In the course of my initiation into the Roman Catholic Church I did not go through the Rite of Acceptance.

Did I get the memo?

But today I attended this Rite at St. John’s in Frederick to be the sponsor of my brother-in-law, Steve, and my sister, Janet. This was a great honor. The Rite transitions the Inquirer into the phase of Candidate/Catechumen which will continue until the Easter Vigil where they will be confirmed and formally introduced into the Catholic Church.

Here is how it went at the morning Mass:

After the “introit” a group of about 20 inquirers with their sponsors marched out from a side door into the front of the church in a line. Upon hearing their name called out, the candidates were to step up onto the stairs that line the front and turn to face the congregation while sponsors (me) remain on the ground floor looking forward standing in front of the candidates.

The priest asked a number of questions to the candidates as well as one for the sponsors too. But my main task involved making the sign of the cross on Steve’s[1] forehead, ears, eyes, heart, shoulders, hands and feet at the appropriate promptings from the priest. This was all new to me. Since Steve is about nine feet taller than me + 1 for the stair step it took a stretch to reach his facial features, particularly the forehead. But there was no need to bring forth the Holy Step-Stool of Jericho which, according to tradition, belonged to Zaccheus.

From there the Mass proceeded as usual which, for the most part, is the same as any Mass in the world with minor differences. Now as it happened, in this massive church, I was the first one in line for communion since the front pews were reserved for those in the Rite. As you might have read from my previous post, this is not a good arrangement since, as a Born Again Orthodox Roman Catholic newbie, I like to observe the pattern of the liturgy played out in other parishes first. It is quite common to knell before receiving the Eucharist at my home church[2] and this I did only to look into the annoyed features of the priest when I arose. Did I do something wrong?

Later, after sitting down, I realized that to the side were deacons holding chalices with the consecrated wine. Apparently, this was a Catholic Church that presented both “species” of bread and wine for the faithful. But not everyone went up for the wine which made my gaff look honest. {Aside: I actually think offering both species is a good thing but I understand why many churches don’t do it. Logistically it’s a bit complicated and with a shortage of hands it may not be possible}.

All kidding aside, this was a great day and I am extremely honored to be part of it—and I’m not even a Catholic for an entire year! How awesome is that! I know that my sister and brother-in-law will be exceptional Catholics and I know that the two of them will set the world on fire: Steve with his vast theological knowledge and Janet who won’t suffer heretics long. Indirectly, they were influential in my own odyssey toward Catholicism. Strange? Yes– but that’s another story.

On Thursday I visited the NDGS campus to return a book, look around and go to Mass, since, as part of student life, there is a Mass for students 7:00 – 7:30 PM Tuesday and Thursday. I arrived ten minutes early and entered the tiny chapel thinking I’d sit in the back and ease into what was to be my very first non-holy-day-of-obligation Mass ever.

The small chapel was too small and too well lit to slink in unnoticed. Immediately the priest, Father Andrew (or Father Paul), greeted me and asked if I would do the reading, offering a big blue opened book for me to examine. I tried to duck it but his command of English added to his perplexed response to my shyness. I was a student there right? Yes, well, so, ok, sure why not.

He ordered me to sit in the front which was about 2 paces from the door. The chapel supported about 16-20 kneelers in a narrow white room; an altar stood at the front practically the width of the room itself. I knelt, prayed, fidgeted. At about one minute before the hour I was still the only one in the chapel and I figured I’d be the only one participating that wet, rainy evening.

I am constantly amazed at the ability of Catholics to defy Normal (Gaussian) probability distribution functions when it comes to arriving at church. In any other earthly process, some people would show early, most arriving at the appointed time followed by a balanced number of stragglers to create the famous “bell shaped” curve scientist rely on. No, the Catholic function is more like a Rayleigh distribution with extremely narrow standard deviation up to the very, very start. Seconds before the hour the chapel was suddenly full with about nine other students, ALL of them sitting in the rows behind me.

This was a very bad arrangement. I was alone in front unable mimic the still slightly unfamiliar posturing required at various points of the Mass made more precarious by the unusual situation that all my familiarity is the Latin Mass. No worries, since I had with me a handy-dandy laminated card with all the English responses. “Hiding” in the front row with a laminated card must have seemed ridiculous among these hardcore, seasoned, veteran, orthodox Catholics. I might as well have been in a papal conclave, that is, with a laminated card for Dummies.

