As I mentioned recently, we’ve put our two older boys in Cub Scouts, which is a new adventure for our family. We don’t really have the skills that one would wish for in Scout parents, so we kind of have to wing it and hope for the best.
The first project was the Pinewood Derby. The boys get a little kit to build a car out of a wooden block, and then they race them.
Well, you have to cut that block into a shape (I mean, you don’t have to, but if you don’t, your child’s car will lose the race and everyone will feel sorry for him, so you kind of do have to). I don’t own any power tools, or very many other tools either. We ran out and bought a saw, sketched a few lines, shrugged off my lack of skill, and went at it.
It wasn’t ten minutes before I was bleeding. I learned how to use a saw, years ago, but it’s been awhile, and I maybe forgot a few safety rules. I lost control of the saw, and it bit into my knuckle. It hurt like the dickens, and it bled profusely, and I was scared I had seriously hurt myself. So, I did what any mature, responsible adult would do: I mopped up the blood, put on a bandage, and promised myself I’d look at it later. I went right back to sawing…and hurt myself again. I’m telling you, I am a born Scout mom.
I went through the whole day, uneasily noting that the blood was soaking the bandage, and postponing the inevitable unwrapping. I didn’t want to take the bandage off. It was bound to hurt, and I didn’t want to see the wound, didn’t want to face how bad it might be.
Is your prayer life ever like that?
Sometimes in the hard seasons of life, we try to cope with the pain by forgetting it, by burying it under all the to-dos on our list. That tactic gets us through our days, but it does nothing to bring healing and health to a soul that is wounded by sorrow or sin.
Spending time in prayer, though, rips off the band-aid. The wound is exposed, the blood (and the tears) can flow, and we might have to feel the pain that we’ve been ignoring, the fear that we’ve been burying. We naturally try to avoid that pain – but like avoiding the doctor for fear of stitches, that natural impulse leads us away from true comfort and true healing.
I go up to our parish chapel for prayer when I can. It’s more private than home, usually, and there’s something about walking through the door that says, “I choose to be here; there are a lot of things I have to do, and a lot of things on my mind, but this is the door I will walk through today.”
Once I’m there, though, it can be hard to begin. When your heart is aching, it’s hard to know what to say, and hard to overcome the desire to avoid opening that wound up. As a convert to the Catholic Church, I have come to deeply appreciate the rich tradition of recitation of rote prayers.I used to think they were empty, just mindless words, but they aren’t. They are the things our soul needs to say when we don’t know how.
So start with a Rosary. Start with the Our Father. Start with the Memorare, or the Magnificat. Just start. And maybe that day, your heart and mind won’t cooperate, and you just won’t feel a thing. That’s okay, because God was there. He heard you anyway, and He can still answer those prayers. Or maybe that day, the band-aid will come off, and your Savior will comfort your wounds and give you strength to walk out into the rain and carry on.
If you’re wondering, I have to admit that I never did look at my finger that day. Around supper time, I accepted that I was just too chicken to look for myself. I asked my teenage daughter, who has had some veterinary training, to take a look for me and see what she thought. I had a nasty cut, but it didn’t end up needing medical attention.
It might have made a better wrap-up if I’d looked at it myself and gone and got stitches. But I guess sometimes we’re not that strong. It’s a good thing prayer isn’t a magic fix that we take upon ourselves to accomplish. It’s just asking for some help from someone who knows what He’s doing.
Since I’m learning to incorporate the liturgical year into family life at the same time I’m adjusting to being a new Catholic, living in a new state, being a first-time homeowner, homeschooling with some unique challenges, and recovering from a serious financial slump, I’m keeping it simple. And cheap. I spent about 20 minutes on our Lent decor, if you include the time it took to figure out where they keep the plastic flowers at Walmart.
Of course, I’d probably keep it simple and cheap no matter what. I like it that way.
First up: our Lenten front door wreath, pictured above. I love having something on the front door! I picked up a grapevine wreath for $5 at Walmart, and I got the purple flower at the same time for $2.50. I don’t have a glue gun, or florist wire, or the ability to care about that, so I just cut the stem to a good length and wove it into the wreath. It took about two minutes, minus the Walmart-roving, and this way the flower could be readily removed to make way for some other seasonal whim.
