I know Rebecca has had me on her mind for doing a Lenten Reflection for a while now. I think my friend Claudia may have intervened to give me a reprieve last year. But, my willingness to share my journey is purely a reflection of the immense gratitude I feel being so graciously welcomed here at Central.
So, first let me offer a little biographical information for you. I am originally from New Hampshire. We settled there after my dad retired from the Navy. I now live in Smithfield with my dog Nellie and am a divorced mother of two grown children. You may know Eileen who joined Central about a year ago. Eileen is an accountant and on the road a bit but you will often see her sitting with me in my usual spot (back left pews). My 27 year old son Dan lives in DC and is an attorney. You will only see him if you are here on Christmas Eve. Dan and Eileen are the source of much happiness for me. I feel truly blessed to be their mom. In terms of other fun facts, I work at Butler Hospital and Care New England in administration handling business development and integration of behavioral health services for the system. But, I worked for many years in my original field of Occupational Therapy which I loved and miss. My favorite pass time is bike riding…in the warmer weather, you will find me cycling the roads in northwest RI.
In terms of my spiritual or faith journey, it really wasn’t much of a journey at all for much of my life. I was born and raised Catholic. I was the fourth of four children and the third daughter born to Paul and Lila Bailey. My dad revealed to me somewhat later in my life that my naming was a result of my mother’s requirement that we all were given some form of the Blessed Virgin’s name. With that, my oldest sister was named Anne Mary and my sister eighteen months my senior was given the name Kathleen Marie. My dad described he an my mom feeling a bit stumped when their third daughter was born until it dawned on them that they could just name me Mary! Problem solved, but one of the first and earliest imprints of Catholicism…which was an ever-present doctrine in our upbringing. We attended Church (with a capital C, every Sunday and Holy Day), we did not eat meat on Ash Wednesday or on Friday’s during lent. We said our prayers every night which included one Hail Mary, an Our Father, the Act of Contrition and always ending our prayers with the trailer: “God bless mommy and daddy, nana, papa, sisters, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins, the Pope and General MacArthur.” No kidding. My grandmother would put tissue on our head if we didn’t have a proper hat or veil entering Church. We were brought to confession regularly—which became a creative story telling exercise and resulted in 10 Hail Mary’s and an Our Father no matter what sins were disclosed that day. So, really no journey at all in my younger years. I did not choose being Catholic, it chose me. I listened to years of sermons by our beloved pastor, Reverend Edmond Knott. Even as a small child I felt reassured and comforted by all of the rules and requirements that seem to draw a straight line between life, death, and salvation. Follow the prescribed path of the “one true faith” and your fate is certain…veer and, well sadly damnation awaits–but again, an avoidable outcome if only you stay on the right path. So, my early religious experiences were less of a journey and more of a destination that I had arrived in and was contained by for a long time. Being Catholic had clear conditions of participation…guideposts that I lived within for a pretty long time.
I attended Sunday school, catholic high school, was eventually married in the Church and soon my own children were baptized and being raised catholic. They too attending Catholic school and learning the requirements of being Catholic. All was well until my own marriage started to struggle which led me to a very painful decision that my family would be better off if my husband and I were not together. So, when my son and daughter were still young, 10 and 8 years old, I left my husband. The details of why my marriage was failing are not pertinent, but my decision to end my marriage was an extremely difficult one that I made because I was sure that if I didn’t, my children would suffer. Over time, this decision became a point of isolation from the church for me that only compounded already present discomfort I felt with Catholic doctrine as it related to other matters. But, I agreed to raise my children Catholic as part of my divorce agreement and did so. Once they were confirmed, I left the matter up to them and started my own slow departure from the Church. I had sat through too many sermons—at least one per year that reminded me and my children that divorce was a failure, a result of lack of commitment and personal weakness. I suffered these awkward moments despite the shame and discomfort– holding to my agreement to raise the kids Catholic. Once the kids were confirmed, I stopped attending Church which in retrospect turned out to be an extension of my own withdrawal from things in general. My growing children were no longer in need of all of my attention and, as it turned out, I did not have a lot to do without them. My focus was my work at that point and not much more.
