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From Kosher to Catholic
Cynthia Smook Burdett

So, what’s a nice Jewish girl like me doing writing a story in a convert book like this? Sit, we’ll talk!

I grew up on Long Island, New York as the youngest daughter of three girls. We considered ourselves to be conservative Reformed Jews. That meant we were pretty serious about our religion and yet somewhat flexible. We attended Synagogue regularly (at least in preparation for all our Bat Mitzvahs and in the Yerzeit* years of beloved deceased relatives), faithfully kept the High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and we were kosher.

As the daughter of Lawrence and Barbara Smook there were a few basic principles that were just givens:
you will grow up and go to college,
you will be Bat Mitzvahed,
you will never mix milk and meat – unless of course you were in a restaurant, in which case it was kosher not to be kosher,
and you will never leave the house without lipstick once you were of the age to “need” it.

As Long Island Jews we had a sense of pride in our Jewish identity. We knew we were chosen and somehow set apart from our Christian brethren. We knew that part of being Jewish meant doing mitzvahs for others (good deeds and acts of mercy) and that on Christmas we would probably be going out to dinner or renting a movie. The Holocaust was a painful thread that joined us in solidarity with all Jews. While we had respect and tolerance for other religions (my two best friends were Catholic), my father had recounted how he had been called a Christ killer as a child and how it had wounded him. He taught us more by example than by his words – you’ll never be one of them so don’t trust them totally.

While other Christian religions were tolerated – the Jews for Jesus were considered anathema by my father. Many a dinner conversation highlighted that it was bad enough to be a “Jesus Freak” but a Jew who claimed to be a believer in Christ was intolerable. According to my Dad being a Jew meant that you didn’t believe in Jesus, that you were somehow set apart from all those who did. After all, Jews were the ones persecuted by Christians; they were the victims of the Holocaust, unholy wars and hidden prejudices. The Jews were mistreated and misunderstood. To become a Christian was to become a defector. To claim to be both a Christian and a Jew meant you were playing both sides of the fence and that was reprehensible.

In my household, education was primary. The right to think for yourself and freedom of thought and of religion was sublime. It was the way out of the European ghettos and the way to social advancement. Upward mobility and financial stability were seen as God’s blessings. When one was somehow without these there was a hidden feeling that it was God’s curse.

I was both Bat Mitzvahed and Confirmed in the Jewish Faith. Confirmation meant that I attended Sunday school until I was 16. I always believed in God in a cosmic and fatherly way but I wondered what happened to all the Old Testament miracles. Why did they seem to die out with the account of the Red Sea parting? I did hear murmurs of miracles from people who claimed to “know Jesus” but I did not plan on getting to “know” Him any time soon.
*Candles lit at synagogue or at home as a prayer in commemoration of the anniversary of the death of a loved one.

My two best friends were nominal Catholics and I enjoyed spending Christmas with them but I had a limited understanding of what it meant to be truly Catholic or Christian. My limited understanding was that Catholics had larger families, sent their children to parochial schools if they were “really” religious, did not eat meat on Fridays and for them, premarital sex was taboo. Unfortunately the secular media largely influenced my conceptions with programs like Saturday Night Live which featured “Church
Chat with the Church Lady” and the random Catholic School skit highlighting some pent up repressed teen who was forbidden most of life’s pleasures by a comical rendition of a knuckle smacking joyless
nun. Billy Joel also provided me with an “in depth” understanding of the Catholic Church’s teaching on abstinence before marriage by way of his song, “Come out Virginia” wherein he pleads “Don’t let me wait – you Catholic girls start much too late. Sooner or later it comes down to fate, I might as well be the one.”