Next, the dresser in our dining room, which houses playdoh, school games, art stuff, and various junk that I shove in there when company is coming. I put our Advent wreath on it this Advent past, and liked it so much I decided to just leave the space for “liturgical year stuff.” (There’s probably a better name for that).
Anyway, the purple cloth is actually just my favorite t-shirt (which is at least 10 years old). On top of that is Lenten Sacrifice Beans. I got both the idea and the free printable from Lacy at Catholic Icing. The only thing I bought for this was the purple ribbon and the flowers.
We “buried the alleuia” this year, too. This idea I got from Haley at Carrots for Michaelmas – both the idea itself and the inspiration to keep it simple. I was happy that I was able to fancy up the Sharpie with some glitter paint that I borrowed from the three year old, though.
I made this on Ash Wednesday, but we forgot to bury it till the Tuesday following.
The last thing I did was change the top of the bookshelf by the door. It’s only vaguely Lenten, with purple candles and a plain basket, which I recently snagged at the thrift store for a couple bucks. The rest I already had.
Cost: about $2
Lenten cooking is on my mind, and we tried tofu for the first time in years this week. Last time I made it, it was awful; I think I tried putting it in lasagna, or something equally egregious. This time, I fried it and put sweet and sour sauce on it, and it was actually quite tasty. I have a Pinterest board for Meatless and Fish dishes, come on over and visit for some new Friday ideas.
Lent seems long, just now, as sacrifices already grow tiresome and I become forgetful of the positive additions I am trying to make to my day during this time. One thing I have learned to appreciate, though, in becoming Catholic, is the sense of the value of time. The value of waiting, of walking through the process instead of skipping to the end. Honestly, I don’t fully intuitively grasp the value of fasting (and I mean fasting in a broad sense) yet, though I have read enough about it by now that I should. I don’t understand it, or why it is beneficial, but I do accept that it is, and I hope to gain a clearer vision of that in this season.
Incorporating the liturgical year into our family uncovers these kinds of gaps in understanding. It brings to mind how, as a Protestant, I would not do something I did not understand the value of or see the Biblical mandate for. Each hymn I sang, each prayer I read, all had to be screened – by me, of course. I love that I can learn by doing, by following the ancient practices of the Church and discovering the richness of it as I go.
“In his heart, Frodo begins to understand. The quest will claim his life.” ~ Galadriel, The Two Towers (2002)
Lent 2016 began on February 10.
On February 11, 2016, Mark sent another query letter to another job opening across the country from our home. It was no big deal. We had done this hundreds of times before. Usually, we heard nothing back.
To us, these two things had nothing to do with each other. The timing was an accident – I didn’t even notice it. But the coincidence later came to hold a permanent significance to me.
You see, I didn’t intend to give up anything for Lent last year. It was my very first serious Lent, and I wasn’t fully Catholic yet. I was still a Candidate.
I thought (with some justification) that my life in general was, at that time, penitential to a degree that I just wasn’t sure I could keep it together if it got any harder. So, I changed our family “fun jar” (where anyone can contribute their pennies and the savings can be spent on a fun outing) to a “giving jar,” I committed to pray the Morning Offering daily, and I obeyed the Friday abstinence (which I do year-round anyway). And that was it.
I had no way of knowing what Lent would really be like for me as a Candidate. That job application, for all its importance, was only part of the story of my first Lent.
The road into the Catholic Church is a long, beautiful, and sometimes painful one. At the beginning, I really didn’t understand why it had to take so long. But I found that there are some things that one can’t learn in a book, or by pulling a late night on Google (no, seriously). Some paths simply must be walked, even especially when we don’t understand, when we can’t see. There were certain things that had to happen during Lent, for me. They were hard things, but also things that turned my heart more firmly toward Christ.
One, I needed to make my first Confession. This was a deeply difficult experience for me, which I have written more about here. In Confession, I gave up my pride. My appearance of having it all (or maybe any of it) together. I also gave up my fear – fear of judgement, of rejection. I had been rejected before, in a church where I thought I was safely at home. It was doubly tough to then bare my soul with the ruthless honesty required to make a good confession, and it took me a long time afterward to relax and believe that it was really going to be okay. (But it was, more than okay. Confession is awesome, guys, I don’t know how I lived without it).
