"A Catholic Reading the Bible… "Can You Cite that Chapter Please?"

On This Edition of "A Catholic Reading the Bible… "Can You Cite that Chapter Please?"

One of the upsides of being raised without reading the Bible yourself is that most of the work was done for you. One of the downfalls though, lies in not really knowing all of the parts in the Bible that may hold secret decoding messages or the special passages that make you a true “Christian.”

When I moved to the South, I entered the "Bible Belt." A foreign land unknown to my family as I was the first to cross the Mason-Dixon. And the longer I lived in the South, the more I realized I was surrounded by some of the kindest humans that I would ever encounter in my lifetime. But I also began to hear the phrase, “That's not very Christian" more. Clearly, I understood the basic tenants of Christianity: Don't kill anyone. Don't lie. Don't steal. Don't cheat. Be kind to Ma and Pa. Don't worship false idols. And don't plan events on Saturdays in the Fall. But the further my all-encompassing guilt pulled me away from practicing Catholicism, the larger the magnifying glass on the level of my "Christendom" grew.

I didn't know the Bible well enough to know if what I was being told about my life not being "very Christian" by people who claimed to be steadfast in their faith WAS IN FACT "not very Christian.” I just had a gut feeling that said, “This doesn’t seem right.”

My personality is complicated. As a tomboy, I tend to gravitate more to male friends because I will take beer and baseball over wine and the Hallmark Channel every day of the week. I am not married. I have dedicated most of the last 20 years to my education and my career. I also have no children. At first, it was because my lifestyle would never allow. And now, it’s because my body never can. I don't wear a sign on my chest that says, "Here is why I am a 37 year old, unmarried, childless workaholic.” That is my story to tell and no one else’s to interpret.

But apparently, unbeknownst to me given my lack of Biblical studies, I did not know that this lifestyle I am living is "not very Christian." I will leave the full details of the who’s, what’s, when’s and how bad’s for another story. A story that allows me to tell my side and the whole truth. Until then, in God’s time, I wait patiently (or at least trying to!) for that chance. I just know that for a really long time I stood in the face of judgement and mockery by women who used their faith and a Book I had not read, to vocally condemn my lifestyle.

When I picked up the Bible- in an attempt to find some light in absolute darkness- I started to see the unraveling of all of the "not so Christian things” I was accused of doing. There were no rules regarding men and women not being friends. There were no rules on the condemnation of the woman with too many failed relationships and a past riddled with mistakes. Rather, I read a beautiful story of how Jesus sat at a well with a woman everyone turned their back on and she too on herself, in shame. I saw myself in more of the broken people that Jesus called to be His followers than I did in any of the self-righteous Pharisees declaring what was right and what was wrong.

Then I met her.... Hannah. In 1 Samuel, Chapter 1, in the very first paragraph. There is a woman who is mocked, chastised, ridiculed and tormented by another woman because she couldn't have children. The pain of being told 3 years ago that I couldn’t be a biological mother was heartbreaking. The pain of being mocked and judged for it by colleagues, was archaic and devastating. So Hannah became a guidepost for me. During her darkest moments she turned to prayer. The ridicule she faced in the wake of her pain brought her closer to God. She prayed harder. She trusted Him more. She put her faith in Him. And she was given a son. I am not looking for that type of outcome. But rather, I am looking to use Hannah as a case of hope and the power of prayer instead of self-shame.

If being without children is wrong: Let me be Hannah.

If being best friend's with a man that's not my husband is wrong: Let me be Mary Magdalene.

If being unmarried with many failed relationships is wrong: Let me be the woman at the well.

If being able to open my heart and my home to those doing good and needing help: Let me be Lydia.

If being strong enough to stand up for what is right despite the ramifications that may come with doing so: Let me be Esther.

If being absolutely broken, imperfect, unworthy of grace and confused as to why the Creator of the Universe would ever want to love me: Let me be His child.

Though these women may stand on their faith, hold a Bible in their hand and declare that I am not one of them: it is not their approval I seek nor even need. I will turn to His Word and see that they are wrong. I will get my strength from Him. Their words hurt. But His Word is the final word. And He shines brightly through broken people of which I am one of the most broken.

I will also stand firmly in the name that I was given by my parents: “Kristen.” They may say I am not “very Christian”… but I am, without question, a “Follower of Christ.”

Tables.

 

Tables.

Many families will gather around a table today with a feast set before them and “the always told” stories being told once again. There may even be a smaller table off to the side where the kids are seated hiding vegetables in napkins. Some new guests may have their first chair at the table or there may be a newly empty chair.

Whatever your table looks like this year, may you blessed with love and gratitude.

I’d like to take a moment on this day of thanks to recognize the important role a simple table has played for me this year. Because without fully understanding why— there were a few I was not allowed to sit at.

