S
*"You have seduced me, Lord, and I have been seduced."
Where to start where to start…hmm…
Well, like LeoneXIII (who is a friend of mine in real life), I too am Roman Catholic, but I am from South Carolina. My mom and dad are too, and for as far back as I can remember, they always took me to mass on Sundays. I was a happy kid with no care in the world. I loved going to mass, I loved our version of Sunday School, I loved Jesus so much, and I thought the priest at our church was the most awesome old dude to ever live. I even wanted to be a nun! I attended Catholic school until 6th grade, had been baptized, and done all the things Catholic children of that age have done in the Church. The summer after 6th Grade my family moved to Arizona and I began my first year of public school in the 7th grade. We also stopped going to church around this time too often, going every other Sunday or so. Arizona did not agree with us well, so we moved back to SC.
In SC I continued my public education. If you need to know anything about South Carolina public schools, it is that the education received is very poor and the students are very rough. To survive, one must become rough or an outcast, so I pretended to be rough. This earned me a vicious beating on my school bus after I argued with a boy over a seat that I had been in 5 minutes before he was even on the bus. I realized then, as I walked off the bus with a broken and bloody nose as everyone laughed and jeered at me, that the world was a cruel place. I hated the school, I hated the kid who beat me, and I hated everyone laughing at me. That was the day that I really began to hate. I began making a fuss every time my Dad tried to make me go to mass. When I was at church, I would sort of sit there in the pew and sulk.
By the time I was in high school, nothing meant much too me. I hated my peers, and I could not identify with anyone. I got into punk music in high school. Real punk music…like Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Minor Threat. The good stuff. Many of the bands were so critical of everything, especially Christianity. Though I had gone to a Catholic school, the sort of education I received there was very poor (this is the case in most Catholic elementary school these days). I didn’t really understand enough about the faith to make a defense against what I was hearing in my music, and punk rock lyricists seemed to know a heck of a lot more than I did about what was so absurd about religion, especially the Christian religion. Soon, I began to lose faith. I was no longer the young, happy kid who loved God so much and wanted to even become a nun. I was a bottle of hate. I felt betrayed by Christianity, especially when my new worldview only pointed to the bad things done “in the name of religion.” It was all so stupid to me. I began then, the first step, to hate the Christians at my high school (everyone was Christian of some variety…it’s the Bible Belt for crying out loud). When that wasn’t enough, I turned my hatred to God specifically, openly mocking Christ, delighting in any drawing or writing I could created to ridicule him, especially his Crucifixion and passion. It was all a horrible joke to me, and everyone was an idiot for believing it.
This went on until after high school, when that part of me still craving the spiritual then turned to paganism. I decided to explore the Wiccan aspect of paganism, and I bought into it, choosing a path of Wicca that followed the Celtic deities of the Irish, since I had Irish blood myself. Shortly after graduation my parents divorced. More Christian hypocrisy I thought. Less than a year after graduation I moved back to Arizona to get out of my dead-end town. The place in Arizona that I lived had myriads of used book stores, and since I was worshipping these Celtic deities, I thought it would make sense to learn Irish mythology and history. As I read non-Wiccan sources on the early Celtic people and their religion, I was given a very different view of these people and their gods than what the Wiccan sources told me. From the wiccan sources, the Celts were a peaceful bunch and their gods benevolent. The historical books painted the picture of a noble but violent race, whose moors and dales were haunted by bloodthirsty gods and goddesses. The Celtic myths and legends were not flowery accounts of simple nature worshippers who wanted to live in a green paradise. No. I was lied to again, I thought. First Christianity was a bloody sham, and now this too. I quit religion altogether, even angrier and more full of contempt for the world. Again, I did not stay long in Arizona and returned to South Carolina to live with my mother.