So alright already, when did things start to change? Well I entered Al Anon – the 12 Step Program for people directly affected by someone with a drinking problem and that led me to Overeaters Anonymous. Where upon I truly embraced the 12 Steps and began to change my entire life. For those unfamiliar with the 12 Steps, here is a brief synopsis; You admit that you have a problem with some person, place or thing or situation over which you are powerless. You acknowledge that you need help – turn it over to a Higher Power (your own concept of God) and then you begin to inventory yourself to change the things within that you can. You admit your defects/shortcomings to another, get honest, make amends, pray daily and try to give away the healing and good you have received by living this path of recovery.

Living the 12 steps brought me to a deeper conversion. I began to see God – as I understood Him as a God personal to me. A God who cared about me in the now who I could turn to on a daily – if not hourly or minute-by-minute basis. I did not yet truly understand the concept of sin but I sure understood brokenness and dysfunction. Later I came to understand that fallen human nature was at the root of all the dysfunction I had become so acutely aware of. Within the 12 Step programs I found myself drawn over and over again to the Christians. I tried to get more into my Jewishness but always seemed to feel that something or Someone was missing. A popular commercial at the time was Wendy’s “Where’s the Beef?” and that’s what I would ask myself about the attempts I made within Judaism to find a deep personal vibrant spirituality. I was puzzled to consistently find Christians who by calling upon the Name of Jesus seemed to have a light, a hope, a sense of personal commitment and a sense of loving service. The last thing on earth I wanted to do was become a Christian.

I began to pray to God, “If Jesus is really the Messiah, let me know, if he is not, let me know that too because I do not want to offend you.” Funny thing, after I prayed that prayer, born-again Christians began to flock to me. I told my friend, Pat, from Al-Anon, thinking she would help me to write off those “crazy Christians!” and wouldn’t you know – she was one as well.

I increased my prayer and meditation and began reading just a little of the Bible a friend had given me. I even attended some church services because to me – what I heard in church was a lot like the lifeline I experienced in my 12 Step meetings. At one of the churches – a Nazarene church, they had an altar call. Wherein all who wanted God to live more deeply in their hearts were called to come up. Well I didn’t know about this Jesus but I knew that I wanted the one true God to live more deeply within me so I went up . . . and things began to happen.

I stumbled upon a book called Sermon on the Mount by Emmet Fox. It turns out that he is a metaphysician and not a “true Christian” and yet God used his book to have a profound affect on me. Why? Because he started his book by saying, “Who ever you believe Jesus to be – a prophet, a teacher, or the Son of the living God – you cannot deny the truth in the words he taught.” That made it safe for me – Miss Long Island Jew to read on. I continued with my prayer and quest to know the truth.

One day I prayed to know that I know that I know what the truth was and became filled with light, peace and love which literally touched my whole body from head to toe. A tingly anointing began at the top of my head until all I could see with my closed eyes was a pulsating light that brought me into peace and love such as I had never known or experienced before. I then heard the words, “Seek and you shall find, knock and the door will be opened.”

My fiancée, at the time, knocked on the door as I was having this major spiritual experience and I heard the words, “Do not worry, I will always be with you, I will never leave you.” Having been so influenced by Cecil B. Demil’s, The Ten Commandments I thought it would be extremely funny if I had turned gray from this experience just like Moses did when he saw God in the movie rendition of what had transpired.

I walked over to the mirror and lifted my hair in the place where the tingles began and sure enough I had an unseemly patch of gray (I was only 22 at the time.) God does have a sense of humor!

I told a woman I knew in the 12 Steps program, about my prayer experience and she invited me to a healing Mass. I had been taking a class in my most secular, unfaithful, party university (Plattsburgh State University in NY) entitled “Evangelism in America.” It was taught by an ex-seminarian, divorced Catholic who was bitter about God and the Church. This class was taught during the Jim and Tammy Faye Baker scandal. There were only two people in the class who seemed to believe in God. A guy with the most piercing and peaceful blue eyes I had ever seen, and myself. He loved God and I loved that but he mentioned Jesus all the time and it was annoying. I asked myself and God, “What is that all about?” He had given an oral report about a woman, Janine Nichols, who had the gift of healing. Well, in God’s Divine cosmic plan, wouldn’t you know that she was the woman who would be praying and talking at this healing Mass my friend had invited me to two years later. Because of all this prior groundwork, I agreed to go with her.

