In "Trouble in the Tribe" Daphne Merkin writes, "I have been trying to lose my religion for years. But it keeps finding me." . This statement spoke to my spiritual identity. Spending 50 years immersed in Roman Catholic culture creates an indelible imprint on spirituality. While I recognize that religion and spirituality are separate entities, in constructing my spiritual biography I am unable to lose my religion. If I try, it will surely find me.
I grew up the oldest of seven children. My mother had been a Benedictine nun and my father had attended Roman Catholic seminary. Our house was a second home to their former classmates, and I was surrounded with discussions of catholic theology with priests and nuns. I grew up saturated with my religion at school, home and social relationships. My view of God, salvation, grace and my spiritual self was filtered through the lens of the church. Until I was out of grade school Pius XXII was pope and I communicated with God in a special secret language, Latin. Sister ruled at school and our prayers were printed with the time value of release from Purgatory earned by reciting them at the bottom. A "Hail Mary" would be worth two months and a "Glory Be 20 days. While it was reassuring to have the particulars in writing, I was led to believe that grace was a commodity. It could be lost at anytime if I made a misstep and I could accumulate it for a rainy day. This first period of my spiritual pilgrimage resulted in a solid belief in the spiritual side of life and the existence of God and the power of a faith community.
For high school, I attended a boarding school located at a Benedictine convent in central Minnesota (Yes, my mother had been in the convent there. Her name was Sister Dolores). At St. Ben's I lived in an environment that was integrated into the religious community. I attended morning and evening recitations of the divine office in chant, I witnessed the lives of women who had dedicated themselves, sometimes seventy or eighty years, to religious life. I spent my free time with my best friend riding around the streets of St. Joseph, Minnesota singing songs in two-part harmony. One morning in late October of my senior year my friend collapsed in my arms and died. I began a long journey through grief and loneliness, and wrestled with questions of life and mortality. The darkened monastery chapel provided a quiet, sacred place to meditate and heal. No human companion walked with me and I developed a deep personal relationship with God. I was able to establish an inner source of strength and faith. My relationship with God fortified me through the challenges of marriage, motherhood, the loss of my parents and brother, chronic illness and disability.
When I started working at the Washington National Cathedral I met a young man who challenged my assumptions of religion and church communities. He was a former Lutheran missionary and was devout and knowledgeable. His observations and questions fueled complex discussions and led me to mature and focus my spiritual
identity. He opened my heart to the ministry and the possibility of a "calling". The draw in this direction grew stronger with time.
My path became clear during the ceremony for my cousins' final vows as a Catholic brother. It was a powerful ritual in a beautiful historic church in Philadelphia. My cousin was so full of joy. My brother sat beside me and he had been recently selected to the deaconate in his parish. I rejoiced with them yet I realized that although I believed I was called to the priesthood and had a special gift I was created to share with my sisters and brothers, I would not able to answer that call in my church because I was a woman. This didn't make sense. I looked around the church and saw many lay and religious women and was saddened by the colossal waste. The Holy Spirit had given all of us gifts to share and yet there was no place for them to be released in my home church. I felt I was in a spiritual burka and was expected to ignore or suppress the urging of the spirit within. I understood that separations and exclusions in the Body of Christ were superficial. Our common humanity joined us together. In Christ there is no man or woman, no Catholic or Protestant for we are all one. I understood that it was time to embrace my call and my fire to lead others and serve the Body of Christ. I left the church that day and believed that I dropped my burka there.
I know that being a member of a spiritual community includes the role of listening and encouragement. It is vital to listen full heartedly and give attention to a person. It is a gift to encourage others to find their unique spiritual path. Each person is at a different point in their journey and has their own path to walk. I can use my pilgrimage as an example of one path.
Like Merkin, I understand that my religion will keep finding me. It is a part of my cultural identity. There are many good things which I learned as a Roman Catholic that shaped the character of my spiritual, political and philosophical being. Now, attending Wesley, I know I am in the right place to freely foster my whole spiritual Identity. I am richer for my lifetime journey. The Holy Spirit plans to use all that I have experienced and all that has been written on my heart for all these years to grace the world. Spirituality is a dynamic and evolving pilgrimage. I look forward to the trip.
Years ago I wrote down my purpose and goal for my life. I wrote," To illuminate a positive and hopeful path for others and myself to God.” This purpose hasn't changed. I desire to lift up my fellow pilgrims and encourage faith and hope in their walk. We are not alone. We have God and God has given us each other. I strive to give unconditional acceptance.
