Baptism?

Just spent a couple hours rereading and labeling my posts. I suspect that I've gone from no labels to far too many, but that's how things go. Is that an em-dash or a hyphen there?

Having some thoughts on the whole baptism/confirmation thing, due to a post at RevGalBlogPals.
I feel like there ought to be something to mark me actually turning Christian, but I've already been baptized and confirmed (and had Eucharist), and I can't get baptized twice, can I?

If I were a much more Evangelical type I suppose I'd call this being born again and maybe answer and altar call -- am I right about that? I don't even know enough to know -- but I am so, so not the Evangelical type. I guess being Catholic (even Independent/Ecumenical Catholic) is about as far on the other side of the scale as you get.

So I don't know. I kinda feel like the desire for something like that is maybe selfish, and I hate being the center of attention (and I'm thinking about doing what?). And I have no idea what'd be appropriate anyway.

It's a thing to think about, in any case.

The weekend, and a lot of babbling.

When we left our hero, she was about to go find a local church, therein to kneel and pray and in general try to come to terms with my baptism and confirmation. With my belief, or lack of same, or unsureness about it, or...whatever state I'm in, which I'm not sure about. To pray for what I need to become who I need to be.

What I hadn't considered was the difficulty of finding an open church at seven on a Saturday evening. Apparently they lock the things these days, which I have to admit surprised me, though it shouldn't. People are as likely to steal things out of a church as anywhere else, after all.

I tried the one closest to work, and then another down the street; both were locked up tight. So I sat down on the back porch of the second one, where if I leaned up I could look in the window and at least see the altar, and got started.

The prayer was for transformation -- Let us look within ourselves to see that which needs to be transformed so that we may become the people God has called us to be, and fitted to perform the work He has called us to do. I hadn't thought at all, ahead of time, about what that might be; and as I finished the prayer and started to think, the thing that came to my mind was 'faith'. I need faith, and that's what I prayed for.

And wound up, to my total surprise, sobbing. Bawling my eyes out. I don't cry too much, see, as I mentioned recently. So, yeah, erm. What?

And what kept going through my mind was 'I wanted to go inside, but the door was locked.'. The door was locked. I wound up kneeling in front of the back door of the church, crying, and repeating 'I only ever wanted to come inside, I only ever wanted to come inside'.

This is the point where, if this were a Chicken Soup story or something in Reader's Digest, there would have been a click, and when I tried it again, the door was mysteriously unlocked; or the kindly minister came up, held me while I cried, and unlocked the door for me. This is real life, so none of that happened (and I did try the door again, just in case). What happened was I cried for a while, and then stopped, wiped my eyes, and said okay, this is what I have, now let's see what I can do with it.

I prayed the closing prayer and went back to the car. Blew my nose a couple times, called Tim to let him know I was on my way and he could start the pasta. He asked if I could pick up wine to go with dinner; I told him I had some at my place already, and that I'd grab it before I came over. I'd kept my voice level up until then, and the crying had mostly retreated, but I almost burst into tears again -- at the image, fleeting but powerful, of my hands, pouring wine.

By the time came to actually pour wine I was fine and the whole thing was retreating into fuzzy memory. Dinner and wine helps with that sort of thing, too. I didn't get a chance to tell Tim about it that night, so I locked it all away and figured I'd just see what happened at church the next morning.

--

Got not-quite-enough sleep, decided to eat breakfast because it was going to be late by the time I got out of church and I didn't plan to go up for communion anyway. Changed what I was going to wear five times, settled on a simple black linen skirt and a light blue sweater. Got the directions and drove.

The congregation shares the building with the local Lutheran church, who has their services at ten-thirty. Usually there's a pretty good gap between the two, but the Lutheran congregation had two baptisms that day and ran late. So I milled around with people heading out and people heading in, confused and feeling very out of place, quietly hoping someone would come up and say something to me. Eventually someone did -- an older woman, part of the Lutheran congregation, who asked me if I was with Light of Christ and apologized for their service taking so long. I hesitated a bit before I answered her question. I don't know if I'm with Light of Christ yet, but simpler to say 'yes, I am' than to launch into explanations. And besides which, I had an image of Peter denying Jesus three times and not wanting to do the same.

Odd...

Mass was...I don't know. I guess I want a little more joy in my worship. There was music, a two-member choir, a few members of the congregation who specifically spread out around the room to support the (rather quiet) singing. But it was still quiet, the choir looking more businesslike than joyous, the lady who read the lessons solemn. Perhaps it's just that they're small. Maybe they got thrown off by the other congregation running late. I don't know.