Second, during Lent, I came to really embrace the Catholic attitude toward the Magisterium of the church. I had been Reformed, a child of Luther and Calvin, for a long time. As a passionate adherent to Sola Scriptura, what I believed had had to come down to my own interpretation of the Bible. I could be advised, informed, inspired by the church and by the great (protestant) theologians, but I couldn’t trust them. I could only, in the end, trust my own study, my own judgement of what the Bible taught. (That got me in plenty trouble.) As a Catholic, I am no longer the final authority on what the Bible is saying on any given topic. Just because it’s clear to me, doesn’t make it so. (And if “clear to me” was the same as “clear,” we wouldn’t have so many denominations.) That’s remarkably freeing, a weight of misplaced responsibility lifted – but it’s humbling, too.
Finally, during Lent, I came to something of a breaking point in my personal life. Our steady downward financial spiral and our long, fruitless job search were a torment to me. It’s seriously humiliating to have a lot of kids and be in financial trouble. It’s terrifying and all-around stressful. I spent most of my “free” time either filling out job applications, researching academic job search strategies, or finding creative ways to juggle our finances so nothing got shut off that month.
For years, I had prayed and hoped and worked for and agonized over financial stability as an obvious good – which of course it is. But not every obvious good is given to every person. This one certainly had eluded us, in spite of our neverending efforts to pull ourselves out of our mess.
As it happened, that query letter that Mark sent out on February 11 got answered, which meant we were now ready for the nail-biting joy of Skype interviews. We had had several very near misses in Mark’s job search in previous years, sometimes making it to the very final round of interviews. My prayers over those were always variations on a theme: “Please, we need this job. Please, give us the opportunity to fully provide for ourselves. Allow us the dignity of a job that pays our bills. Allow us rest from this trial.” And sometimes, when the rejection letters came, they felt like rejection letters from God Himself. I knew it wasn’t so, in my head, but I couldn’t change how I felt. The stress was unbelievable.
This was how I came, one day during Lent, during the weeks of interviews, to a broken moment of prayer, crumpled in a heap on the bathroom floor (where else can a busy mom pray?). I could no longer hold onto the hopes and dreams for our future and family that had driven me for so long. I had a death grip on my idea of the way my life ought to go, and too many of my prayers had been little more than one long, loud tantrum that it wasn’t turning out that way.
This time was different. This time, the spirit of Lent took hold of my tired heart. In that moment of prayer, I gave up those dreams for Lent. I gave up my own hopes, goals, and plans for my life and for our family. I gave up wanting what I wanted, and asked for the heart to want what God wanted, instead- even if what He wanted was for us to remain trapped in a hole that was growing ever deeper. Not just to accept it – but to want it – because what I really want is God, and for God to draw my soul nearer to him. If the best way to do that is by this or that grim trial, then I can know that what I am getting is precisely what I really wanted all along.
In that moment, I understood. For my first Lent, I had to give up myself.
And in a truly poetic turn, Mark got that job. Our job search and our church transition came to completion at about the same time, around that Easter of 2016.
I haven’t fully worked out yet how we will observe Lent 2017, but I will always remember my first Lent. The spirit of that season, of laying down our wordly loads and loves, and turning our hearts and lives toward the cross, dwells in the Church and in the lives of her people, of which I am privileged to be a part.
Truth, friends. As a Protestant, I was immersed in my own culture, and looking in, good grief. All this praying to dead people, and burning incense, and…the bones. I went to a cathedral in Guatemala City once, and bones. People bones. It creeped me out for days.
The thing is, we shouldn’t judge Truth on whether we’re used to it or not. The biggest barrier to my conversion to the Catholic Church was the layers and layers of confusion, misinformation, and misunderstanding that clouded my vision.
Catholics are obsessed with death.
Well, you know. The relics. The crucifixes. Good Friday. All Souls Day.
I never liked crucifixes even as a child raised outside of church. I refused to believe that Jesus had really had nails driven through His hands. It was too graphic for me, I guess.
As a convert coming in from a conservative Presbyterian background, where any pictures of Christ are considered to violate the 2nd Commandment, I had a hard time with the crucifix in church. I could hardly look at it, for months.
But I’ve found that it’s not that Catholics are obsessed with death and suffering. It’s that they don’t fear it. Not just in an esoteric, I’m going to heaven kind of way, but in an everyday mercy kind of way. They feel the call to be messengers of mercy, healing, and love in the very darkest places – including the deathbed. They know that our suffering has great value in the eyes of God, and that it is a critical part of our growth as His children.
Catholics think they have to get married to go to heaven.