I’m incredibly blessed for those friends and loved ones who:

 Sat their phone down with me on FaceTime as we played long distance Uno on the kitchen table
 Sat next to me at a table lined with computers despite whispers of sitting “with her” coming from behind
 Sat at the burger joint table as I drank a lot of water with a headache and told me “it’s ok to be upset but maybe we try a different approach to handle it next time.”
 Sat at the Sunday brunch table with me laughing at the lack of avocados on their special day to shine upon toast
 Sat at a small round table eating Paul’s and answering a million questions about the new Book I’m reading that’s life changing
 Sat at the pizza place table ordering two large pizzas and then asking what I was eating as I just rolled my eyes even though you just left Parkland
 Sat at the Sunday Dinner table when it was complete with family visiting from the Northeast and family returning from the Middle East
 Sat on top of the table and on the benches beside it with me to color pictures and write letters as many times as the paper would allow
 Sat around a small coffee table as “The Breakfast Club” using voices rarely heard but with something to say
 Sat at a small intimidating table across from a larger table in a windowless room answering questions, for hours on end, to stand on the right side of wrong.
 Sat at the corner table in the bar on August 26th and let me sit down next to you as you tried to be a Marine and a human at the same time.
 Sat at the conference room table and told me no matter what had to be done— we’re in this together— and we’ll honor the 20th anniversary with everything we have to give.

Thank you for sitting at the table with me. 

=

My First Nativity. [And it has a lamb!]

 

Most people who know me wouldn’t expect there to even be Christmas decorations in my home never mind on display before Thanksgiving. It’s never been “my holiday.” I’ve never been a “Christmas person.” I was happy to just move on forward to St. Patrick’s Day and was so content to watch the joy on loved one’s faces as they soaked up the day.

BUT, “Christmas is the season of joy when we get to celebrate Jesus.” And I can’t tell you the odd lightbulb moment I had when I realized: “Christmas is the birth of Jesus.” Clearly, I’m not referring to the story of the birth or actually knowing what the holiday is about in general. But when I heard “Jesus” it was pretty close (in keeping with the theme) to Buddy the Elf yelling, “Santa!! I know that guy!!”

Jesus! I know Him. We have been spending so much time together these past several months. We talk all the time now (I still introduce myself before we talk because there are a lot of people down here). BUT— the Jesus that we celebrate in this season of joy, is the SAME Jesus that has been sitting beside me through this season of hurt, uncertainty, pain and grief. He didn’t leave. And He won’t leave (so says Matthew 28:20). So we celebrate with joy

A special season to celebrate Him (and His birthday!) calls for some early decorating. I’ve never owned my own nativity set. And I will love this gift dearly and pass it down. Sheep have become a big deal to me in understanding my relationship with Jesus (story for another time). That’s why I like to think of the girl holding the sheep in the back as a girl witnessing this incredible moment happen in real time.

Or perhaps, just maybe, truly understanding this incredible season for the very first time.

“A Catholic Reading the Bible One Chapter at a Time”…. A Field Trip.

 

On today’s edition of “A Catholic Reading the Bible One Chapter at a Time”…. A Field Trip.

Today— for the first time in close to more years than I can count— I went to church. Not “church” because of a funeral or wedding. Not “church” because I was visiting and it was expected of the guest to attend. I went to: Church.

But I didn’t go to Mass.

Flanked by some of the most amazing humans I’ve ever been blessed to know and call “my friends”… we walked towards the building.

I said under my breath, “Hey God. It’s Kristen here. If this isn’t where I’m supposed to be going or what you want me to be doing, just give me a sign to turn around. I’ll turn around and say this doesn’t feel right.”

The sign in front of the church entrance door read, “Pumpkin Spice Lattes and Breakfast Tacos inside!”

So I looked up and said, “Well played. You didn’t have to bribe me to come inside! But that’s a good start.”

And I went to church. It was unlike any service I had been to before (Baptisms are full-on pinch your nose, get some goggles and get submerged in a pool!). But what was more special to me… was that we opened our Bibles and we read them along with the Pastor. Stickie notes and margin scribblings… I listened and learned. I almost wanted more time there.

When the service ended, I realized that I was crying. I was crying from the message. I was crying because I realized these beautiful humans drove to Fort Worth to let me experience church with them and not alone. I was crying because I didn’t “mess up” or forget words in a recitation. I didn’t feel like I wasn’t supposed to be there. I didn’t feel judgement. I didn’t feel guilt.

I was crying because I felt loved.

I don’t think that has ever happened before… and it was incredibly beautiful.

To the amazing humans who went with me and have been so crucial to this journey I’m on: thank you. I strive to have your faith and strength one day. (And you held your promises of no s or s!) I’m grateful for you

I was a little too nervous today to grab one of those pumpkin spice lattes… I guess I’ll try one next Sunday.

“Fear is no good reason to believe in anything. I've tried and I've tried to know everything for sure. But I find I know less as I come to know You more. You're not who I thought You were…Praise the Lord.”