The gospel reading was strong, and I liked the sermon. And then communion. I like how they do it; everyone goes up front and makes a circle around the priest while he does his thing (sorry, tired and not remembering of proper words). One of the ladies who greeted me waved me up, but didn't push when I shook my head a little. I appreciate both. I did wish that I felt as if I could, but...I didn't feel that way. I wanted to go up. I just didn't feel right doing so.

After Mass I asked to talk to the priest when he had a moment. He said yes, of course, cos that's his job; on the way to his office we talked a little about light stuff, where do I live, he's moving up here soon with his family, they'll be moving close to me...

And when we got to his office, I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say. I finally stumbled through it all, the baptism and confirmation, the fact that I didn't believe but said I did anyway, that that I didn't feel right coming up for communion because of it. That I wasn't sure that they counted.

He talked about the Sacraments, told me that for all we try to understand them, they're a mystery, we can't entirely understand how God works. Did they count? Only God knows, but it was his belief that surely they must. He told me about his confirmation, that the only reason he did it was so he could stop going to CCD. I chuckled a bit; sometime later, I'm sure, I'll ask him how he came to the priesthood.

He said that of course I'd've been welcome at communion, and I reassured him that I didn't feel that anyone there would have kept me from it -- it was something internal to me, something I had to deal with before I felt like I could receive. Something I had to make right, and I wasn't sure how.

He smiled at me. "I don't know how this will work for you," he said, "and I don't mean to push, but I think you just did."

I thought about that one for a while. And, you know? I think he's right. Confession is a powerful thing if done right, and though this wasn't a formal confession (I don't even know if the ECC does them) I think it helped me a lot.

So...that was that. No huge revelations, but I did leave with a good feeling about things.

--

Gardening that afternoon, and then dinner, and finally got to telling Tim about it all pretty late Sunday night. Told him about 'I wanted to go inside, but the door was locked' and 'I only ever wanted to come inside' and my hands, pouring wine. Told him about mass and how I might change things there if I could. About talking to the priest. And the whole time he has this little smile on his face.

Told him about the dream I had a few weeks ago and blamed on Mother Laura, in which I got ordained. Still that little smile. Musing, now -- about belief, about faith. He tells me that Ray's nervous about my whole turn towards religion, worried he'll say something wrong and offend me. That Tim's not so worried about Ray offending me as he is that the Awakening that Ray had planned for my Mage character might just mess with my head, given my fairly fragile mental state when it comes to religion.

I'll skip the details cos I don't figure most of you do any roleplaying and simply say that what Ray had planned for my character was something involving archangels. I chuckled and told Tim, hey, I might not be entirely sure about this whole God and Jesus thing quite yet, but I know where I stand with Michael. I'm good with the archangels; no danger there. He chuckled and said, yeah. That's because you have faith.

I think I blushed; I know I threatened to whack him on the head. But whatever; I guess he's right though I certainly never expected anything like faith to appear in my life. More musings; I told him about Mother Laura confessing to me in comments on another post, and my discomfort with that -- not with her telling me about a thing she felt she'd done wrong, just with the format of it. I can't hear confession, I'm not... but I'd always been good at counseling people, a good listener; it's always been one of the things I do. Never felt any urge to go into social work or become a psychologist or anything much like, though, and what else is there to do for someone who's a listener at heart?

Still smiling. Verging on a smirk.

What do you think, I asked him (and I blush to even type it here; it seems so presumptuous), this is leading to? I dream of ordination, of pouring wine; am I heading towards...I couldn't say it then, I can't type it now. It just feels so improbable...

Pretty much, he said, he's been waiting a few years for me to figure it out.

I really did almost hit him that time.

Right now? Really have no idea where, if anywhere, this is going. It might fade in a couple weeks, never to be thought of again (though Tim expressed his opinion on the likelihood of that). I figure I'll find out as I go, and I'm okay with that. I'm...serene, heading into the unknown. It's been a long, long time since I've felt that way. It's gonna be a good journey.

Transformation

Tonight my dear friends in the Order of St. Michael at the Order's annual Retreat will be doing a ritual of Christian Transformation. Though I can't make it to West Chester to be with them, I'm planning on attending in spirit.

I've come a long, long way since the baptism and confirmation I was stuck with. I didn't agree with them, then, but didn't see a way out -- but I've gone through that elsewhere and don't need to rehash it yet again. I'm guessing that my repetition of the whole thing is a bit of guilt over the lie of it; tonight I'm hoping to inch closer to making it the truth.

Because I don't feel right taking communion while that lie is still on me. And the only way to change that is to make it the truth. And that's going to be a long and slow process; but tonight, I think, will help.

So will tomorrow. Mother Laura found me a local Ecumenical Catholic Church which looks very welcoming and has services late enough on Sunday morning that I might actually be not only conscious, but actually dressed. And I'm going to go. I emailed their outreach lady, so now I can't wuss out. Again. Like I've been.