I didn’t think this one myself, but friends have challenged me with it. This example highlights how otherwise highly informed Protestants have been seriously misinformed about the Church. The splintering that goes on and on feeds on this kind of thing. (And it goes both ways, for sure.)
No. Of course not. Priests, nuns, etc., are celibate, for one thing, so that would be an extremely odd doctrine. Marriage is a sacrament, but so are Holy Orders, so most people don’t receive all seven sacraments in their lifetime – only a rare minority, such as perhaps a widower who then became a priest. Neither is required – it depends on one’s vocation and state of life.
Catholics live in a state of medieval superstition and fear.
This one I did think. In the sign of the cross, in the incense, in the candles, the holy water, the different gestures…I saw all these things as superstitious nonsense, silly things probably done to ward off evil spirits or something. My more austere Reformed spirituality seemed more logical and more Biblical, free of outward tangible signs of spiritual realities, beyond the two sacraments I accepted at the time.
But as I mentioned in my previous list of misconceptions, we are beings who are both physical and spiritual. Catholic practice is not superstitious – these practices all express and point to spiritual realities which are, for the most part, also accepted by our Protestant brothers and sisters. But, they do so in a way that understands that people are more than just a brain, or more than just a heart. We are physical beings, and our minds and hearts are informed and strengthened by things we encounter in the physical world.
Catholicism teaches that the Pope is never wrong, which is silly, because everybody knows that popes have lived scandalously and contradicted each other.
This is one I took as a given. It was incomprehensible to me that anybody could be so gullible as to actually believe that the Pope was infallible. It was patently obvious that, throughout history, there have been immoral popes who certainly weren’t infallible. And those pesky contradictions! Catholics were, to be sure, mindless automatons who never bothered to crack open a history book.
It was a top objection for me, in the early days. The problems here come really from two major misconceptions, not one:
Papal infallibility means that the Pope is perfect in every way. He does not forget phone numbers, and he sure doesn’t sin.
Nope. No, no, no. Here is an excerpt from an excellent article on the subject put out by Catholic Answers:
“…Fundamentalists and other “Bible Christians” often confuse the charism of papal ‘infallibility’ with ‘impeccability.’ They imagine Catholics believe the pope cannot sin…Given these common misapprehensions regarding the basic tenets of papal infallibility, it is necessary to explain exactly what infallibility is not. Infallibility is not the absence of sin…Some ask how popes can be infallible if some of them lived scandalously. This objection of course, illustrates the common confusion between infallibility and impeccability. There is no guarantee that popes won’t sin or give bad example. (The truly remarkable thing is the great degree of sanctity found in the papacy throughout history; the “bad popes” stand out precisely because they are so rare.)”
Catholics aren’t blind to the scandalous popes. They just know that it doesn’t have anything to do with the doctrine of infallibility.
Popes can’t be infallible because they have contradicted each other.
The historical record of this really surprised me. As a Protestant, it was a working assumption that popes had contradicted each other, not once or twice, but so many times that the whole doctrine was ridiculous.
“Other people wonder how infallibility could exist if some popes disagreed with others. This, too, shows an inaccurate understanding of infallibility, which applies only to solemn, official teachings on faith and morals, not to disciplinary decisions or even to unofficial comments on faith and morals. A pope’s private theological opinions are not infallible, only what he solemnly defines is considered to be infallible teaching.
Even Fundamentalists and Evangelicals who do not have these common misunderstandings often think infallibility means that popes are given some special grace that allows them to teach positively whatever truths need to be known, but that is not quite correct, either. Infallibility is not a substitute for theological study on the part of the pope.
What infallibility does do is prevent a pope from solemnly and formally teaching as “truth” something that is, in fact, error. It does not help him know what is true, nor does it “inspire” him to teach what is true. He has to learn the truth the way we all do—through study—though, to be sure, he has certain advantages because of his position…Turning to history, critics of the Church cite certain “errors of the popes.” Their argument is really reduced to three cases, those of Popes Liberius, Vigilius, and Honorius, the three cases to which all opponents of papal infallibility turn; because they are the only cases that do not collapse as soon as they are mentioned. There is no point in giving the details here—any good history of the Church will supply the facts—but it is enough to note that none of the cases meet the requirements outlined by the description of papal infallibility given at Vatican I (cf. Pastor Aeternus 4).”
Catholics have gone liberal and don’t practice what they preach anymore.
