Before this summer, I used to talk to my Grandma about God and the Church and I would say, "It would take something like St. Paul being struck by lightning to get me to believe in Jesus and come back to the Church." She always just smiled and said in that case, that's what she would pray for. And I always rolled my eyes.
This summer I got my lightning strike. Figuratively speaking, of course. First the asthma exacerbation put me in the hospital and then sent me home on oxygen: I tried to carry on with school as though nothing had changed. Then the second asthma attack, and another hospital stay. That time a chaplain visited me, and asked if I would like to receive Communion. I agreed since I hadn't done any bad things since my sister's wedding in January of '11 and I thought it couldn't hurt; though looking back I probably shouldn't have, since I didn't really believe and accept God. However, that was the beginning of a big change in me, a life change, a...conversion. Ick, I've always thought of that as sort of a dirty word, belonging to the preachy, holier-than-thou, more Catholic than the Pope kind of people I've always avoided. And here I was, experiencing a conversion myself.
My real "lightning strike" happened when I got the news, simultaneously, that my cousin Sam had been murdered and that my nursing program director thought that I should withdraw from classes for the semester, possibly from the program entirely. I would lose my place at EMU, with my friends, and be delayed yet again in finishing my BSN. I was still on home oxygen, still had cellulitis in my leg, still was just generally sick. Now this. I went to Sam's funeral and besides grief for my cousin and for his family, I felt the pain of things unfinished, relationships left unrepaired, and worry about his soul. Where was he? Was he OK? He fought so bravely for our country, surely God would have mercy on him, even though, like me, he had wandered away. That started me praying again. Praying earnestly, and unceasingly for mercy for someone else, and trusting that I was being heard. I don't think I realized what a change that was for me at the time. But I had been struck, my life as I had been planning it and living it was in shambles, and it only got worse...from a physical perspective.
When I had the surgery on my leg in May, then had more things begin to go wrong, like dominoes falling, first with the wound not healing, then with my stomach, then with my losing consciousness for no apparent reason, it took me a big struggle to give up my nursing plans. I felt a huge amount of resentment toward God. I also felt abandoned by my friends. It was at just this time that my boyfriend of more than 3 years told me he "needed a break" and I realized that he just couldn't be the man I needed. Where was I to turn? I felt like things were dark all around me. I had nothing left anymore, my life was a wreck.
Then, something changed. God began to slowly peel away the darkness. In the story in the Bible, I think St. Paul says the scales fell away from his eyes (he had been struck blind by the lightning God sent) and he could see again. For me, that didn't happen. It wasn't some instant "aha" moment. It wasn't a "conversion experience" like you hear about sometimes, if you watch religious cable channels for comic relief (ahem. don't tell Grandma about that). It was more like...having a dressing change on my surgical wound. What a gross analogy, but true. God was pulling on me, and it hurt; but he was fixing things that needed fixing. I went to confession and received the anointing of the sick and received communion, for the first time I was able to say to God "I believe, so hello, come in, sit down and stay a while."
After that, it has been more like falling in love with someone than anything else. Jesus and I have our good days, where I talk to him all day and feel so close to him, and want to have my hair and makeup look good so he'll notice. Then we have our bad days, where I give him the silent treatment because I'm not getting what I want fast enough, or I'm checking out some other guy and forget about Jesus. (I do that a lot.) I have a lot more to say on the subject of me and God, and God in general, but this is sort of a general catch-up for the friends of mine who remember me only away from God or only in a fake relationship with God or whatever. Now I have an "adult relationship" with Jesus. And I've
met his Mom. I think she loves me too. More on that later.
One funny thing: I was talking about all this to my brother Dan, and I expressed some worry that I might become one of those preachy, holier-than-thou, wouldn't say shit if they had a mouthful, obnoxious people. Dan laughed. Everybody I've asked about that has had the same reaction: laughing hysterically. Guess I'll be OK. It's still strange, to talk about God like this, so please pardon the clumsiness of metaphors and other general squeamishness in my writing this post. I think I'll write about alone-ness vs. loneliness next time, and possibly God's role in all that.