Soon it was my turn to read scripture, a passage from Malachi. I think I did OK. But the Psalm? Probably needed to give others a chance to learn the responsorial once or twice –do you think? Good news: no one set fire to me. I realized another gaff when the sign of peace was offered. I turned to get up from a knelling position to offer peace realizing that everyone else was already standing. You know, I was getting this vibe….

Then Communion, which I’ve started to receive in hand. I promised myself that I would always take Communion by mouth in the traditional way not realizing that my extreme nervousness in going up to receive  tenses me up so much I can barely stick my tongue out. Add to that a foreign hand coming toward my face creates a recoiling reflex that I can’t quite control. It was so bad I started closing my eyes after saying Amen. At some point I simply decided that someone was going to get hurt and I might as well take it by hand—not so orthodox but permitted, at least for now.

It wasn’t long before I heard these merciful words, “This mass ended”

Deo gratias.

The chemical execution of innocent civilians by Assad is met with the usual outrage from the international community. Just to pick a fight, I will suggest to a secular audience that Assad is not an evil, murderous head of state, but a misunderstood progressive too far ahead of his time.

Outraged? Let’s take a look at a similar incident in recent weeks that barely made the news.

Nancy Verhelst was euthanized in Belgium according to the local euthanasia laws. Was this person terminally ill? No, unless the law can be contorted to suggest that we are all terminal, it’s just a matter of when. Was this person suffering immense physical pain? No. Was this person at the end of life or over the threshold of life expectancy? No, Verhelst was 44 when the state took her life.

So why did the state kill an innocent, healthy member of its nation? The story behind Nathan Verhelst is certainly tragic. Identifying as a male (Nathan born Nancy), Mr. Verhelst was rejected by her parents and led a confused life. A recent botched sex change operation left Verhelst feeling like a monster, despondent beyond hope and prompting a decision. The state granted Verhelst her wish. She was euthanized. Pizza was promptly ordered, a soccer game was watched and life went on—except for Verhelst.

Life is cheap and human life is the cheapest of all. We live in a progressive world in which the right to choose extends to the unwanted child that lives half a century. Doctors who are charged to do no harm, harm by frivolous operations, plastic surgeries, abortions, infanticide and assisted suicide. Extrapolation of such progress leads one to believe that anyone who is despondent and finds life unbearable should end it all with a barbiturate potion complements of an expanded “healthcare”. This could include post-partum women, love frustrated teenagers and the melancholy. It could easily be applied to anyone in the prison population unable to cope with confinement as the ACLU banes religious material everywhere to remove all hope.

Allow me to personalize this issue. As a 15 year old in prehistoric 1980 I wanted to end my life. I was a short, prepubescent punching bag with no prospects for female companionship. I was diagnosed with lymphoma and underwent chemotherapy that left me a monster: no hair, bleeding mouth sores, extreme nausea and pain. In modern day Belgium I would be of applicable age and able to enroll the state in my rash decision to terminate my life. The consequence would be both temporal and eternal and societal.

My point is this: in form, the resources of the state can be legally used to put to death an innocent, healthy member of its society.  So why condemn Syria?

If Christians read the Bible at all, they are not likely to read the preface of any edition they use. Seriously, what mook reads the preface of any book, let alone that of the Bible?

Apparently, the one writing this blog.

But what is found in the preface is quite interesting. The preface provides background as to when the new translation of the Bible was commissioned, by who and why. The production of a new translation of the Bible is a work, well, of Biblical proportions. A lot of people are involved requiring lots of time and money. And with so many sensitivities as stake, it takes a great amount of delicate work, quibbling and scholarly knowledge.

Some time ago, I read the preface of the New International Version (NIV) which revealed the mechanisms set up to create this very good English version of the Bible. It involved scholars from the United States, Great Britain, Australia, New Zealand and Canada. To “safeguard the translation from sectarian bias”, these scholars came from many denominations: Anglican, Assemblies of God, Baptist, Brethren, Christian Reformed, Church of Christ, Evangelical Free, Lutheran, Mennonite, Methodist, Nazarene, Presbyterian, Wesleyan and “other churches”.