It was April of 2005 when I returned. While in Arizona I had begun listening to a band called Flogging Molly, whom I had listed to before the end of High School, but not on a regular basis. Flogging Molly fused elements of punk rock with Irish folk music. They became a very important band to me during this time of angry atheism in my life. I became so depressed that I wanted to die, but I was to afraid to kill myself. I merely hoped that one day, on the way home from work at night, I might crash and die quickly and in my miserable existence. The only thing that kept me interested in life was my love of learning, and I still wanted to know more about Irish history. I read many books about Ireland, and was enthralled with it’s story. I continued to listen to Flogging Molly, too, and I couldn’t deny the subtle Catholic influence in the lyrics, but I wasn’t sure what to think of it. One great book I read was called How the Irish Saved Civilization. It spoke mostly of how St. Patrick had converted almost the entire island to Christianity, bringing peace to a barbarous island just as the Roman Empire was falling into darkness. Because of his efforts, monks came to settle on the island where they meticulously copied and preserved the Bible, as well as numerous Roman and Greek classics alongside transcribing Irish tales that had only been the part of the oral tradition of Ireland. Because of the monks in Ireland, many books that would have been lost to the barbarians who ravished the fallen Roman empire were saved. Ireland was indeed the land of saints and scholars. This story enthralled me, but still, I thought little of it.
Christmas time soon came, and I was angrier and more depressed than ever. What as stupid holiday, I thought. Still, my mother took me to go shopping with her in town. She was in a department store looking at clothes, and I decided to go to another store in the shopping center. I walked out of that one and into another. I have always been a shy person, never making eye contact, and almost always looking at the ground when I walk. I was walking past a section selling housewares, when I noticed a man walking in my direction. I saw black shoes. Then black pants. Then a black shirt. For whatever reason, I looked up and watched the man coming in my direction. He was a priest, evidenced by the white collar of his shirt. He looked at me and we made eye contact for less than a second, and then he passed me by to leave the store. That brief exchange hit me like a ton of bricks, and I wasn’t sure why. Now, mind you, where I live, my whole state is only 3% Catholic. It is very very rare to even see a priest in public, not only because there are so few of them, but because when they are out they rarely ever dress in their clerical clothing. In my town especially, priests caught in public are usually spat at, chased, and harassed for being priests. The KKK used to burn crosses outside of my elementary school because it was the first in South Carolina to allow black children to go to school with white children before it was even a law. Catholics are basically hated when I grew up, so I had never seen a priest in public until that moment. I immediately ran out the door, wanting to talk to him, but he had gone. I went to the bookstore next door and bought a bunch of books on Catholicism and read my heart out that week. I learned more that week than I had ever known in my life, and it made so much sense to me that I couldn’t believe I had let myself be so stupid.
I was, of course, then burdened with great sadness for being so angry and hateful towards Christ. The guilt was overwhelming. I did what any Catholic does, which is basically panic for 5 minutes and then I actually went to confession at a church in another nearby town. The priest was an older priest whom I had known when I was a child. He had even baptized me, and that is how I remembered him. He asked me to stay for mass, and I did. During mass there was another priest sitting with him: the one I had seen in the store! I knew then I was finally on the right track. The next day I dropped in my local parish and sat for a while in the empty church. There was a painting of the crucifixion above the altar and I simply stared at it for the longest time. I thought to myself “God, is this really where I need to be? Am I doing better?” And I kid you not, I felt an indescribable comfort and love absolutely pour over me. It shocked me and I could do nothing but stare at my crucified Lord in awe for several minutes more…
I continued to stay in church, even going to mass daily. I eventually decided to go to college in 2008, and I am now a sophomore at Belmont Abbey College majoring in theology like my friend LeoneXIII. My school is Roman Catholic in faith and Benedictine in spirituality. Saint Benedict began the popular form of monasticism that flourished in the Western world (the same for those Irish monks so long ago), and monks of his order founded our college. These monks are like true fathers and brothers to me They pray for us daily and we can feel it. During the summer I have the privilage to work as an intern at St. Meinrad Archabbey, another community of Benedictine monks (see, there is a St. Meinrad monk in my avatar!). These monks are also like family to me. I love these monks more deeply than I can describe, and they have helped me grow and mature spiritually in my love of Christ, helping me to come to such a love of Christ that I never dreamed I would know in all my 23 years. I can feel the presence of Christ within these men so profoundly as they reflect his love to my fellow students and everyone else whom they meet, as their own monastic rule commands them to greet everyone as they would greet Christ himself. While I do not yet know what God’s plan is for me, I am comfortable enough to admit that I believe I may be called to the life of a nun…who knows. There is still time yet…
Thanks for reading this! I know it was very long. You are patient people! God bless you!
