This Weird Girl

I always loved God. I can’t remember not loving Him. Except for those four years in the ’90’s when I was mad at  Him and questioning everything.

Mom brought us to a variety of Protestant churches- mostly non-denominational. We had a few years at a Baptist church once and a year at an Episcopalian church. Grandma was a devout Catholic, so I knew a few things while visiting with her.

After my return to the authority and mercy of Jesus Christ in 1996, I worshipped primarily in the non-denominational style up until 2010 when the local Baptist church was more convenient (literally in our back yard). Though I had visited Catholic, Methodist, Messaianic Synagogue, charismatic and Pentacostal on the side. I’ve never been “slain in the spirit,” but I still default into “praying in tongues” from time to time.

And I don’t apologize for any of it.

I’ve experienced answered prayers, from insignificant miracles to receiving clear visions of Jesus speaking to me about major decisions.

One time, I was standing in line for the cafeteria at college. The guy behind me kept hacking a cough. I turned around and said with authority, and a smile, “God BLESS you!” His cough immediately stopped, his eyes were like saucers, “I haven’t been able to stop this cough. How did you do that?” he asief. “God did it!” Almost terrified, he covered his mouth and ran from the line. I never saw him again.

I was at a prayer meeting. A friend had back pain, and I felt led to put my hand on her to pray. I started in English, but for a brief moment I switched into an asian-sounding prayer. To be honest, it was a little embarrassing. But the woman, eyes like saucers yet again, said the pain stopped.

I saw the face of a demon once. Maybe Satan himself. It was frickin terrifying and led me to get my life back with Jesus.

I’ve seen demonic activity, too. Many times. But I remember one in particular when something was trying to intimidate me by shaking the aluminum blinds in my doorm room. No, the window want open.

When I was around 8 or 9 my mom was having a bunch of people over for a Bible study. I was trying to go to sleep in my bedroom, but suddenly the floor and bed frame were covered with snakes. I screamed over and over again until Mom’s boyfriend opened the door, and I jumped over the snakes into his arms.

I used to fall asleep at my aunt’s house watching the school pictures of my cousins on the wall in the hall start narrating stories. Their pictures moved like a TV, but I never heard anything. It wasn’t scary.

When I was a young girl, I wanted to be a nun. I rode my bike to the Catholic Church on the other side of town, found the priest, and asked him how I could be a nun. He chuckled at that silly little girl and said, “You can’t be a nun. You’re not Catholic.” And, as is my usual disposition, I just said OK and bounced away. Never became a nun.

Around 12 or 13, I took confirmation classes with the Episcopal church. I skipped the last class because, as I told the instructor, I didn’t think that was the right thing for me to do. It was weird. I don’t know how I had that knowledge.

In 2023, I was asked to play piano at the local Roman Catholic Church. I had visited it a couple of times to “get a much needed dose of reverence” after all the contemporary hype programming I’ve been a part of.

It was a little intimidating at first. I loved Catholic mass, but signing on as the pianist would put me in a position of worship ministry. And that isn’t something I take lightly. Especially with all the rumors about Catholicism

People say they’re not Christian. It’s a cult. It’s “salvation by works” the “pope is God” and “they worship idols and Mary.” Several people cautioned me not to do it. Most kind of side-eyed me, as if I was going to catch some Catholic disease or something.

Not feeling any particular spiritual calling to that ministry, I took the job for the experience, the pay, and ultimately because I’d like to find out for myself, from people who are actually Catholic, what it’s all about. Not from people who hang garlic between their eyes, figuratively speaking.

My perspective on differing beliefs and opinions is that people are NOT stupid. What do they really believe, and why do they beloeve it?

The first year, I was pretty much lost when it came to Mass and the liturgical calendar. The music is very different from the I-IV-V-I boring stuff in contemporary Christian music, so I was always playing sour intros. I Googled a lot of common words that year, like “paschal” and “eucharist” and “kyrie eleison.”

The second year, I was less lost and a little more immersed. I slowly started participating as I felt comfortable with the meanings of things- the sign of the cross, lighting a votive for prayer, getting a blessing, attending the Stations of the Cross, and going to confession BECAUSE I WANTED TO! I love my parish because they let me fully participate as a non-Catholic, except for the Eucharist.

I used to take Catholic communion when I was a visitor. Until someone told me (in my 40s !!!) that was a no-no. Once I really understood what it was, and wasn’t allowed to partake twice a week for two years, I skipped my Baptist church service and went to a Lutheran church for the first time.

Martin Luther didn’t start out wanting to cause trouble. He had questions, and the printing press spread the questions to the public. The RCC didn’t respond well, and things spun out of control. That’s my take on it anyway.

Luther was a Catholic priest. He administered the Eucharist. And he didn’t stop. I think traditional Lutheran churches are the closest Protestant worship to Catholicism. And they allowed me to partake.

The first time I took communion with the new understanding of the difference between figurative and literal body and blood of Jesus Christ, the wafer and wine tingled in my mouth. I leaned over the alter rail and quietly cried. I waited two years for that!

I went back to the Lutheran church a few weeks later. That time, the only way I could describe the experience was like having the Holy Spirit Himself in my mouth. It didn’t just tingle. It was way more than that, and I felt the life in my mouth for at least another 30 minutes.

The Lutheran church meets at the same time as our Bsptist church, so I haven’t been back. Meanwhile, two times a week, I sit behind my piano and long for the eucharist I am not allowed to take because I’m not Catholic.

When I’m not obligated to attend mass for playing piano, I often go as a parishioner- mid week or out of town, wherever. But I don’t disrespect the rules. I don’t partake, even though no one outside my parish would ever know. Many tell me I’m more Catholic than Catholics. We all have a laugh, but deep down inside, my heart aches. The only thing standing between me and the gift of Jesus Christ in communion is a man-managed institution that says I have to take on their club membership first.

I know I sound harsh, but my tone really isn’t that way. I make a strong statement because it’s clear. For some reason, club membership is more important than what’s going on in someone’s heart.

Someone once told me an unrepentant serial killer who’s Catholic can take communion, but a faithful non-Catholic Christian, such as myself, cannot. It breaks my heart.

Why not just confirm, you ask? It’s not that simple. The Bible says not to join a sect- that sects are for carnal believers. As a 12-ish year old, I somehow got the message not to confirm. I stopped calling myself a Christian at least 15 years ago because I don’t like to label myself.

There are other reasons, but today is not the day for that. But I’m not going to hide the fact that I WANT to confirm. But I CANNOT confirm.

To be continued…