As I sat in the church I was once again anointed by the power of God. I did not yet know that it was the Holy Spirit dancing upon me and Jesus’ presence in the Blessed Sacrament, but I did know that I felt peace, love and a presence that I had never felt in any synagogue before. I petitioned God to tell me why. Why did I feel it in church and not in temple?

After the Mass there was time for healing prayer where one could request to be prayed over. There was a huge life size crucifix of Jesus on my right and Janine Nichols stood before me. She sweetly inquired, “What would you like prayer for?” and in my ignorance I said, “I don’t know if God wants me to believe in Jesus.” As a Jew – it was a sincere cry for the truth. To a Christian it must have sounded absurd. Janine prayed and by God’s Divine Wisdom just said, “Don’t worry – you will know.”

Two weeks later I found myself going on a Charismatic retreat weekend. I went with the idea that I would take what I liked and leave the rest – like we did in the 12 Steps programs. I thought that I was going to take the God stuff and leave Jesus. A woman I met said, “You have such a beautiful devotion to God the Father.” I didn’t verbalize, “Hey lady, that’s the only God I know” but that’s what I was thinking.

I planned to go to sleep early to get up in time for the early morning talk that was scheduled but found myself unable to sleep. I did not really have a clue what I was asking for but I found myself begging for Baptism in the Holy Spirit, a greater outpouring of the gifts of the Holy Spirit given at Baptism. The next morning I entered Morning Prayer just a tad late as I had been up all night praying and felt like I was entering into a holy shower. If the Holy Spirit were water I would have been drenched in His love. I felt His power and anointing as my closed eyes witnessed that beautiful pulsating light and I heard the words, “Come, open that last secret door and be baptized in My water and My Spirit.” I asked for prayer from the retreat master and as I opened my eyes I saw a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Statues had always made me a little uncomfortable – as the Jew in me remembered “Thou shall have no graven images before Me.” But anointed as I was I said, “O.K. Jesus, Whatever it means to believe in You I’ll do.”

It’s a good thing that God used my “ignorance on fire.” It’s a good thing too that it was love of Him that drove me. It was all heart. If I had stopped to really contemplate the pain, the hardship and the loss before my heart was captured, I might have missed out on the biggest joy and deepest love my heart has ever known.

After my vow to do whatever believing in Him might require – it was time to put my words into action. Oiy Vey! I had to go home from school for summer break and tell my parents what had happened. I informed them that everything prophesied in the Old Testament about the messiah was fulfilled in Jesus and that I believed in Him. For reformed/conservative Jews who thought themselves to be more enlightened, educated and discerning than the silly old orthodox who embraced myth and erroneous beliefs, the coming of the messiah was seen more as a “messianic age” of peace than of the coming of a particular person.

It didn’t matter that every year we would faithfully open the door, set a place and fill a cup of wine for Elijah, the prophet who was promised to return to usher in the coming of the Messiah.

And who knew that the Aficomen we used to hide, (Aficomen, the piece of matzah bread broken off in remembrance of the matzah our forefathers at in haste when they were delivered out of Egyptian bondage, which we wrapped in linen and hid for the children to go and find) was a pre-cursor to Jesus who was born in Bethlehem, which means house of bread, and who would give Himself to us under the form of bread, would be buried in a shroud for 3 days and who the children of Israel were supposed to find, “for unless you become as little children you cannot enter the kingdom of God.”

