There are converts to Catholicism whose total conversion to Jesus shines in the history of Christian belief. My story is but a work in progress.
It begins in 1940-1942 when, as a young Jewish fresh woman, I entered the iron barred front door of Catholic Mundelein College in Chicago. I had never met a nun and when Sister Mary Esther opened the front door, I half expected sounds other than human to emerge from under her coif. In time, I was to enter her heart and she to enter mine. She will remain there forever.
I was raised as a Reform Jew, had been confirmed at a Conservative Jewish temple, and was inspired by my loving, social-justice-father, my hard working mother, and devout blind grandmother, Bertha. My beloved Grandma taught my brother and I our Hebrew prayers at bedtime. But back to to the Mundelein years, and that Saturday night date that a University of Chicago, atheistic student invited me out for dinner. I was impressed. But when he announced that he would meet me at the front door of Mundelein in his father's long, black, chauffeured Cadillac, I was awed!
Most of all I hoped my class mates would see me in my black crepe dress, string of pearls, silk hose, and heels, rather than my scullery maid-cafeteria apron, which I wore when I worked to earn my $150.00 liberal arts course tuition.
The big night arrived. The limo pulled up. The chauffeur opened doors, and we slid into the back seat. At no time did my affluent date introduce me to the human person in the front seat--the chauffeur. And just as we pulled out, this secularist looked up at the two-towering angels flanking the front door and he said, "Religion is the opiate of the people."
Now please understand that I did not even know the meaning of the word "opiate" (According to Merriam-Webster's dictionary: Opiate is something that induces rest or inaction, or quiets uneasiness). I sat there in the abject unknowing of the teachings of Karl Marx. I cannot remember if any words were interchanged as we drove silently and grandly down to the restaurant where I was to struggle to make pleasant conversation. Suffice to say, our paths never crossed again. However, if I met him sixty years later, I would ask him if he has rethought his position. In the face of life's challenges, has he not ever felt the need for the help of God?
Surely during my eighty-nine and seven- eighth years of joys and sorrows, of wonder and mystery, of miracle and dark nights of the soul, I would not have survived without the love, the guidance, and the help of Jesus. Mary, the Holy Spirit, and God the Father.
But not without a struggle do I look at the crucifix-- Torture of such a good man-the God-man Jesus. I have run from the blazing cross in the darkness of a desert. I have run from a crucifix high on a church front; seeing it as a sword of Damocles and I, a Jew, standing beneath it waiting for the fall. I have tried to whether the Lenten forty days of fasting, prayer, but often despairing during the Passion scenario and the label of "the Jews." To this day I agonize with Jesus over the three falls of His passion: the whipping at the pillar, the spitting, the ultimate horror of it all.
As a Jew I have also known of the historic persecution of a people labeled in the gospel as "the Jews"-- not some of the- but an entire people. They were portrayed as- the crowd- of those blood thirsty for the kill. I have felt, as a Jew, that this scenario could only have been orchestrated by Satan. I have been wrong, but I have been a house divided. A torn heart. A very Jewish Catholic.
Since 1988, the year of my baptism, without R.C.I.A to enlighten me, I lived in dread of every good Friday and yet, year after year I went at 3 o'clock, kissed the cross, and sang with loving parishioners, "Jesus remember me."There I sat in wonderment, less anxious but still wondering, was it necessary that there be a crucifixion? I later learned that the church teaching is that the crucifixion is a prerequisite for the resurrection- Thus in time, I learned to turn my heart toward the sunrise of resurrection- the hope of eternal life.
At Easter morn, our joy is made palpable. Crucifixion and resurrection have become the greatest story ever told. However, I both were God's will, then why the persecution of some of those (mainly the authorities) who contributed or even initiated the Roman form of murder by crucifixion? Why had it taken so many years for the Decided charge against the Jews to be withdrawn during Vatican two (see Nostre Aesate)? Whatever the reasons, I thank God for the Spirit of Pope John the twenty-third., Pope Paul the sixth, and the brilliance of Saint to be John Paul the second.
In retrospect, I have so much to be thankful for. In addition to my family, the church has become a second homr for my heart. Having spent a good deal of my adult life in interfaith dialogue and interracial volunteer teaching I have been privileged to live during the wondrous years of now blessed John Paul the second's papacy, which is a living miracle. His outreach to the entire human family, his heroic humility as he journeyed to Israel-a journey of reconciliation that I shall never forget. A peace-maker who changed the face of Europe. A man of superlative gifts. A saint- a brother to all.
I can still feel the radiance of his smile and see his reflection as a human imitation of Christ. Because of his attempts to heal the historic wounds of Christian-Jewish relations, he has helped me as a Jewish Catholic to be able to call upon Jesus my Rabbi, Jesus my Lord and my friend. Thanks be to God.
"War is not an inevitable calamity.
Peace is possible.
And because it is possible,
Peace is our duty: our grave duty,
Our supreme responsibility."
--John Paul the Second
An ancient and wise Chinese philosopher wrote that,
"The greatest stories of our lives will never be told"
Thus, at 89 and 7/8 I reflect that our lives are often viewed:
1. As a tapestry, interweaving of dark and
golden threads by acclaimed artists.
2. A radiant stained glass mosaic
by acclaimed artists.
3. A kaleidoscope-a child's toy?
Why do I choose the kaleidoscope as a symbol of co-creatorship, because I see it as a source of symbolic inspiration. I like to apply kaleidoscopic thinking to the challenge of interfaith dialogue.
.jpg)
Rachel lifts spirits and in so doing, prepares the groundwork for peacemaking. In the Beatitudes, peacemakers are called blessed children of God, but they are also blessed members of the family of humankind. I like to think that Rachel's early morning contribution to our lives will contribute to a broader peace in our families, community and the world.
