Home Alone

It’s been almost a year. Last February was another time. It’s easy to join in with the complaining about how terrible the past year as been. But there have been good things too. I’ve been in a really good place, mentally. It’s more acceptable to set hard boundaries and decline invitations. I’ve had more time to myself. I’ve been more patient with myself. I’ve been selfish about protecting my health. A benefit of being single is putting me first if I want. And I’ve done that. And it’s been nice.

I came into the Church on my own. I didn’t have someone evangelizing to me. I didn’t have a mentor. I had a teeny, tiny RCIA class at the parish I entered into which I left quickly after confirmation to go to grad school. I’ve struggled finding community. I’ve struggled even harder finding a spiritual director. It’s been frustrating, heartbreaking, and demoralizing.

We need community. We need instruction. The Church teaches that. Sociology teaches that. I don’t want to create my own idea of religion; I want to be a part of the Church. But sometimes I don’t feel a part of it. I don’t feel a part of it when I can’t get priests to answer my calls or emails. I don’t feel a part of it when ministry jumps from youth group to marriage and has no place for those adults who are unmarried. I don’t feel a part of it when other Catholics display such hatred for people different than them, when they treat the Church like a club where they can pick and choose fellow members, or when cults of personality claim for speak for the entire Church. This isn’t what I signed up for, I think. I’m not a part of this.

Then I remember what I did sign up for. I believed something happened in the Eucharist. God pulled me along to the Catholic Church. I didn’t really want to, but I felt the need to, and I prayed a lot and followed the Spirit and joined the Church. I wasn’t seeking community; I had that in the Protestant church. I wasn’t seeking the politically correct organization; that’d probably be the Quakers or something. I wanted Christ in the Eucharist; I wanted to answer the Spirit’s tugging. It was all about me and God. The Church was just the mechanism, the 2,000-year-old treasury of resources for me to use to get closer to God.

It’s selfish. But it’s also what has helped me this past year. Community is important. But I can go on without it. I long for spiritual direction. But I’ve done fine without it. I’m just as Catholic as the cradle Catholics and cultural Catholics and cult-of-personality Catholics. I might seek deeper connection and community, but I can’t let that search distract from what I really want: Christ. I will selfishly guard my faith. I will pray at home and read the books I want. I will set boundaries and decline recommendations. I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to prove myself.

[Yes, I have to do some things, obligations of the Church. Only those. But I don’t have to pray certain prayers, listen to certain speakers, go to certain events, vote for certain people, share certain posts, wear certain clothes, etc., that any person puts on me. And even if I fail at doing the obligations of the Church, that’s between me and God and my confession.]

This past year gave me pause, time to remember how it felt when I was figuring it out on my own the first time. I’ve regained some of that confidence. I’ll still seek community and instruction. But I know that I’m never truly abandoned.