Although we retold the story of Passover every year, we had no idea of the profundity of what God had done. We were taught that the Israelites were told by God to put the blood of a firstborn, unblemished lamb on the doorpost of their house so that the angel of death would pass over the houses of all the faithful Jews and the firstborn sons would be spared. What we never learned was that the reason the Jews at the first Passover were called to sacrifice the lamb at 3:00 and consume it in a meal as opposed to a chicken or any other animal was that lambs were an Egyptian god that the Jews had started to worship as well. God’s command was designed to help the Jews separate themselves from their worship of false gods. The blood on the doorpost was also meant to be a sign to the Egyptians that the Jews would no longer be slaves to their gods. When I ponder the significance of the firstborn son, Jesus as the spotless Lamb of God who was slain at 3:00 to save us from our false idols, I marvel at the Father’s awesome salvific plan.

Although my family raised their glasses each year at our sedar table in a heartfelt toast to “next year in Jerusalem” in a longing for that messianic peace, no one actually believed that the promise of God was real and that He would indeed fulfill it in a very literal way (and that He had already fulfilled it over 2,000 years ago).
Perhaps in a way, it was their belief in the immensity and awesomeness of an omnipresent, omnipotent God that prevented them from believing that His great love and mercy could cause Him to have such an incarnational redemptive plan.

The Jews were waiting for something bigger, more extravagant. Not the Anointed One riding into town on a donkey, not a bloody crucifixion and certainly not all that poverty, humility and lowliness displayed in the person of Jesus Christ. Somehow my father was sorely disappointed in me for being so foolish and naïve as to accept the “Jesus myth”.

At this early stage I was not yet Baptized, Confirmed or even sure of what religion I should embrace. For me the greatest divide initially was between Judaism and Christianity. Accepting Christ was the key that opened the floodgates of Heaven. I began taking Lutheran conversion classes because my friend, Pat, invited me. I should have considered Greek Orthodox because my fiancé at the time, whose name was Christos, was a practicing Greek Orthodox from Cyprus. But I prayed and prayed and God began to reveal profound truths to me. Jesus revealed to me that only the Catholic Church was the true universal family of God, that he intended Israel to be from the beginning, from the call to Abraham – to be the father of many nations and that through him all the nations of the earth would be blessed.

Jesus also revealed to me that only the Catholic Church had belief in His true presence – Body, Blood, soul and Divinity in the Eucharist (I know now that the Eastern Rite churches as well as the Greek Orthodox Church have His true presence as well but at this early stage God dealt simply with my simple mind. At this juncture the churches in the running were Catholic, Lutheran or another Bible believing Holy Spirit, Praise the Lord church.

Somehow I had no problem understanding how a Jewish mother could intercede on my behalf. After all, my own mother very often went before me to prepare the way with my earthly father, so I could clearly see how a perfect mother could soften the way before my heavenly Abba (Daddy).

I was technically still under my parent’s roof and needed to be obedient to my Dad, who insisted that I see the family Rabbi. He hoped that Rabbi Stein could un-brainwash me. When I met with the Rabbi I asked in earnest, “Don’t the Jewish people believe in callings? Wasn’t Moses called to lead the Jews out of Egypt?” I explained that God had a call for me too – to believe in the truth of His salvific plan. The Rabbi assured me that Moses’ call was a “much more intellectual process than that” and we parted company. Two weeks later my eldest sister got married and the Rabbi gave a sermon entitled, “Here I am Lord, Isaiah’s answer to God’s call.” It was amazing to see how God had worked on his heart.

My father’s heart would need much more work however. He insisted that I see a psychologist. He would pay for it but he would also choose whom I was to see. I agreed. Unbeknownst to him, the person he chose for me was a Catholic, who he paid $100 per week to help me deal with the opposition I encountered with my family living at home that summer. Once again God’s sense of humor strikes.

It is amazing to me that I had the courage and grace to choose the Catholic Church because it meant letting go of Christos who I adored. But God had spoken to my heart, “I am taking away Christos to give you the true Christ.” My family could have understood a conversion for the sake of marriage. They might not have rejoiced about it but they would have understood. Conversion for the sake of marriage was considered kosher in Jewish circles especially if the conversion was to Judaism in order to raise the children in one faith. They really thought I had gone mad because I chose to convert in pursuit of the Truth and at a great personal cost.

