Jesus Loves Me

Jesus loves me! This I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong;
they are weak but He is strong.

Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
The Bible tells me so.

Wow, I was moved to tears when I heard a beautiful rendition of "Jesus Loves Me" during Holy Communion at Saturday evening Mass. I've never heard this song in a Catholic church before! I've never heard a jazzy, soulful, gospel version either! I frequent a sister parish on Saturday nights because the music is so wonderful. (I'm not impressed with the music at my regular parish. I opt to attend the early morning Sunday service with no music....) This month the cantor sang what I would call more protestant hymns. Growing up in the Baptist and Methodist churches, I always get excited when I recognize an old "protestant" hymn at Mass. The only thing I truly miss in the Protestant church is the music! The Catholic Church still lacks in excellent liturgical music. Some parishes are better than others. I stay away from liturgies with the folky guitar musical accompaniments. This is what I call non-spiritually lifting but more of a time warp back to the 1960s.....

When listening to "Jesue Loves Me," emotions of the past overwhelmed me. I remember singing this children's hymn when I attended Baptist daycare in 4-6th grades. We always sang it during Wednesday afternoon chapel. I absolutely hated day care! I loathed chapel the worst. The singing wasn't too bad, but when I had to listen to Brother Danny "preach" I wanted to hurl. We always had to memorize bible verses. I never understood the point of memorization if we weren't given an explanation as to the verse's meaning in our lives. I'd sit through the hour of chapel not at all feeling Jesus present. All the talk about "Are you saved?" made no sense! I just didn't get it. (Something was missing. It would take me many years later to figure out the Catholic Church filled in the missing pieces!) All of my early childhood experiences with bullying, hate, jealousy, hypocrisy, lack of self esteem, and feelings of worthlessness came about from this so called Baptist "Christian" day care center!!! I never felt beautiful! I was a non-athletic clutz that all the other kids proudly reminded me of. Those tears I shed during last night's Mass were not only tears of joy knowing Jesus truly loves me through his gift of the Eucharist, but they were tears of deep pain at the trauma I experienced in day care.

After over twenty years, I'm still shocked at the damage those years of the "Jesus Loves Me" Baptist Day Care did to me as a child. Unfortunately, I was exposed to ugly people at such an early age, Christian hypocrites who spoke of one thing but did the complete opposite. I know there are some wonderful,truly genuine Protestants out there who are faithful to Christ's true teachings. My family members are excellent examples of living like Christ. It's just a shame I wasn't exposed to the Catholic Church earlier in my life. I don't know if I'd be able to appreciate its authenticity as much if I was a cradle Catholic. So interesting how the Holy Spirit works in my life: Exposing me to the ugly, but then showering me with good. I try not to live in the past. I need to live in the present. Jesus loves me for the bible tells me so!

-J.

The Old School Confessional

Feeling depressed and out of sorts lately, I thought it would be a good idea to go to confession. It's been a couple of months since my last personal reconciliation. For the most part, I've remained "good" with the exception of frustration on the roads! I've allowed my patience to wear thin and used the car horn a little too frequently. I'm driving too aggressively. To put it bluntly: I simply hate driving! I hate paying for gasoline and tolls. If I could afford a personal driver or a helicopter, I'd hire them in an instant. Forget my adolescent days when I used to love driving to the grocery store to pick up anything, even if it was for a box of sanitary napkins! Driving is a stressful necessity. The sprawling Dallas area makes public trans pretty much a no go unless one is fortunate enough to work Downtown. Unfortunately, I've allowed idiot drivers and transportation woes to make me irritable and cranky.

My regular Confessor is now at a new parish. This past Saturday I travelled quite a way to attend his church's reconciliation schedule. (More driving!!!) I was shocked the church still has the old school confessionals from the 1950s with the red light green lights! I'm used to the modern reconciliation rooms where I can sit face to face with the priest. I find this so much more comfortable than the cramped little confessional box with the screen. Being a Catholic convert and not at all aware of how the old school confessional box thing works, I spoke to a kind man in line who told me what to do. Two priests were available: my Confessor and then the visiting priest. I nervously prayed with my rosary in hand, "Dear Lord, please make sure Father's door opens so I get a chance to talk to him and not the visiting priest!" To this day, reconciliation is the most difficult thing for me to do as a devout Catholic. However, I'm much less nervous and queasy in the tummy when I can go to my regular priest. The line was long and moving very slowly. I noticed two people walked into separate doors on either side of the priest. I was told one person would be in confession while the other person was waiting for the booth screen to open up. (Wow, this takes me back to watching all of those movies with the old confessionals, and I was about to go into one for real life!)

To my relief, Father's confessional door opened up when it was my time to go in. (Divine providence at work!) I walked into the very small room and latched the lock. In a strange way, I felt like I was entering a port o potty when I engaged the lock. The confessional was brown, cold, and very narrow. I wonder how any heavy set person could comfortably fit in this room! I kneeled in front of the closed screen with a crucifix overhanging and the Act of Contrition taped on the kneeler railing. I could hear softly yet clearly the priest speaking with the other penitent! Thank goodness he was only giving her a penance. I would have died if I could hear her entire confession from start to finish. Obviously, no sound barrier in the walls within these rooms. No surprise considering the age. How strange it felt to tell Father who I was when the little screen opened. Most folks don't do this in the old school confessional thing, but I wanted that personal touch I was used to with my priest face to face. I kept the confession brief and concise. Good thing because I didn't like the idea of the person on the other side of the thin walls hearing all of my sins. Despite the uncomfortable arrangement of the confessional, I still felt so much relief after I received absolution. I would have liked to see my Confessor's warm smile but I'm sure he was smiling in his heart as much as I was in mine! I think it's rare these days to find a good Confessor who takes the time to provide real guidance instead of the standard Our Father and Hail Mary penance. I pray in thanksgiving that my Confessor is still within reasonable driving distance. I may not like driving but with God's grace and my own thoughtfulness toward others I can remain calm on the hectic roadways.

-J.