Not long after this, my daughter Eileen asked that I return to Church with her shortly after her father, my ex-husband, was diagnosed with a serious form of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma that left him with a very bad prognosis. So, back to church I went. I prayed for him, for my kids, and found some degree of comfort in my return to church. Thankfully, my ex-husband found his way to remission; and Eileen had actually migrated away from regular Church attendance, while I continued to attend. And again, I found myself sitting in church one day while a newly ordained priest explained to the congregation the evils of divorce and that unless physically beaten with life and limb at risk—there was no good cause for divorce. According to this young man, divorce was a personal failure for those who didn’t understand the meaning of commitment and the sacredness of marriage vows–the final humiliation. I walked out never to return to a church that seemed to have no room for me and my family.
With that, I again returned to Sunday mornings sleeping late with no real direction relating to my faith. Soon after, a good friend, and colleague, was diagnosed with ALS. Although she and I had drifted apart a bit prior to her illness, she turned to me upon learning about her condition and leaned heavy on me for support and guidance. Unlike with my ex-husband’s illness, I struggled as I had no real sense of faith or any sense that my prayers were of value. No matter the conflict I felt with the Catholic Church, it provided me with some discipline around my faith that without it seemed to have left me disconnected from God and a bit lost. I saw my friend Anne through her illness, hospice and was with her when she passed. The process of losing Anne reminded me how withdrawn I had become from everything. I had walled myself off to a certain degree. And, I knew in the midst of all of this I missed church. But I could not bring myself to the task of finding a new church. As fate would have it, I bumped in to Claudia at a Leadership RI event (we were both members of the Theta II Class of 2012). We somehow got on the topic of church, and she encouraged me to come to Central. This was the December before my friend Anne passed.
I did not find my way to Central until sometime in the spring following her death and at a pretty low point for me. I walked tentatively in here, and I sat where I continue to sit to this day…back left pews. The choir started to sing—and yes, my jaw dropped—I looked back as I thought this has to be a recording! Amazingly, within only a few weeks of attending, I felt the same familiar sense that I felt years ago as a young child at church: comfort, belonging and direction. I found Rebecca and Claudia’s sermons always thoughtful and so relevant to my life. I knew I had to seriously contemplate Central as being where I belonged. But, it was clear to me that joining this church meant I had to make a commitment to truly participate. There would be no sitting on the sidelines and watching. Given that I had found some comfort in distance and isolation over recent years, a decision to join this congregation was also a decision to open myself more to others. It is no small wonder that I have listened to Claudia, Rebecca and more recently Aiden talk about the importance of vulnerability in opening ourselves up to Christ and each other. For me, Central has been about letting others in and opening myself up more. It seems we all come here with a need for connection, belonging and meaning. To know that we can improve our lives and the lives of others if we are willing to understand that vulnerability connects us… in our worshiping together and in our ministering to others in need. As a member of the Mission and Action Committee through the many ministries we support, I am reminded how important our own vulnerability is when working with others made vulnerable by circumstances leaving them in need. For me, it suggests that true compassion can be found in this understanding. For it seems true, that we are all truly better off the more that we let in.
In concluding, I just need to say that I will always feel a connection to the Catholic Church. It is the church of my grandmother and is steeped in traditions that have made a permanent imprint in my brain. Many truly good people practice their faith there, and I do not want to sound disparaging of their faith and religious practices. For me, it was the source of my need for church, a religious discipline that serves to keep Christ central in my life. But, I know now I need that church to be one that is inclusive, accepting of me and others no matter what brings us to its doors. I need a church that welcomes all—simply because they felt a need to enter. Yes, as it turns out, I need Central. And yes, in retrospect, this has been a journey, and I am so glad and extremely grateful it led me here.
This is a special place and you each are an important part of what makes it so. Thank you so much for graciously listening this evening.