When I was a kid, my father would occasionally hint at what the Catholic Church of his youth was like. It was very different from the Catholic Church that I experienced. I grew up in a parish that met in an interfaith center. There were no pews, no stained glass, no incense, no statues. I understood very little about what it meant to be Catholic when I left the Church at age fourteen. I had never really grappled with Catholic identity. I did not know what it meant to have God as my Father or the Church as my Mother. The people around me showed up to Mass in soccer cleats and grass stains. I had no clue, really, that there was any difference between what we did during Mass and what the Methodists were doing up the hall or the Unitarians in the room right next door.
My father told me that when he was a kid, the Mass was in Latin. He said that there were always old ladies in the back of the church who could not hear the priest talking and would not have understood him anyway. They did not try to understand. Instead, they just took in the mystery and beauty of the Mass. They had rosaries in their hands and they spent the whole Mass “working their beads,” saying the prayers they knew by heart and trusting that God would do the rest. Growing up with the Mass in English, in an environment in which beauty and mystery were in short supply, I had trouble imagining this.
In my twenties, I became an Episcopalian, almost by accident. I practically fell over the parish church where I began attending regularly. It was an Anglo-Catholic parish with a liturgy that was much different than the one I had known as a child. I felt drawn to it though I did not know why. Eventually, I went to seminary. There, I discovered more Anglo-Catholic worship and drank deeply from that tradition. I began to see the beautiful mystery that lay at the heart of the Catholic faith. I fell in love with crucifixes and icons. I made my confession and learned to pray the rosary. Though I had been baptized a Catholic, it was as an Episcopalian that I actually learned what a Catholic is. It was as an Anglican that I became a Catholic.
I have been a priest in the Episcopal Church since 2006. As my church continues to push itself farther and farther away from the Catholic faith, I have repeatedly found myself searching for the peace of Christ that passes all understanding. Since 2011, I have operated a blog called “The Conciliar Anglican,” the purpose of which has been to give me a place to explore what Anglicanism is and what my place is within it. Many people have benefited from that site. I treasure the interactions I have had there and the way in which it pushed me to learn about some of the great riches of the Anglican tradition. But these days, what I find that I am most passionate to know is the heart of Jesus. The French writer Leon Bloy once wrote, “The only great tragedy in life is not to become a saint.” As a priest, a husband, a father, and as a man, I must take responsibility not only for my own holiness but also for the growth in holiness of the people God has given into my care. The Catholic faith is where that holiness is to be found. The denominational labels and the historical structures are all secondary to that.
These days, I want to be like those old ladies my father talked about. I have a great devotion to the rosary and to Our Lady, but really what makes me want to identify with those old women is their humility in the face of the great and beautiful mystery of God. It is easy to get caught up in formulas and mental gymnastics when trying to understand what it means to be a Christian. Those old ladies were not worried about all of that. They quietly went about their intercessions. They did not know what the priest was saying, nor did they likely understand all the nuances of what he was doing, but what they got at a deeply visceral level was that on the altar their savior was present. In the midst of the beauty of the Mass, God comes and gives Himself to us. That is all they needed to know.
In this new space, I want to explore the beauty and mystery of the Catholic faith. I will likely meditate on the priesthood and the great privilege I have to celebrate the Sacraments. I will also likely speak about what it means to be the parent of two young boys on the autism spectrum and how that particular cross is making me holy, often against my will. Whereas the Conciliar Anglican was academic and focused on apologetics, this will be personal and focused on the journey of faith. If that is not your cup of tea, I understand. But if this is something that you think may be a blessing to you, as I know it will be to me, then pull up a seat beside me and grab your rosary. We can “work the beads” together as we witness the Sacrifice of the Cross becoming present again and again before our very eyes.