Good summary of a developing story. I have a strong vested interest in your continued conversion, which I think is more like a lifelong change rather than the more spectacular St. Paul version. Mine was more subtle too, but kind of started when I was 11. Keep writing!
ReplyDeleteSomeday I'll tell you what I remember of that experience when things changed for you Dad.
DeleteGrief, and suffering in general, which you've experienced more than most, (my that's a lot of commas) have the effect of forcing one to face the question of faith at a vastly deeper level than anything else. It may be impossible to really work through grief without coming to one resolution about it or the other. It seems to me that to choose for faith in God is literally to choose for life. Those who have walked through the valley of the shadow of death know the cost of this choice.
ReplyDeleteHave no worry that you'll become religiously offensive. I think you'll find two things emerging that will keep that from happening. First will be a growing awareness of the hurt that is just about everywhere and empathy in response. Second will be an increasing ability to observe and turn away from your false egoic self. This combination makes the mature believer much less judgmental.
Like you, there's a lot I could say about my faith journey over the last years. Perhaps I need to dust off my long neglected blog and do so.
I feel like you've done some amazing inner work lately that has brought about some wonderful healing. It's a joy to see.
So, I followed my usual routine this morning of reading a meditation by Richard Rohr (a Franciscan I've learned a ton from). He says what I was trying to say, only much better, so allow me to quote the whole thing:
ReplyDeleteMeeting the Real Jesus
Those who have walked the transformative journey from death to resurrection are the ones with the authority to say "I know God". Theirs is not textbook knowledge but living experience. They have learned to draw upon a life larger than their own. Instead of simply saying "I believe there is a God" which asks almost nothing of the person, God instead becomes for them an active presence. This is what we mean by the expression "saved by the death and resurrection of Jesus"!
Mere belief systems create both defensive and offensive people who try to prove "my God is better than your God" which leads to the formulation "I am better than you".
Jesus, in contrast, went to where the pain was, and then led people through it, and finally beyond it. I believe this is the very meaning of every one of his healing encounters. Jesus taught people, in effect, how to draw upon the larger Source to make such a passage.
Meggy, This is a great piece. I have been thinking, since the feast of the conversion of St. Paul (Jan. 25) about how that blinding flash of light, blinded Paul, so that he could see the reality of Jesus. He had a lot of preconceived notions about religion and Jesus, but until he saw Jesus, risen from the dead, and heard his voice, he could not, would not see. It took blindness to take away his blindness.
ReplyDeleteSometimes I think that it takes illness to heal our inner illness, wounds to heal our inner woundedness. You seem to be going through some of that right now. And your Healer is right with you.
Patti
Thank you for sharing your experience and your thoughts! Your blog painted a picture in my mind... of squinting eyes (even painful eyes) and a hand darting up to cover them when a bright light is turned on after the eyes have been adjusted to the dim, nearly dark light. I don't think the lightening conversion is what people box it up to be. It's more like an unexpected, rude awakening. And not the "aha" kind... the "what the Hell" kind! It's an experience that is out of our control. It is uncomfortable. It is painful. And it is untimely. Or so things seem at the time... the unknowns of the experience can invoke strong feelings including anger, blame, fear, shame, resentment, in a way - even relief.
ReplyDeleteWe all have these moments. Not just once, but over and over and over... our whole life. Conversion is not glorious picture. It's a slow release and transfer of control. A slow growing trust, in someone who we come to believe knows better. Sometimes it's a temper tantrum. Some times it's a begging plea. Sometimes it's leaving the window cracked, just a bit. sometimes its opening all the Windows in the house as wide as they can go! Conversion targets the core, the bottom line, the hidden closet, the secrets, the fears, the hopes, the dreams... He goes after the heart, the wellspring of our selves. And that is why conversion hurts. We've attached ourselves to our idea of what's best and to our understanding of our view. We put our faith in our efforts and in our abilities. Conversion is the experience of awakening to the reality that we had it wrong and opening our core being up to the unknown... His way.