I was on tech support with Apple this afternoon and as I told the guy my name including my middle name–Francis–he responded with “that’s a good Catholic name.” I have always known this, but no one has ever said it to me and particularly not someone who I am only encountering in a phone transaction.
In living and working within the oldest Mennonite community in the Western Hemisphere, I am realizing how “Catholic” I still am. How much I value the beauty of architecture and don’t mind being disgruntled with the church, unlike those from “reformer” traditions who have less of a tradition of dissent. I don’t value simplicity over complexity. I like ritual and the stories of the saints. I assume that the church doesn’t always live up to its best possibilities and that I won’t always agree with it on everything even when my vocation suggests that I represent it.
I heard poet/memoirist recently Catholic Mary Karr speak at Fordham a few weeks ago. Someone asked why she remained a part of such a fallen institution. Her answer was profound, she said at some point she recognized or decided that she was part of Christ’s body. I wonder what that really means, to live into the possibility of being both wounded and resurrected out of a commitment that both questions religion and loves the whole of the world.
