Why I Am a Revert

In Catholic parlance, one who is baptized as an infant is a "cradle Catholic". One who converts at a later age is called a "convert". I am one who, born a cradle Catholic, migrated away [to nothing in particular, just migrated away] and came back with a vengeance, embracing the faith with the zealotry of many a convert. I am called a "revert". Reverts are noticeably different from their cradle counterparts who stay out of convenience, inertia, habit [a good one, but a habit nonetheless] good fellowship or the ethnic components of being Catholic. Reverts have lost the faith, and then see it for what it is, and hold onto the faith as if their lives depended upon it. Because it does.

I migrated away from the faith because in my youthful narcissism, it wasn't feeding me. I was expecting the great show every Sunday and when my staid Midwestern parish failed to deliver, I got bored and didn't come back. This, uncoincidentally, coincided with my liberal feminazi era. I was mad at God. I was mad at patriarchy. I was mad at the priest who didn't homilize for beans. I was holding my nice little temper tantrum. Oh, sure, I'd come back occasionally on Easter or Christmas, but it wasn't the same.

I met David and, for God only knows what reason, felt it was important to be married in the eyes of the Church. I wanted a marriage whose union was blest and, therefore, carried the weight of "Sacrament". In the church, a sacrament is an outward sign of an inward grace. For instance, in the sacrament of baptism, the water [and oil and imposition of hands] are the outward signs of the inward grace [freedom from original sin and entry into the family of God]. Over the years, the Good Shepherd has pursued this little lost sheep assiduously and one-by-one has eliminated my barriers to knowing where I belong and to whom I belong.

After being married, Dave and I began to attend church regularly. We began to tithe. Then, being a joiner, I began to get involved in the parish and wanted to teach religious education. I was assigned the high schoolers. I knew that I'd have to teach what the Church does about contraception. Knowing that adolescents can spot a phoney a mile away, I resolved to see if this contracepting thing was truly sinful. I asked my priest in Confession if it was. He said that under the circumstances I was describing, yes, indeed it was, and quickly suggested that we look into Natural Family Planning. In typical fashion, I threw a little hissy fit with Jesus in my mind. I went to the tabernacle to kneel and do my penance while all the while I was PO'd at the Lord who made me. "How dare you invade my marriage this way! How dare you tell me what we can and cannot do! How dare you limit me in any way!" And then the dam burst and the tears of anguish and sadness broke through because I knew, raging at God, that the answer was how dare I oust God from any corner of my life, my home, my love. How dare I, the lost little sheep, pretend to be the shepherd.

The past decade or so has been a lovely relationship: God leading, me following and resisting less defiantly. I have seen God bring into my life Natural Family Planning, Marriage Encounter, Cursillo, daily Mass, a spiritual director, children, gratitude and, mostly, peace in the face of fear. I have learned, both in marriage and in the authority of the Church, submissiveness. I love my faith. I try every day to live my faith. It's written on my soul, and I'll bet, on my DNA. I consume our Precious Lord at every Mass, in the Eucharist. He comes to me, humbly, in the form of Bread and Wine, to dwell in this lowly tabernacle. I would sooner gauge out my eyes or cut off my limbs than leave this Church where I belong. You see, my eternal life depends upon it. Once you know that you know, there is no turning back.