When I had gone on a retreat a well intentioned woman told me that I could receive Holy Communion if I truly believed that Jesus was present in the Eucharist In my limited way, I did believe, so I received…until I was informed that I had to be baptized and confirmed first. I found a church and a priest and told him my story. I asked if I could be baptized and confirmed right away. He informed me that I would have to wait until I went back to college in the Fall, enrolled in RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) and come into the Church at Easter. Well, in my ignorance, I asked him, “Can we just pray?” We did and he opened the Bible to Acts of the Apostles, chapter 10, verse 47, “Can any forbid water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have? And he commanded them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ.” He then set the date for my baptism and confirmation for two weeks later. I was to follow up with my RCIA classes later.

I returned to Plattsburgh to finish my last semester and discerned that I should stay there after graduation. My Long Island Jewish home was not exactly a welcoming environment for the baby Catholic that I was. I remember confrontations with my father in particular that made me quake – “You mean you believe in the Virgin Birth? How can a newborn baby have sin?” his deep threatening voice would pierce my soul. I would cry, stutter and not have the words to articulate the truths my heart knew. I loved my Dad so very much. Deep within the hearts of my Mother and two older sisters was a fervent desire to make him happy and gain his approval. I felt like I had taken a knife to his heart by accepting Christ and yet I had no choice. God chose me and I had to respond but my choice made me the black sheep and family outcast. The only thing that would give me peace when I had fallen under the pain of it all was the Rosary. My Jewish Mother in heaven’s recipe – chicken soup for the soul.

I had the opportunity to go to Medjugorje, (Yugoslavia as it was called then). Where the Blessed Mother is said to be appearing. I had heard of countless miracles and healings people had received in connection with the apparitions. I begged to have the courage of my convictions. Although I firmly believed in the Holy Eucharist and the Blessed Mother Mary, I still had some questions about the authority of the Pope and his teachings on contraception and abortion.

I never felt that abortion was right but I did not feel that I had the right to tell another person what to do. As a Jew I was brought up with a high regard for the intellect as a God given gift. We valued the right to question and think for oneself. As a persecuted people we learned to respect diversity and religious freedom because ours had been denied. Unfortunately, these respectable qualities can become a breeding ground for moral relativism when not combined with a firm moral compass and awareness of objective truth. Our American culture has embraced moral relativism because it rejects the idea that a moral code of right and wrong has been written on our hearts by our Creator. He has revealed this code to us in both the Old and New Testaments. Sadly one of the great lies of our day is that the Bible is not the inspired Word of God. God’s law written in our hearts has been drowned out by the din of a godless society that denies that there is an objective truth to be known.

If God has never communicated His plan or His will to us then it is up to individuals to figure out for themselves what is right or wrong. Having grown up under this influence I had many questions.

I wanted to understand why the Catholic Church taught against contraception when most other religions permitted it. Did openness to life mean I was destined to become an indiscriminant baby factory? The image in my mind fostered by the culture of death in which I had been immersed featured me, in a bag dress, no makeup, pregnant with my tenth child as I drove around a dilapidated 15 passenger van held together only by the pro-life bumper stickers on the back bumper.

I had met some really “on fire” bible believers who slammed the Church’s rituals, laws and observances as pharisaical, man made rules. If the Church was just a man made hierarchical institution then I did not have to obey its teachings. But Christ said to Peter, “you are Peter and on this rock I will build My Church and the powers of death shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18). Well, which church was He referring to? The Catholic Church, the Methodist, the Lutheran, Episcopal or Seventh Day Adventist? Christ spoke of one church. The only church that existed for 2000 years had to be the one true church that Jesus founded.

Well, perhaps the Catholic Church was the church Jesus founded but did She get off track over the years? After all, didn’t the Church care about responsible parenthood? Was it responsible to have children before I was ready or able? Why did so many people say She was so wrong on these issues?