I talked about this a little in my first misconceptions post, but this one keeps on surprising me. Sure, yes, there are plenty of “Catholics” who aren’t serious. There are also plenty of Evangelicals who aren’t serious, who don’t read their Bible or take their morality or faith seriously. It doesn’t mean that the Evangelicals aren’t serious. It just means that the Evangelical churches have, well, people, in them. Those people are not all at the same place in their journey.
The un-serious Catholics that I met and, even more, Knew About (through hearsay) gave me an unrealistic view of the seriousness of Catholics in general. I keep meeting an endless stream of serious, sincere, practicing Catholics; I keep being surprised when I do. It’s a lovely, heart-cheering surprise, like so many facets of the Church, but I do hope my flawed, ingrained expectations begin to catch up to reality, one day.
Movies! There are some really fabulous movies out there that are wonderful to watch and share with your kiddos. We sometimes enjoy watching faith-related movies together, especially on a Sunday evening. I think they are a great way to spend time together and also grow in understanding some of the great stories in our family history. I have linked these to Amazon, but as always, if you want them, please consider saving resources – and a buck – by borrowing or buying used.
1. Clare and Francis – I loved this film! St. Francis is my oldest daughter’s confirmation saint, and is a constant inspiration for me as I struggle to balance the needs and wants of large family life, the tight budget that comes with that large family, and a desire to live a life of giving, detached from the thirst to acquire, improve, consume.
2.Restless Heart: The Confessions of Augustine – When I commented that I liked this one, but found it to be a little intense, Mark said that that was because Augustine had an intense life! This was really well-done, but does not make for light watching.
3. Jesus of Nazareth – A classic and really well done film on the life of Christ. This one is our favorite “Jesus movie” as a family. It’s extremely long – 6 and 1/2 hours! We watched it over the course of three evenings around Easter time, and it was a great way to consider the season.
4. The Chronicles of Narnia – BBC Version – Mark read these out loud to the kids before we watched the movies, and then we watched both this version and the new ones. The kids liked the newer versions fine, but Mark and I like the old BBC ones a lot better. Especially in the Dawn Treader, we felt that they really departed way too far from the original story, without any benefit. If you aren’t famliar with the Chronicles of Narnia – read them first!! 🙂
I used to have a lot of misconceptions about the Catholic church, back in my Protestant days. I am constantly blown away by how crazily inaccurate my ideas about Catholicism really were. These are NOT meant to be thorough arguments or really proofs of anything. Those things are out there, but my goal is just to flesh out some common misconceptions and how I realized I was wrong.
I could do way more than 7, but that’s a nice manageable number to start with.
Catholics don’t really believe in anything. They are just going through the motions.
I really did believe this, and um, wow, I was really wrong. It was a reality-altering experience to get to know actual Catholics who actually believe Catholic stuff. Like the Bible. All of it. With great zeal and passion. Blew me away and took months to get used to.
Catholics worship Mary. Sure, they SAY they don’t, but the whole dulia/latria thing is just saying one thing and doing another. For that matter the whole saint thing is pretty much a pagan pantheon.
Yes, I believed this too. Firmly and passionately. It was a big deal to me in the early days of looking into the Catholic Church. Better writers and apologists than I have covered this well; two of my favorite resources to study this further are this article by Jimmy Akin, and Hail Holy Queen by Scott Hahn.
In my mind now, I see Mary and the saints as an invaluable part of the “great cloud of witnesses,” cheering us on and praying for us, as we pray and cheer for each other. We are part of a huge and glorious family with every imaginable kind of person in it!
Catholics think they can buy their way into heaven by empty ritual.
Mmm. That is what I saw in Catholic practice, and that is what many Protestants see: empty ritual. The problem with that is that I didn’t know what I was talking about. For one thing, nobody’s buying anything. All the merit comes from Christ. Full stop.
Secondly, these things that Catholics do are about as far from empty as you can get; they are full to the brim and overflowing with meaning and truth. It only looks empty if you don’t understand what you are looking at – and for me, that was an understanding that had to happen in my heart, over time.
Catholics think they will spend millions of years in Purgatory to pay for their sins. They don’t understand that Jesus paid for their sins.
Ah, Purgatory. That’s a big one and honestly not really a quick take at all. I’m going to cheat a little and give you some links:
My husband Mark wrote something about this that I liked. He draws up a comparison between Purgatory and indulgences and everyday family life. You can find it here.
