Unity in the Family

Becoming Catholic feels a bit like being adopted into a family after being in a number of foster homes. Foster homes are wonderful places. My family fostered a number of children over the years – and we were blessed to have them share a piece of their lives with us. Even so, every child wants the stability of a family – complete with mom and dad and siblings, a bed, and a permanent seat at the table. And that is how it is when one becomes Catholic.

I’ve been in the Wesleyan foster home, the Presbyterian foster home, the United Methodist foster home, and the Southern Baptist foster home. They were each beautiful spiritual homes with beautiful people on the membership roster, but I didn’t have the full sense of our universal family until I became Catholic.

The first thing I discovered was a few things about family dynamics. First, there’s the Heavenly Father. That was easy enough – familiar territory to me. Most Protestants embrace the teaching on the Trinity.

Then there are the sisters and brothers. Again, not so difficult. Some of the churches in my youth used “sister” and “brother” as titles when addressing fellow members. It was a term of endearment. So I could imagine fellow Catholics as brothers and sister in the faith journey.
In the Catholic Church, some of the brothers and sisters are called the Church Militant, and they are here with us in this world, battling with us in the trenches of life. And some are called the Church Triumphant, and they are on the other side of the eternal veil. They make up the great cloud of witnesses, the glorious communion of saints.

That’s where I ran into trouble. To me, it sounded a little like communing with the dead – a definite no-no.

But then I thought about it and realized that the saints are probably more alive than I am. I remembered something Dwight L. Moody said before he died. He told his family not to be sad, because he believed that he would be more alive than he had ever been when he reached eternal realm. If those in the Church Triumphant are truly alive (and like D. L. Moody, I believed they were), then they could be called upon to pray for those in the family who remained part of the Church Militant on earth. I decided that wasn’t so hard to understand.

The most difficult teaching on spiritual siblings was not the Communion of Saints (Church Triumphant). It was the teaching on the Church Suffering. Purgatory. My Protestant sensibilities couldn’t accept it. But then I remembered the days and weeks that followed my father’s death. My heart cried out for him. I physically ached to have him with me again. Out of that anguish and love, I began to pray. Heavenly Father, I do not know what Dad is experiencing right now, but whatever you have for him, make it even better. Look on the way he served You, and make his reward even better than it is.

I learned two things in the school of grief. First, it is the most natural thing to pray for those we love, especially after they have died. It is right to pray that their reward will be made perfect and complete. Second, it is agony when we do not have full communion with the one we love. If that is so, then the space between this world and the eternal world is, by definition, the Church Suffering. They yearn for complete communion with the One they love – the Creator of their souls. Because Purgatory is outside of time, it doesn’t fit into our schema very well. As time-and-space creatures, we’re not capable of full understanding. The closest we come to grasping it is to call it the something that changes us and makes us ready to see God. Not a period of time. Not a matter of space. A season, perhaps. Even if the mind does not want to recognize the reality of Purgatory, the soul recognizes the need for it. C.S. Lewis said it best when he wrote:
From Letters to Malcom by C.S. Lewis

Our souls demand Purgatory, don’t they? Would it not break the heart if God said to us, “Is it true, my son, that your breath smells and your rags drip with mud and slime, but we are charitable here and no one will upbraid you with these things, nor draw away from you. Enter into the joy”? Should we not reply, “With submission, Sir, and if there is no objection, I’d rather be cleaned first.” “It may hurt, you know.” – “Even so, Sir.”

I assume that the process of purification will normally involve suffering. Partly from tradition; partly because most real good that has been done in this life has involved it.

So I had brothers and sisters now. Lots of them. Here, there, and beyond.

But what about all that Catholic stuff? All those statues and holy cards and icons? I realized that Catholics can’t carry the pictures of spiritual family members in their wallets; so they have these things to remind them of their loved ones. Besides, new things always seem strange at first.
Adopted children know that all too well. The trash can isn’t in a corner anymore; it’s under the sink. The clean laundry smells like a different detergent. These people don’t use Crest. They use Aim, of all things. And then, after some time, it all seems normal.

And of course, there’s Mother Church. And the Holy Father. The Church had always seemed like a loving mother to me as She gently guided her little ones along life’s journey. As for the Holy Father, I had already worked through my issues with Apostolic Succession and the “new” Family Tree; so that wasn’t so hard. I didn’t even have trouble with papal infallibility. Really, how could I let something like that bother me when I’d heard countless independent preachers claim that the Lord had told them something, and the congregation accepted their claim without a second thought. Personally, I thought there should be just one shepherd rather than lots of people claiming to have received divine revelation. It made sense to me that there should be one shepherd, one Vicar of Christ on earth. It just made sense.

But then there was Mary. I simply couldn’t get used to the idea of Mary being my mother. She didn’t feel anything like a mother to me. I was willing to admit that Reformed traditions had let the pendulum swing too far in the other direction, relegating the Virgin to a small part in the Christmas story, but Mary as the Mother of all believers? That was too much.

Then I began to think about what adopted children experience when they finally come home. At first they don’t really know how to think about their parents, especially this new woman named mother. She wants so much to be part of their lives, but it just doesn’t feel right to the frightened little child. It’s so unfamiliar. They have such a lack of trust. Such skepticism when it comes to maternal expressions of love. There’s a need on the part of the adopted one to have the new parent take it slowly.

I remember telling a priest that I didn’t think I could ever worship Mary. He told me I wouldn’t be asked to. “We don’t worship Mary,” he said.

But you sing songs about Mary.

Yes, and Elton John sings songs about Princess Diana and Marilyn Monroe, too. It doesn’t mean he’s worshipping them. It’s a way to honor someone.

But you kneel before Mary. You pray to her.

You’re right, we do bow before her. Do you know what the woman in the Old Testament did when Elisha raised her son from the dead? She immediately bowed before him. What did the blind and the lame do when the Apostles came near? They humbly fell at the Apostles’ feet and begged for a healing touch. If a woman can bow before Elisha and the blind and lame can beg for a miracle at the feet of the Apostles, then it is right and good to bow before Our Blessed Mother and ask her to make requests of her Son on our behalf. In short, have her add our petitions to her prayer list.

Newly adopted children learn to trust this one called mother. At first they don’t fully understand what the word means. So they test her a bit, to see if she’s up to the task of parenting.

And that’s what I did.

How can I know that what the Catholic Church says about Mary is true? How can I be sure that she loves me, or that she even knows me? How does one find trust for such teachings when there is still so much doubt?

I asked Mary to show me.

I made a petition to her, a simple, honest, heart-felt request. She answered it to the letter within twenty-four hours!

Protestants who make this journey understand what I am about to say: When the answer to that first sincere petition finally comes, there is a flood of emotion and usually tears – because the one who was motherless, now knows the loving arms of a Mother. The one who never knew a mother’s protection realizes that he will never be motherless again.

The one who had no understanding of a mother’s love has now begun to fall in love.

It takes awhile; older adoptees will tell you that sometimes it takes quite awhile. But when you finally know the fullness of having a spiritual Mother, when you sense that you finally have a family and a home, you know how blessed you are.

And all of this is ours because God became Flesh and dwelt among us. Every good and perfect gift comes to us, even this gift of our spiritual family, because of Jesus Christ. He calls us to unity - and there is unity in the family!