I asked myself if the Pope was truly the successor of Peter? Historical fact can date the founding of the Church back to Peter as the first Pope. If Peter was truly the rock upon which Christ built His Church then I had better take pause to hear him out. Christ promised to send him the Holy Spirit to lead him into all truth (John 16:13). He also promised that the gates of death/hell shall not prevail against His Church, that meant that the Church would be prevented from teaching error, for error is not of the Holy Spirit, for He is the spirit of Truth.

In light of this, perhaps our Holy Father had a thing or two (or two hundred million and two) to teach me. Let’s start with Humanae Vitae. The Pope said in 1968 that contraception would lead to a pro death mentality, when no one could fathom that it would become legal to abort a baby minutes before natural birth. Who would have foreseen the horrors of partial birth abortion, babies found abandoned in dumpsters and mothers murdering their children? The Pope did! Who would have guessed that we would deal with euthanasia on such a massive scale? Our Holy Papa had the prophetic insight to see what a slippery slope contraception would become.

A quick stroll down the self help aisle of any Barnes and Noble perusing title such as, Men Who Hate Woman and the Women Who Love Them, Smart Women, Foolish Choices, Dealing With Your Non-Committal Man, confirm the Pope’s warning that a contraceptive culture would “give cause for alarm is [because] a man who grows accustomed to the use of contraceptive methods may forget the reverence due to a woman, and, disregarding her physical and emotional equilibrium, reduce her to being a mere instrument for the satisfaction of his own desires, no longer considering her as his partner whom he should surround with care and affection” (On the Regulation of Birth, Pope Paul VI, July 25 1968).

I pondered the almost impossible Church teachings on chastity before marriage. I certainly never condoned sleeping around but what about when you find the person you will marry? Perhaps our Holy Father as well as our heavenly Father anticipated just how many “Mr. Rights” would turn out to be “Mr. Wrongs!”

Little by little I began to see the breadth and the depth and the height of wisdom God has given to Holy Mother Church. He has given us a moral compass in a world that lacks one. Following this compass is not always easy. Jesus never promised me a rose garden, a garden of Gethsemane – yes, a rose garden – no. It is a narrow road and worldly wisdom is diametrically opposed to heavenly wisdom.

I praise God for the Catholic understanding that we have been put on this earth to know, love and serve Him. It is also a tremendous gift to know that the purpose of marriage is not only companionship but also a vocation to help your spouse to heaven. Our Holy Mother Church teaches us that self-donative love makes it possible to have truly, holy joyful marriages. Love that dies to self makes it possible to fully live through the storms of life. When properly viewed, openness to life is actually openness to greater blessing. We are actually permitted the honor of becoming co-creators with the Creator. By our yes to God we say yes to one more immortal soul for all eternity. Planned Parenthood never mentioned the immortality of the baby’s soul. Humanity at its lowest can be selfish and depraved but raised to its highest, humanity can find true union with the perfect love which is God (the Apostle John says, “let us love one another; for love is of God and he who loves is born of God and knows God…God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him (1 John 47,16)). The sacrifice required by lovingly raising children is a sure path to sanctity because it is indeed the way of the Cross unto salvation when embraced with our eternal reward in view. To put it into plain English, raising children is just plain hard and requires much death to self. However it is true that in dying we are born to eternal life.

These understandings were the bountiful blossoms I received as a gift in bud form when I went to Medjugorje. I didn’t immediately have answers to my questions but I had a “peace that passes all understanding” and knew that the Church did have all the answers. God in His tender mercy would continue to reveal more and more as my soul became ready to receive.

