I grew up Roman Catholic. There. I’ve said it. Baptized at one month, First Communion age seven, Confirmation age ten, twelve years of parochial school — run by the Dominicans, no less. (For those unfamiliar with the Catholic religious orders, the Dominicans are just one step removed from the Jesuits when it comes to emphasis on doctrine and academic rigor) I had pretty much given up on God because it seemed to me that He had given up on me by age fifteen, although I didn’t announce the breakup to my parents until I graduated from St. Catherine’s High School at seventeen. My father simply said, “Your decision.” My mother cried.
At age 20, God had chased me down through the persons of Sue Dubinsky Twombly, Steve Pederson, and Tony Burke. I tried for a year to reintegrate into the Catholic Church, even to the point of teaching Sunday Preschool. It didn’t work. So I entered the world of Evangelicalism. It was like stepping into a Baskin Robbins. What flavor should I choose this month? Some of the flavors were interesting indeed: Christian Reformed, Assemblies of God (can one get more polar opposites?), Independent Bible Church, Baptist, Methodist, and narrowly escaped a Shepherding house church movement. Finally, I ended up where I am — a tiny, Charismatic congregation affiliated with the Fellowship of Christian Assemblies that meets in a former funeral home.
I don’t mention my Catholic background much, except among my church family. Partly because of my extensive, extended family (I have/had 65 first cousins, all raised Catholic) that includes priests, nuns and even a bishop. Of course, that same extended family now includes atheists, agnostics, Buddhists, and Unitarians. Mostly it’s because I don’t want to offend, but it has oalso been due to comments from my Uncle Red to my mother: “Don’t worry. She’ll come back (to the Catholic Church), unless she marries a Mennonite.”
Without a doubt, my Catholic education has colored what I believe. Yes, in my doctrine heavy religion classes for twelve years I paid attention. (I was also asking questions beginning in second grade that got me into trouble) There are elements that I miss. But I don’t foresee going back. Yet there are doctrinal points that Evangelicals can learn from. The biggest one is unanswered prayer — especially when it comes to healing.
After breaking several bones in childhood, I developed juvenile arthritis. I also suffered from severe dysmenorrhea, and had a go-round with ovarian cancer at age eleven. That was the physical aspect. From first grade onwards, I was the subject of intense bullying that included third degree sexual assault by older boys in my school when I was in sixth grade. At home, by age eight, my father was disabled and bipolar and our family fell into poverty. That was the psychological/emotional aspect. Regular, though intermittent physical pain combined with psychological trauma led to pervasive depression. Is it any wonder I gave up on God?
God did not give up on me, though at times I still wonder about that. See, as I’m rapidly closing in on 70, the pain hasn’t gone away. The arthritis has continued to worsen to the point the orthepedist bluntly stated I need new knees. After an overdue appointment with my new primary physician, I was referred to a cardiologist. Fortunately, the ticker is still ticking away fine. But conflicting theories from a rheumatologist and a neurologist still have not explained why I am partially blind in my left eye. The cardiologist printed out the list of ailments, illnesses, disorders with which I have been diagnosed. It filled an entire page. Physical pain is a daily companion. Negative changes in my circumstances, such as the deaths of my eldest sister and her youngest son, the imminent departure of friends to far away, trigger a recurrence of depression.
If you’re still reading this far, I am both impressed and somewhat astonished. In the Charismatic circles where I have landed, there is a huge emphasis on healing. Even back in my college days, I was told my physical ailments could be relieved if I simply had more faith. Over the years, in my church, many messages have been given, in a challenging tone, that it is God’s desire to heal and that depression is a choice. Along with those words comes the unspoken implication that if one is not healed, that if one still struggles with depression, one simply does not have enough faith…which of course, leads to feelings of guilt which leads to greater depression.
Over against this Evangelical doctrine of healing is the Catholic doctrine of suffering. As a schoolchild, I was introduced to stories of the lives of the saints in first grade. At the tender age of six, I began learning of the suffering and torments of the martyrs. A little older, and I learned those early church fathers (and mothers), if they were not under active persecution, often sought out physical pain in the form of the misericord, hair shirts, or chafing chains. Why? Because the Apostle Paul wrote that it was a privilege to share in the sufferings of Christ. I knew by the time I was seven years old that Paul had asked God to remove his “thorn in the flesh” three times and that God had said, “No.” That God had said His grace was sufficient. And so Paul said he would glory in his weakness so God’s glory would be magnified. Thus, at a age ten, after having walked the four blocks to school on crutches and grumbling about it, my teacher told me to hush up and “offer it up” and to be grateful I was being counted worthy of partaking in Christ’s suffering.
That is where I am today. I have prayed for relief from both the physical pain and the psychological darkness that engulfs me. My Pastor, the members of my congregation, my friends have prayed the same — countless, innumerable times. Yet even as I type this, my knees ache and a there is a shadow over the bright sunshine. And I wonder how many other people find themselves in the same place…caught up in some sort of pain or darkness and wondering why.
Yes, I know there will be some who will say that old Catholic doctrine of suffering is exactly what prevents my healing. There will be certain Evangelicals who will say that the gifts of healing ceased with the canonization of the Bible. And I suppose there will be some Catholics who will say that God only grants miracles to those who are especially worthy. What matters is this: the reality is that some people are healed and some are not. Some will only experience healing on that day when they stand face to face with God. And somehow, don’t ask me how — I don’t know, God’s glory will be made known in that weakness. Until that day, God’s grace is, must be sufficient. All I ask is that fellow believers offer that same grace.
Kathy Kexel 