“The Catholic Church has this massive doctrine of purgatory, invented in the middle ages. The Church used to even sell indulgences to shorten your time in purgatory by a fixed number of days. This doctrine is based on books that don’t belong in the Bible. There is no place or region in the afterlife for the saved except heaven. There is no pain in the afterlife, and the minute we die we go to heaven, as Paul says, ‘To be absent from the body is to be present with Christ,’ praying for people in purgatory makes no sense. Worst of all, it infringes on the sufficiency of Christ’s work. It is completely unbiblical. No Protestant could believe it.”
Then, he breaks that all down and goes through it, piece by piece. It’s long, but if you are serious about understanding the Catholic point of view, it’s a great place to start.
Catholics think that the water of baptism saves you, and that even if you believe and then get hit by a bus on the way to be baptized, well, tough luck, buddy. You go to Hell. Shoulda looked both ways.
Here is a longish quote from the Catechism: “The Lord himself affirms that Baptism is necessary for salvation. He also commands his disciples to proclaim the Gospel to all nations and to baptize them. Baptism is necessary for salvation for those to whom the Gospel has been proclaimed and who have had the possibility of asking for this sacrament. The Church does not know of any means other than Baptism that assures entry into eternal beatitude; this is why she takes care not to neglect the mission she has received from the Lord to see that all who can be baptized are ‘reborn of water and the Spirit.’ God has bound salvation to the sacrament of Baptism, but he himself is not bound by his sacraments.
The Church has always held the firm conviction that those who suffer death for the sake of the faith without having received Baptism are baptized by their death for and with Christ. This Baptism of blood, like the desire for Baptism, brings about the fruits of Baptism without being a sacrament. For catechumens who die before their Baptism, their explicit desire to receive it, together with repentance for their sins, and charity, assures them the salvation that they were not able to receive through the sacrament.
‘Since Christ died for all, and since all men are in fact called to one and the same destiny, which is divine, we must hold that the Holy Spirit offers to all the possibility of being made partakers, in a way known to God, of the Paschal mystery.’ Every man who is ignorant of the Gospel of Christ and of his Church, but seeks the truth and does the will of God in accordance with his understanding of it, can be saved. It may be supposed that such persons would have desired Baptism explicitly if they had known its necessity.”
So, yes, baptism is absolutely necessary (John 3:5). But it can happen in irregular ways, in irregular situations. That doesn’t give us liberty to disregard it, but it does show God’s love and mercy.
Catholics aren’t allowed to think for themselves, and they don’t bother reading the Bible. They just have to believe and do what the Pope says.
There is definitely a Protestant attitude that Catholics, while not actually believing anything at all (see point 1), are also mindless automatons, a legion of robotic yes-men (and women).
It’s not really funny. But it sort of is, because in getting to know the church and the people in it, I discovered that Catholics are quite the spunky, opinionated lot. They also have Bible studies, where they study the Bible. (Yes they do. I go to one.) Not only that, but a huge portion of the Mass is…the Bible. Lots of Catholics read the daily Mass readings, whether they go to daily Mass or not.
Catholics think that Christ is sacrificed over and over again at every Mass.
This is a popular one. Mark the other day pulled together a compilation of quotes about that, and I am going to steal it. Way easier than looking it up myself.
Q. 931. Is there any difference between the sacrifice of the Cross and the sacrifice of the Mass?
A. Yes; the manner in which the sacrifice is offered is different. On the Cross Christ really shed His blood and was really slain; in the Mass there is no real shedding of blood nor real death, because Christ can die no more; but the sacrifice of the Mass, through the separate consecration of the bread and the wine, represents His death on the Cross.
Catechism of Pope St. Pius X:
5 Q. Is the Sacrifice of the Mass the same as that of the Cross?
A. The Sacrifice of the Mass is substantially the same as that of the Cross, for the same Jesus Christ, Who offered Himself on the Cross, it is Who offers Himself by the hands of the priests, His ministers, on our altars; but as regards the way in which He is offered, the Sacrifice of the Mass differs from the Sacrifice of the Cross, though retaining the most intimate and essential relation to it.
6 Q. What difference and relation then is there between the Sacrifice of the Mass and that of the Cross?
A. Between the Sacrifice of the Mass and that of the Cross there is this difference and relation, that on the Cross Jesus Christ offered Himself by shedding His Blood and meriting for us; whereas on our altars He sacrifices Himself without the shedding of His Blood, and applies to us the fruits of His passion And death.