Pax (Peace).
Where to start where to start…hmm…
Well, like LeoneXIII (who is a friend of mine in real life), I too am Roman Catholic, but I am from South Carolina. My mom and dad are too, and for as far back as I can remember, they always took me to mass on Sundays. I was a happy kid with no care in the world. I loved going to mass, I loved our version of Sunday School, I loved Jesus so much, and I thought the priest at our church was the most awesome old dude to ever live. I even wanted to be a nun! I attended Catholic school until 6th grade, had been baptized, and done all the things Catholic children of that age have done in the Church. The summer after 6th Grade my family moved to Arizona and I began my first year of public school in the 7th grade. We also stopped going to church around this time too often, going every other Sunday or so. Arizona did not agree with us well, so we moved back to SC.
In SC I continued my public education. If you need to know anything about South Carolina public schools, it is that the education received is very poor and the students are very rough. To survive, one must become rough or an outcast, so I pretended to be rough. This earned me a vicious beating on my school bus after I argued with a boy over a seat that I had been in 5 minutes before he was even on the bus. I realized then, as I walked off the bus with a broken and bloody nose as everyone laughed and jeered at me, that the world was a cruel place. I hated the school, I hated the kid who beat me, and I hated everyone laughing at me. That was the day that I really began to hate. I began making a fuss every time my Dad tried to make me go to mass. When I was at church, I would sort of sit there in the pew and sulk.
By the time I was in high school, nothing meant much too me. I hated my peers, and I could not identify with anyone. I got into punk music in high school. Real punk music…like Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Minor Threat. The good stuff. Many of the bands were so critical of everything, especially Christianity. Though I had gone to a Catholic school, the sort of education I received there was very poor (this is the case in most Catholic elementary school these days). I didn’t really understand enough about the faith to make a defense against what I was hearing in my music, and punk rock lyricists seemed to know a heck of a lot more than I did about what was so absurd about religion, especially the Christian religion. Soon, I began to lose faith. I was no longer the young, happy kid who loved God so much and wanted to even become a nun. I was a bottle of hate. I felt betrayed by Christianity, especially when my new worldview only pointed to the bad things done “in the name of religion.” It was all so stupid to me. I began then, the first step, to hate the Christians at my high school (everyone was Christian of some variety…it’s the Bible Belt for crying out loud). When that wasn’t enough, I turned my hatred to God specifically, openly mocking Christ, delighting in any drawing or writing I could created to ridicule him, especially his Crucifixion and passion. It was all a horrible joke to me, and everyone was an idiot for believing it.
This went on until after high school, when that part of me still craving the spiritual then turned to paganism. I decided to explore the Wiccan aspect of paganism, and I bought into it, choosing a path of Wicca that followed the Celtic deities of the Irish, since I had Irish blood myself. Shortly after graduation my parents divorced. More Christian hypocrisy I thought. Less than a year after graduation I moved back to Arizona to get out of my dead-end town. The place in Arizona that I lived had myriads of used book stores, and since I was worshipping these Celtic deities, I thought it would make sense to learn Irish mythology and history. As I read non-Wiccan sources on the early Celtic people and their religion, I was given a very different view of these people and their gods than what the Wiccan sources told me. From the wiccan sources, the Celts were a peaceful bunch and their gods benevolent. The historical books painted the picture of a noble but violent race, whose moors and dales were haunted by bloodthirsty gods and goddesses. The Celtic myths and legends were not flowery accounts of simple nature worshippers who wanted to live in a green paradise. No. I was lied to again, I thought. First Christianity was a bloody sham, and now this too. I quit religion altogether, even angrier and more full of contempt for the world. Again, I did not stay long in Arizona and returned to South Carolina to live with my mother.