Although I was raised to be a law-abiding citizen I learned that a law that goes against God’s law is unjust and need not be followed. I wanted to give voice to the hidden holocaust of abortion. A person very dear to me had had an abortion when I was in High School and I was powerless to help prevent it or to help her at the time. I felt called to join a group called the Lambs of Christ partially in reparation for that abortion and partially to join in sacrificial union with the lambs who fought the war of abortion on the front lines by prayer, educating the public and by blocking entrance to abortion mills. Though, I never intended to be such a maverick, I felt that I needed to tell the world that abortion was murder and not a viable choice. I called my parents from the first prison where I was incarcerated, “Hello, this is Elijah (my jail name) calling collect” . . . . they could have plotzed.

Oiy Vey – a few more gray hairs for the folks and an unintentional twist of the knife in their hearts from the choices I made. I devoted one year to rescue and was in and out of jail, the longest stay was 106 days in North Carolina. We were sentenced to 18 months but were let out early because of overcrowding in the prison. I saw my 27th birthday in a nasty jail-issued gray dress (it did nothing for my figure) overlooking the barbed wire courtyard in the maximum security section in which we were placed because we - the passive, non-violent Lambs - who identified with the helpless unborn child were considered a security threat.

It occurred to me that it was time to return to the real world – I had given over my career and schooling to God like Abraham gave over his son and felt like God was giving it back to me. I felt it was time to blossom where I was planted. I kept hearing the commercial for Snickers, “No matter how you slice it, it comes up peanuts.” Translated in my little mind, it meant, no matter what you do – do it for Christ where you are. Be leaven in the work place. I also felt I needed to show my family a balanced, stable and responsible example.

In my biblical studies class at the university, we learned that God created Eve as Adam’s most perfect, most suitable partner, his azer kennegdo, who was to be his helpmate and companion. This became my prayer. Very often I know what God is doing in my life by how he inspires me to pray. I kept praying that God would help me not to miss my Azer when he came. Years late I would find out why.

I had always dated guys whose names ended in a vowel. You know, the dark, hot-blooded Italian, Greek or Spanish looking fellows who need some type of conversion or something “fixed”, but boy could they dance! When I met my fair complected, holy, kind and gentle German/English husband, my soul was immediately drawn to the beauty of his soul. My heart however wasn’t. This turned out to be one of God’s greatest blessings. Why? Because I just wanted to be friends with him. There was no date face, no trying to impress him or any dysfunctional, co-dependant “one of us needs to change” dances to attend. In this way, God was able to join our hearts together and then remove the veil. Now truly I see that God’s ways are not our ways but Oh how much better they are. And by the way, Paul is also a convert, from Lutheranism, but that’s another story.

Things eventually got better with my estranged family. Though they never sat Shiva for me, I always felt that there was many a day they wished they would have.

Although my father refused to give me away if I got married inside a church, he did agree to give me away at a Catholic wedding outside of one. We got a special dispensation to have a Catholic service outside of a church since my side was all Jewish and his was all Lutheran. We proceeded to have one of the most beautiful weddings I have ever seen. Forgive my bias but it was amazing to see how God’s grace flooded forth and blessed everyone in attendance with the truth of who He is and the magnitude of what He has done.

Paul and I have been married five years and have two precious children – Tereze Mykiella (4 years old) named after St. Therese the Little Flower and St. Michael and Noah Lawrence Kolbe (almost 2 years old) and there is one on the way. God has worked a beautiful understanding between my family and me about religion; and my Father is now Catholic. O.K., O.K. My Dad is now Catholic because he passed away and has seen God face to face but seriously, we have a much better relationship now.

We conceived Noah at just the time when my Father was diagnosed with cancer. It was a bittersweet time filled with extraordinary graces. I had the opportunity to spend the last week of my Dad’s life with him. While my sisters, who had flown down to Florida (yes, of course, don’t all retirees from Long Island go straight to Florida without passing go?) to be with him had left because it appeared he took a turn for the better, I was able to stay. At this point – enter stage left – two holy Catholic nurses who would pray around the clock for my Dad with me. I had forgotten my favorite prayer book but the male nurse let me use his copy. In it was a story called the Three Beautiful Prayers about a Pope who was dying in sin. He told the priest who was praying for him that he surely deserved to go straight to hell in a hand basket. The priest undauntingly persevered in prayer and trusted in God’s mercy.