8 Q. Is not the Sacrifice of the Cross the one only Sacrifice of the New Law?
A. The Sacrifice of the Cross is the one only Sacrifice of the New Law, inasmuch as through it Our Lord satisfied Divine Justice, acquired all the merits necessary to save us, and thus, on His part, fully accomplished our redemption. These merits, however, He applies to us through the means instituted by Him in His Church, among which is the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.
While I know that the Catholic view of this is objectively quite different than the Reformed, it wasn’t too much of a hurdle for me during my conversion. In my own thinking, I don’t think I have actually had a substantive change here, and I think it’s maybe because I was closer to the Catholic view than I realized in the first place.
When I was a Protestant, I held to the Perseverance of the Saints. That meant that anyone who was truly regenerate was going to persevere to the end. But, it didn’t mean that anyone who thought they were regenerate, acted like they were regenerate, believed they were regenerate, or what have you, were guaranteed to be right about that. The possibility of self-deception on my own part, or outward deception on the part of others, was there. It didn’t keep me up at night – usually – but it was there. After all, I have a good number of friends who have left the faith after making very credible professions and living very credible lives. So, I figured they never really believed, never had true faith, though they may themselves have thought they did.
How do you know the difference? You have to persevere to the end. You have to read your Bible, pray, and go to church, because God requires these things and neglecting them can lead you astray. You can’t live in unrepentant sin, on an ongoing basis, because a real Christian won’t do that.
Now, as a Catholic, I hold that not all who are given the gift of faith are also given the gift of final perseverance. So you might have true faith, but it might be the kind which “fell on rocky ground, where it had little soil. It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep, and when the sun rose it was scorched, and it withered for lack of roots.” (Matthew 13:5, NAB)
How can you tell the difference? Well, you have to persevere to the end. You have to trust God and nurture, not neglect, your faith. You can’t live in mortal sin, but you have to renounce your sins and confess them when you don’t.
See what I mean? In my own head, there’s not a big difference there.
I have heard Protestants say that the Catholic view is no longer “good news;” my reaction is that I feel like the Catholic way is better news. Many Protestants, whether they believe in the perseverance of the saints or not, struggle with wondering if they are really saved. Did they really mean their profession? Do they have true faith? For sure? “But I sin, sometimes. And I forget to pray. And I am still SO MAD at so-and-so who ripped my heart out 10 years ago! Is that compatible with true faith? Yes, Christ’s sacrifice covers all, but it’s not applied to everyone. Do I really believe?”
The sacraments in the Catholic church simplify this problem. We are given reliable, outward signs, which God granted to the church, and those sacraments do things. You have regular, tangible, concrete ways to express your faith, belief, and repentance, to receive real and strengthening graces, and to hear and see and taste that you really are part of the Body of Christ. I love that.
Of course the sacraments can be abused and taken lightly. And you could say, “Well, how do I know that the faith with which I participate in Confession, or Confirmation, etc, is ‘good enough.'” But I would say that it’s more accessible to know within yourself that you are receiving a particular sacrament in faith with good intent, not to deceive or carelessly, than it is to take a full internal inventory. At least, it is for me.
“From our incapacity to certainly know and to strictly merit the great gift, we should not infer that nothing can be done towards it.Theologians unite in saying that final perseverance comes under the impetrative power of prayer and St. Liguori (Prayer, the great means of Salvation) would make it the dominant note and burden of our daily petitions.”
“Nor should the timorousness of the saints, graphically described by Newman, be so construed as to contradict the admonition of the Council of Trent, that “all should place the firmest hope in the succour of God“. Singularly comforting is the teaching of such saints as St. Francis de Sales(Camus, “The Spirit of St. Francis de Sales”, III, xiii) and St. Catherine of Genoa (Treatise of Purgatory, iv). They dwell on God’s great mercy in granting final perseverance, and even in the case of notorious sinners they do not lose hope: God suffuses the sinners’ dying hour with an extraordinary light and, showing them the hideousness of sin contrasting with His own infinite beauty, He makes a final appeal to them. For those only who, even then, obstinately cling to their sin does the saying of Sirach 5:7, assume a sombre meaning “mercy and wrath quickly come from him, and his wrath looketh upon sinners”.”