It was April of 2005 when I returned. While in Arizona I had begun listening to a band called Flogging Molly, whom I had listed to before the end of High School, but not on a regular basis. Flogging Molly fused elements of punk rock with Irish folk music. They became a very important band to me during this time of angry atheism in my life. I became so depressed that I wanted to die, but I was to afraid to kill myself. I merely hoped that one day, on the way home from work at night, I might crash and die quickly and in my miserable existence. The only thing that kept me interested in life was my love of learning, and I still wanted to know more about Irish history. I read many books about Ireland, and was enthralled with it’s story. I continued to listen to Flogging Molly, too, and I couldn’t deny the subtle Catholic influence in the lyrics, but I wasn’t sure what to think of it. One great book I read was called How the Irish Saved Civilization. It spoke mostly of how St. Patrick had converted almost the entire island to Christianity, bringing peace to a barbarous island just as the Roman Empire was falling into darkness. Because of his efforts, monks came to settle on the island where they meticulously copied and preserved the Bible, as well as numerous Roman and Greek classics alongside transcribing Irish tales that had only been the part of the oral tradition of Ireland. Because of the monks in Ireland, many books that would have been lost to the barbarians who ravished the fallen Roman empire were saved. Ireland was indeed the land of saints and scholars. This story enthralled me, but still, I thought little of it.
Christmas time soon came, and I was angrier and more depressed than ever. What as stupid holiday, I thought. Still, my mother took me to go shopping with her in town. She was in a department store looking at clothes, and I decided to go to another store in the shopping center. I walked out of that one and into another. I have always been a shy person, never making eye contact, and almost always looking at the ground when I walk. I was walking past a section selling housewares, when I noticed a man walking in my direction. I saw black shoes. Then black pants. Then a black shirt. For whatever reason, I looked up and watched the man coming in my direction. He was a priest, evidenced by the white collar of his shirt. He looked at me and we made eye contact for less than a second, and then he passed me by to leave the store. That brief exchange hit me like a ton of bricks, and I wasn’t sure why. Now, mind you, where I live, my whole state is only 3% Catholic. It is very very rare to even see a priest in public, not only because there are so few of them, but because when they are out they rarely ever dress in their clerical clothing. In my town especially, priests caught in public are usually spat at, chased, and harassed for being priests. The KKK used to burn crosses outside of my elementary school because it was the first in South Carolina to allow black children to go to school with white children before it was even a law. Catholics are basically hated when I grew up, so I had never seen a priest in public until that moment. I immediately ran out the door, wanting to talk to him, but he had gone. I went to the bookstore next door and bought a bunch of books on Catholicism and read my heart out that week. I learned more that week than I had ever known in my life, and it made so much sense to me that I couldn’t believe I had let myself be so stupid.
I was, of course, then burdened with great sadness for being so angry and hateful towards Christ. The guilt was overwhelming. I did what any Catholic does, which is basically panic for 5 minutes and then I actually went to confession at a church in another nearby town. The priest was an older priest whom I had known when I was a child. He had even baptized me, and that is how I remembered him. He asked me to stay for mass, and I did. During mass there was another priest sitting with him: the one I had seen in the store! I knew then I was finally on the right track. The next day I dropped in my local parish and sat for a while in the empty church. There was a painting of the crucifixion above the altar and I simply stared at it for the longest time. I thought to myself “God, is this really where I need to be? Am I doing better?” And I kid you not, I felt an indescribable comfort and love absolutely pour over me. It shocked me and I could do nothing but stare at my crucified Lord in awe for several minutes more…
I continued to stay in church, even going to mass daily. I eventually decided to go to college in 2008, and I am now a sophomore at Belmont Abbey College majoring in theology like my friend LeoneXIII. My school is Roman Catholic in faith and Benedictine in spirituality. Saint Benedict began the popular form of monasticism that flourished in the Western world (the same for those Irish monks so long ago), and monks of his order founded our college. These monks are like true fathers and brothers to me They pray for us daily and we can feel it. During the summer I have the privilage to work as an intern at St. Meinrad Archabbey, another community of Benedictine monks (see, there is a St. Meinrad monk in my avatar!). These monks are also like family to me. I love these monks more deeply than I can describe, and they have helped me grow and mature spiritually in my love of Christ, helping me to come to such a love of Christ that I never dreamed I would know in all my 23 years. I can feel the presence of Christ within these men so profoundly as they reflect his love to my fellow students and everyone else whom they meet, as their own monastic rule commands them to greet everyone as they would greet Christ himself. While I do not yet know what God’s plan is for me, I am comfortable enough to admit that I believe I may be called to the life of a nun…who knows. There is still time yet…
Thanks for reading this! I know it was very long. You are patient people! God bless you!
Pax (Peace).