I'm nervous as anything. You'd think I'd got a date with the hottest guy on the football team. "The level of 'OMG what if I say the wrong thing and he hates me forever' is, uh, pretty high.

Because yeah, I'm going to church. And I could dress conservatively and go up for communion and not say much of anything, and nobody's notice a thing. But I'm not (well, I am going to dress conservatively, but). I'm going to ask, after the service, if people aren't too busy, to talk to the priest and see if I'm really welcome there. Yep, bisexual. Polyamorous. Currently, in fact, in a relationship with two men. Interested in Hindu spirituality and not planning to change that (in fact, my next move after this will be to find the local Hindu temple and make a similar exploratory trip). And then I'll see what he says.

It's about seven; about nine Eastern. Time for me to go, and see about that transformation.

Desirous of communion

A nice little quote from Quaker Pagan Reflections:

I'm trying to remember in whose blog I read, recently, about a woman who found herself crying in meeting when worship gets deep for her, and I was so glad to read it. She wrote, too, that she wishes she didn't--she said she chooses to sit in the balcony in her meeting so as to be as unobtrusive as possible, and the tears that come make her feel painfully visible. It was freeing to read this, because I feel that way, too. Not always, but often enough I also find tears running down my face. (They were during Beethoven's 9th today, for sure.) And I always feel awkward about it, as if it is some kind of boast of specialness, or posturing for attention.

It occurred to me that it's been a long, long time since I've felt comfortable enough in my skin to allow that kind of reaction to something emotionally powerful. I can't blame it entirely on Lewis, either, though it certainly got worse during that time; it started before I was with him. In fact, I'm not entirely sure when it started.

It's starting to ease, though. Little by little, bit by bit, as I heal. I cried like a little girl over a lovely compliment someone gave me recently, and I can tear up a bit at the sun over the mountains, or a touch of welcome rain, or snugglings from my kitten.

I'd like to get to the point where I can feel that in worship. I don't know if it's possible; Christian or pagan, worship services have generally elicited more eye-rolling than eye-tearing in me. The pagan ones, especially, always felt ... silly, I suppose, though that's not entirely the right word. And I've enough bad history with Christianity (or, at least, people who call themselves Christian) that it's hard to feel comfortable at a Christian service.

At the same time I find myself wanting the Eucharist very, very badly. Is it tacky to say 'I want it so bad I can taste it'? I remember the taste and the feel, the crisp little bit of not-much that took just long enough to melt away that I always chewed, and then wondered if I was supposed to or if I was breaking some obscure point of canon law. But it never felt, never tasted, like communion, like the body and blood of a God made man who gave his life for all of us (which concept I am only now beginning to really understand thanks to some dear friends of mine). It only ever tasted like thin, stale bread, unfilling and unsatisfying.

I want more than that. I wanted more than that, even then, and the lack of it was a lot of why I drifted away from the church. There were plenty of other reasons, mind you; reasons I've mostly worked through in the years since then. But this one? I don't know if it'll change. I want it to, badly.

And it's not that my church experiences have all been without meaning. Christmas Eve services at the church I grew up in were always lovely -- the candles, the singing, all of the energy focused on the return of the light -- I found them very moving. Even in my least-Christian phases I always enjoyed Christmas, and not just because of the presents. The birth of the Son, the rebirth of the Sun, however you wish to put it; it meant, and means, a lot to me. Maybe that experience will help.

I keep not actually going to church, though. I was telling myself it was because I'm usually up late on Saturday night (it's the only day none of the three of us has to get up, so we tend to stay up late the night before) but honestly? I think I'm nervous. Partly that I won't be accepted; I was baptized and confirmed, yes, but I've rather fallen apostate since then and frankly, neither baptism or confirmation meant anything to me. I only went through the motions because my mother wanted me to. Partly, though, it's worry that the experience won't be what I so desperately want it to be, that it'll again be dry, tasteless, unfilling.

I've told the tale before, in my Livejournal: how I wanted to believe, and couldn't find it in myself to do so. It's my Letter of Intent for joining the Order of St. Michael, and I'd locked it so that Lewis couldn't read it. He's got issues with Christianity, it seems, and despite the fact that he's got plenty of friends in the Order, he 'preferred' that I didn't join, because somehow the good people he knew individually became Bad when gathered together as a group of (mostly) Christians. I joined without telling him (his 'prefer' is more 'I will blame the next six months' worth of problems on you not listening to my wishes on this if you join') and only now had the nerve to unlock the thing.

So now? Kinda nervous. What if it doesn't do anything for me...again? What's left to me?