In the mid 1970s, my father returned to
pastoral ministry. The former Wesleyan minister answered a call to re-enter the
pastorate, this time as a Presbyterian. During the preceding months, while
living on the family farm, two yoked Presbyterian churches were in between
pastors (Lime Springs Presbyterian and Saratoga Presbyterian). The vacancy in
their pulpits meant that they had to find a guest preacher every week until they
could decide on a new pastor to replace their previous pastor. In Presbyterian
churches, this process can take up to two years. My father was asked to fill the
pulpit on Sunday morning. This became a weekly event. Eventually, the two
Presbyterian parishes asked him to become their permanent
pastor.
We changed schools once again, this time attending Riceville Community
School (from 5th grade through 11th grade).
Our years in Riceville are, for me, the best years of my childhood. If
there is a part of Iowa that has my heart, it is this town.
This is also the beginning of my deeper awareness of the Catholic Church.
It wasn't just a parish on the other side of our public school playground (as
when we lived in Cedar Falls). It was the parish of many of my school friends.
That gave it meaning. It gave the parish character, personality, hands-and-feet,
a face.
I heard these friends talk about Catholic things. I still believed that we
had a better (perhaps even purer) faith, but I was beginning to listen . . . to
take note.
We passed Immaculate Conception Parish twice every day on our way to and
from school. We passed it every time we attended basketball games or football
games or picked up a few groceries.
One evening, as we passed this parish, my father asked my mother if she
knew what they meant by "Immaculate Conception". She said it probably had
something to do with Jesus' birth. My father said, no, it refers to
Mary's conception. Catholics believe she was conceived free of
sin. My parents talked about that for a few minutes while I listened from
the back seat.
It would be a significant memory for me. I would carry a prejudice against
this teaching for decades and struggle with it during my own conversion into the
Catholic Church. It would almost stop my journey. And indeed, it would
have stopped my journey . . . if not for a miracle and a lot of
grace.
The years at Riceville were full of many things. My father attended
seminary in Dubuque and encountered some priests from the Catholic colleges in
town (Loras and Clark). He began to accept the Presbyterian position on infant
baptism. In fact, he became more sacramental in his theology, and my sister and
I were baptized, we learned the Apostle's Creed and the Lord's Prayer (Our
Father), and attend Presbyterian confirmation class.
In my middle school years, I attended Mass with one of my friends while
spending the weekend with her family. I didn't have any clue as to what was
taking place, but it was my closest encounter with the Eucharist - until I
entered my 20s.
Another friend stayed overnight at my house and we spent one afternoon in
my dad's church talking about the differences in our worship experiences.
Catholic vs. Presbyterian.
My junior year, I went to prom with a Catholic boy. I had a serious crush
on him and I think that fact also raised my awareness of his parish, Immaculate
Conception.
Once again, I was blessed during these years to grow in my understanding of
the faith - and the gifts we had as Presbyterians, even though we did not
realize that all these gifts were ours because they were entrusted to Mother
Church first and foremost.
No, we saw the faith differently. Christianity - in our minds - did not
have a history to be traced. We had the Gospel stories and the other writings in
the New Testament. But then, our legacy stopped, until the 1500s. We did not
learn about the saints who lived during those first 1500 years. We did not study
the Church Fathers. Or the development of doctrine. We did not discuss the
origin of Sacred Scripture, how it too came from the Catholic Church, as She
followed the inspiration of the Holy Spirit.
All these things were ours in isolation. They were gifts . . . that simply
were -as though dropped down from heaven to no one in particular, to be
picked up by Protestant Evangelicals somewhere in the 18th and 19th
centuries.
Once again, we were in possession of many graces because we had received so
many good things from our Catholic heritage - even if we didn't recognize the
source.
This Sunday, I will be in Riceville. I will be attending Mass at Immaculate Conception. My heart is filled with so much as I anticipate this very special Mass.
I celebrate the gift of faith and a God who is so incredibly gentle and merciful and abounding in love.
Very informative entry! thank you.Conception
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