The prayers are as follows:

Lord Jesus Christ! Thou Son of God and Son of the Virgin Mary, God and Man, Thou who in fear sweated blood for us on the Mount of Olives in order to bring peace, and to offer Thy Most Holy Death to God Thy Heavenly Father for the salvation of this dying person… If it be, however, that by his sins he merits eternal damnation, then may it be deflected from him. This, O Eternal Father through Our Lord Jesus Christ, Thy Dear Son, Who liveth and reigneth in union with the Holy Spirit now and forever. Amen

Lord Jesus Christ! Thou Who meekly died on the trunk of the Cross for us, submitting Thy Will completely to Thy Heavenly Father in order to bring peace and to offer Thy most Holy Death to Thy Heavenly Father in order to free…(this person)…and to hide from him what he has earned with his sins; grant this O Eternal Father! Through our Lord Jesus Thy Son, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee in union with the Holy Spirit now and forever. Amen.

 

My Mom prayed these prayers outloud on her knees at my Dad’s bedside – good thing he was in a coma! She also attended Mass with me the Thursday before he died. We had made plans to go to the 5:15 Mass the next day, Friday. If any family member agreed to go to Mass with me you could bet I would make every effort to facilitate it but as I was up all hours from Thursday to Friday I felt the Holy Spirit push me out the door to go to 7 a.m. Mass (for those who know me, attending a 7 a.m. Mass in itself is a miracle). I received Holy Communion for my Dad at 7:24 a.m. When I left the Mass there was a huge rainbow in the sky that lasted about 45 minutes. I knew that I knew that I knew that my Dad had died and that he was O.K. Years earlier my Dad had heart surgery and while praying for him I saw a rainbow. His recovery was nothing short of miraculous. So it truly spoke to my heart when I saw the rainbow after praying for my father. It was a special sign to my heart of God’s love, mercy and provision for my Father’s soul. When I walked into my Mom’s home, she ran to tell me what I already knew – my Dad had died at 7:24 a.m., the exact moment I had received Communion for him.

I decided then that if the child I was carrying in my womb was a boy, I would name him Noah for the rainbow and Lawrence for my Dad. Since I was an AMA (Advanced Maternal Age) when I was pregnant (I was only 35!!!!) I had a 2nd degree sonogram that my doctor scheduled without my knowledge for March 16th – my Dad’s birthday. It was then that we found out that the baby was indeed a boy, the first male grandchild in my immediate family. We later came to find out that the name Noah Lawrence actually means Peaceful Rest.

In those three beautiful prayers – after the Pope appears to the interceding priest, the priest asks,”Who will believe the truth about the power of these prayers?” The Pope answers “Go and place them on the altar of the chapel named the Assumption of Mary. Guess when Noah was born – August 15th, the Feast of the Assumption. May our God be praised.

God continues to work on my family. My one sister Dara attended Mass with us on Easter Sunday and said she would be willing to come back again. She also prayed a very dangerous prayer on her knees at St. Patrick’s Cathedral a few days later, she had no knowledge of this but it happened to be the day of the Divine Mercy novena where we are asked to pray for those who do not yet know Jesus. Her prayer, “God if Jesus is really the Messiah let me know – if not let me know that too.” Which is the very same prayer that I had prayed. Since then she has watched the movie, “Jesus of Nazareth” and has lots of questions. We know she is on good footing because Jesus Himself said, “Seek and you shall find, knock and the door shall be opened” (Matthew 7:7-8). Personally, I just can’t wait to see the “good things of the Lord in the land of the living” (Psalm 27:13).

 

Cindy is available to present her conversion story to groups or parishes, contact her at 484-802-8982 or via email at koshertocatholic@yahoo.com for speaking fees and availability.