Anything strike you? Long ago, I wondered why no Catholic scholars were involved. I supposed those “other churches” could have included them but I think it would have been a tremendous oversight to push the largest segment of Christianity into the also-ran category. No—I sort of conjectured that they weren’t invited or that they would have nothing to do with it or perhaps a combination.

I’ve only owned my thick, red New American Bible (NAB)— a Catholic commissioned translation — for a little while, having bought it at a used book sale in Vienna this year for pennies. I was surprised to see that the translation came after the encyclical Divino Afflante Spiritus of Pope Pius XII in 1943 which set out to summon new editions from original manuscripts. It has a preface too and I expected it to say, rather snootily, that only Magisterial Catholics in good standing were involved in the effort and no heretics other Christians were allowed to help. But now here I quote from the preface:

The collaboration of scholars who are not Catholic fulfills the directive of the Second Vatican Council, not only that “correct translations be made into different languages especially from the original texts of the sacred books,” but that, “with the approval of the church authority, these translations be produced in cooperation with separated brothers” so that “all Christians may be able to use them.”

That surprised me—pleasantly. And let me just add an additional endorsement for the NAB—not only is it a very good English translation for all Christians, it comes with seven extra books!

Lay Catholics are frequently characterized by their lack of first hand Bible reading and knowledge.  As a Born Again Orthodox Roman Catholic with a large familiarity with Bible verses from my previous traditions of Christianity, I can say that this characterization is rightly deserved.  Over the course of time, devout Catholics will hear almost the entirety of the Bible through the Liturgy of the Word, but might crack their Bible once in a lifetime, if at all. Whereas Protestants routinely tote their Bible to service, Catholics never[1]. At my own confirmation, one of the seven readings from scripture happened to be Isaiah 55, the whole chapter, which I can recite from memory (KJV). Now this sort of ability was normative in my previous spiritual life of Bible churches. Catholics with the same ability would be regarded as oddities if not scholars of the Church. But there is no official reason for this lack– on the contrary and to the surprise of many non-Catholic Christians—the Church encourages individual Bible reading and study.

I just finished reading an encyclical[2] called Spiritus Paraclitus by Pope Benedict XV (this is XV and not the most recent XVI) issued on September 15, 1920. This encyclical came on an auspicious anniversary, the 1500^th anniversary[3] of the death of St. Jerome who fervently translated Holy Scriptures from a number of ancient languages and sources to produce the Latin Vulgate Bible, the principle Bible translation for the Church for almost as many centuries.

The encyclical recounts the life of St. Jerome, the Great Doctor, and his zeal for Scripture and the Church. It urges readers to also cultivate a similar love and practice of regular Bible reading. Following are separate quotes of St. Jerome extracted from this promulgation:

We have got, then, to read Holy Scripture assiduously; we have got to meditate on the Law of God day and night so that, as expert money-changers, we may be able to detect false coin from true.

Every day she should give you a definite account of her Bible-reading . . .For her the Bible must take the place of silks and jewels . . . Let her learn the Psalter first, and find her recreation in its songs; let her learn from Solomon’s Proverbs the way of life, from Ecclesiastes how to trample on the world. In Job she will find an example of patient virtue. Thence let her pass to the Gospels; they should always be in her hands. She should steep herself in the Acts and the Epistles. And when she has enriched her soul with these treasures she should commit to memory the Prophets, the Heptateuch, Kings and Chronicles, Esdras and Esther: then she can learn the Canticle of Canticles without any fear.

Read assiduously and learn as much as you can. Let sleep find you holding your Bible, and when your head nods let it be resting on the sacred page.

I will tell you another thing about her, though evil-disposed people may cavil at it: she determined to learn Hebrew, a language which I myself, with immense labor and toil from my youth upwards, have only partly learned, and which I even now dare not cease studying lest it should quit me. But Paula learned it, and so well that she could chant the Psalms in Hebrew, and could speak it, too, without any trace of a Latin accent. We can see the same thing even now in her daughter Eustochium.

Finally, Benedict XV himself exhorts: “Hence, as far as in us lies, we, Venerable Brethren, shall, with St. Jerome as our guide, never desist from urging the faithful to read daily the Gospels, the Acts and the Epistles, so as to gather thence food for their souls.”

Finally and in my humble opinion, if Catholics are going to be influential in the conversion of other Christians, they better know the Bible and what the Catholic Church teaches about it.