I’ve been thinking about a post my friend Beth made on Journey. She recounts a conversation with a colleague, who told her he doesn’t go to church because he disagrees with many of the rules. Beth’s response was, “Where else would I go,” concluding that, “scrapes, scars, warts and rashes,” this is her community; she is part of this Body.
When I first returned to Catholicism after many years as a Buddhist, I had a real question what it meant to call myself Catholic. What did being Catholic mean? A Franciscan friend of mine, who was incredibly helpful to me during the period of my conversion, said: go to the Creed. OK. “I believe in God, the father….I believe in Jesus Christ…..I believe in the Holy Spirit”….So far, so good. It was the next part I struggled with for a long time: “I believe in the Holy Catholic Church.” What did it mean to say “I believe in the Holy Catholic Church” when there were some rules and actions of the Church that I had some difficulties with? And so over the years I’d wonder: what does it mean to say I’m Catholic? What is it that makes me Catholic?
I knew it didn’t mean that I fully embraced all of the “rules” of the Catholic Church. (I confess, my inclination is toward saying: “Love God, love one another; the rest is all commentary.”) I also knew there is a problem with the ”cafeteria catholic” approach of simply picking and choosing which aspects of Catholicism seemed appealing and tossing out the rest. And so I wondered if this Catholic tent (to use an image I heard in a homily) was large enough for me.
As I prayed with this question one morning, I saw an image of the apostolic line stretching forward from Peter through the Popes over the years through to the present day Pope. I saw that it is that apostolic line that holds the structure of this tent we call Catholicism. And I realized that the fact that there is a tent held together by that apostolic succession means something. It keeps us united as part of one Body, as one community. It creates the necessary ecosystem for us to thrive, to use Beth’s phrasing.
Inside the tent, we squabble a bit and sometimes we squabble a lot (and some of those squabbles perhaps deserve a name more serious than “squabble”). And any give time, one or another of us may not be fully happy with some of the ground covered by the tent. And that’s OK. The thing is, not only is the tent large, but there is some give in the contours of the tent and over time it stretches a bit here and moves a bit there. It stretches, it pulls, it bulges, it strains – but it holds, it doesn’t tear. It holds and it helps us remember who we are.
So, I’m with Beth. Where else would I go? This is my tent. This is where I belong.
The image of the Church as “the holy Church of sinners” is quite a paradox, isn’t it? Yet as I examine my life, and the lives of my friends, I see the same pattern. With the grace of God I am able to get over myself and become a bit more generous with others. When I try to live by my own devices, I sink back into selfishness and self-destruction. I trust that God never abandons me or gives up on me, even when I walk away. The Lord never gives up on His Body, either. The history of the Church is a vivid illustration of Jesus’ promise that “the jaws of hell will not prevail” against us will be fulfilled.