we're celebrating during this Women's History Month.

I was at a conference not too long ago that offered the practice of morning lauds, a time of communal worship being sponsored by a Dominican brother. I took part every chance I had, but I found myself coming out of each morning with a severe case of former-Catholic guilt.

This guilt, I hasten to add, was in no way being foisted on me by Brother Dominic (that's what his nametag said, I swear). I came up with my guilt all on my own, thank you very much. I was raised Roman Catholic, and so for about half of my life I experienced the mass weekly, with its responsive and collective readings, its sung prayers and psalms, its scents and sacraments. And now here I was, sitting across from a Dominican brother all tricked out in a tunic and well on his way to being ordained into the priesthood, and I was recalling all the celebrations of faith I left behind upon my conversion to evangelical Protestantism. I sang and chanted and fumbled my way through the long-forgotten sign of the cross, and I found myself feeling guilty.

Not guilty enough to return to Catholicism, I hasten to add. That would be an artificial solution to my angst, I think. No, that day during morning lauds I was simply confronted with my past, all those aspects of worship and prayer that are no longer a part of my regular experience, those attributes of the faith of my youth that have not found their way into the religious practices of my adulthood.

I'm reminded of Abraham, back in the day when he was still known as simply Abram. God called upon Abram to leave all that he knew, all that he loved, to go someplace unknown to him. God would show him where he was going when he got there. And despite the fact that where Abram was going would be where God wanted him, it's hard to leave what you've known, the environment and culture that was cultivated in good faith to build in you a love and adoration for the God of the universe. I imagine Abram, who was not yet even Abraham, feeling a mixture of sadness, anxiety, anticipation, disorientation and, yes, even guilt.

I imagine Abram feeling all these things because I've felt them myself on the long and cloudy path toward adulthood. But I'm reassured that even in those moments when my pangs of guilt make their presence explicit, they are mitigated by the smoldering anticipation and, yes, even confidence that I'm headed toward the place prepared for me, an adventure I would otherwise have missed.

Posted by Dave Zimmerman at March 5, 2010 7:29 AM