Holy Saturday 2009 -- Thoughts on the 25th Anniversary of My Entrance into the Church

By Pam Beeler

 

"God draws straight with crooked lines" (Gaelic saying)

25 years ago I entered the Catholic Church at the Holy Saturday Vigil at Holy Trinity Seminary on the campus of the University of Dallas. It was a pretty big deal for someone who had grown up essentially unchurched as the daughter of an unbaptized mother and a father who had asked to be excommunicated from the Mormon faith (and was . . .). It was the most important day of my life: being baptized, getting confirmed, receiving my first holy communion. The person that I care most about in the whole world was there . . . smiling proudly as the baptismal waters were poured over my head. It was the greatest thing . . . EVER.

Later, all three of my kids would be baptized on that same campus at the Chapel (now the Church) of the Incarnation . . . Paul in 1988, Cesara in 90, and Killian in 92.

Yet, eleven years after my baptism, I willingly walked away from the Church . . . I became Methodist, I went to seminary, I was ordained. I thought that I had found my calling . . . that I was doing God's will . . . I thought wrong. It wasn't that Methodism was horrible or that I didn't enjoy ministry. I was good at what I did. I graduated at the top of my class in seminary and I was deemed "effective" in ministry by the Methodist church. I was chair of the Division of Worship for our Annual Conference. I had a great pension plan, a great parsonage, and a great life.

But in the midst of it all . . . even during my ordinations (first as a deacon, then as an elder) . . . there was a voice whispering to me that it was all wrong . . . a tugging at my heart that I couldn't get rid of . . .

I first felt the tug in a recognizable way in 1998. I had to have a hysterectomy because of a tumor . . . and they made me sign a form saying that I understood that after the procedure I would be unable to have any more children (well, duh). I signed the form, had the procedure, and went home to recover. It was during that recovery that I started having visions of my kids "receiving their first holy communion." An event that had never really happened. I went through a sort of mourning . . . not so much a mourning the fact that I couldn't have any more kids . . . as it was a mourning the fact that I had deprived my three kids of the Eucharist . . . that I had made a big mistake. But, I was right in the middle of seminary . . . right in the middle of preparing for ordination as an elder . . . I was pastoring two churches . . . and, besides, I was Methodist . . . that meant that I didn't really believe in the Eucharistic Presence anymore, right? I concluded that it was probably all just brought on by hormonal issues following the hysterectomy and moved on.

When I was assigned as the pastor of Cooks Point United Methodist Church in 1999, we thought that we'd died and gone to heaven: the parsonage was 25,000 square feet. We had two bathrooms and each of them had two sinks . . . and a shower . . . and a bathtub. We were easily impressed. The chair of the PPR (Pastor-Parish Relations) Committee was a former Catholic. He was also a really good guy. He asked me one time what I missed most about being Catholic . . . and in a rare, unguarded moment with a parishioner, I immediately responded, "the Presence." It was weird because I felt awkward, but honest in saying it . . . and to assuage the awkwardness, I added, "I just wish there were a tabernacle in Methodist churches . . . a place to pray in the Real Presence of Christ" (more awkwardness).

After that, I started "sneaking" into tabernacled spaces when I would make hospital or nursing home visits in Bryan. I would go to the chapel at St. Joseph Hospital whenever I was there. Or, I would make early morning visits to the nursing home so that St. Joseph Church would still be opened after daily Mass when I was done. I would go in and pray . . . my prayer was always the same . . . I would ask for the intercession of St. Joseph to somehow find a way . . . to somehow make it possible that I could come back to the Church.

I had already decided that at some point, maybe after I retired from ministry, I would return to the Church. I figured that I was stuck . . . that I'd "made my bed" and now I had to "lie in it." I didn't see how there could be any other way.

Then late in 2004, Killian made an announcement at the dinner table. He had been attending my Confirmation class at the church. He had also been attending a class that his dad was teaching for homeschooling high schoolers on Dante's Divine Comedy. At dinner, he said, "I think I should let you know that I'm not going to get Confirmed this year." I tried to be cool about it . . . not appear alarmed . . . so, I simply asked, "Okay, why?" His response changed our lives: "When I grow up I'm going to be Catholic. I've been listening to what Dad has been saying in his Dante class, and I think the Catholics got it right." Instead of being upset or angry, I was elated . . . elated that at least one of my kids would be able to be Catholic . . . that he would be home . . .

Finally, in April of 2005, Beeler and I decided that we could no longer live a lie . . . that we couldn't wait until "retirement" . . . that it was time for us to be where we belonged . . .

In June of 2005 . . . after we had presided over our last services as United Methodist ministers . . . we went to Confession and made our re-Profession of Faith. Killian made his first Confession and the next day received his first Holy Communion. The following year, Paul came into the Church. A year later, Cesara finally made the decision to follow suit.

So, here we are . . . twenty-five years after my baptism, back where we would have been if I had never stupidly . . . and rebelliously . . . walked away. It was a mistake . . . it was a sin . . . but God, in His gracious mercy, drew straight with the crooked lines that I gave Him to draw with. What Joseph said to his brothers, can be applied to me . . . "what you intended for evil, God has turned to good . . ."

I am so blessed . . . I am happy to be where I know I belong . . . I can pray before the Presence whenever I want without worrying about who sees me entering a Catholic Church. Tonight, I will attend the Holy Saturday Vigil and we will pray the Litany of the Saints . . . a remembrance of the fact that all of those who will be named in that prayer and all of those who will sit in the pew with me . . . and, even me, are all a part of the Church Universal . . .

Then, we will all share in the Precious Body and Blood of the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world . . .

It's good to be back home and with my family again.