A Mountain of Meaning

Writing a story or a novel is one way of discovering sequence in experience, of stumbling upon cause and effect in the happenings of a writer’s own life. This has been the case with me. Connections slowly emerge. Like distant landmarks you are approaching, cause and effect begin to align themselves, draw closer together. Experiences too indefinite of outline in themselves to be recognized for themselves connect and are identified as a larger shape. And suddenly a light is thrown back, as when you train makes a curve, showing that there has been a mountain of meaning rising behind you on the way you’ve come, is rising there still, proven now through retrospect.
-“One Writer’s Beginnings” by Eudora Welty

I had an experience which relates to this quote from Eudora Welty but which is perhaps true in the reverse. In a conversation with someone I don’t know very well, I was posed the question about why I’ve remained Catholic and faithful to the way I was raised. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this question, but I think I’m never quite equipped to answer the question well. There are so many things to say and yet I am uncertain what to peg as the reason I am still Catholic.

The short answer, I suppose, is the mysterious working of grace. How can I account for that which is unquantifiable, incalculable, and unknown? The prayers which have been prayed for me, the sacrifices offered on my behalf, the ways I’ve unknowingly responded to grace, the particularities of my personality, the effect of others’ words or actions, and far more have all had an impact on my heart and my life of faith. How can I offer a quick response? How can I even fully know why I still adhere to the sacramental life, why I find the lives of saints so fascinating, why I continue to follow Jesus when many people in similar situations or with relative experiences have not?

And yet here was someone asking a question and since he had not exactly remained in the faith of his childhood, it seemed more important to offer some sort of authentic response instead of just shrugging my shoulders and saying, “God is mysterious.”

So I shared a little of how I never really felt compelled to rebel against the faith and how I enjoyed church, even as a child. I mentioned that I was given a saints book as a kid and while my parents didn’t make me read it, I did. And I loved to re-read certain stories and mark their places in the book with treasured bookmarks. I shared how my parents lived the faith and made it real. Yet it wasn’t just remaining in something I was raised in, but instead the Catholic faith became something I studied and found to be true, with a history and depth of which I would never reach the end.

As I shared all of this, I had another realization about an influence which cannot be fully known. I said I had a sister who was a cloistered nun and had been so for over twenty years. Seeing someone who staked her life on Jesus and the Church He instituted had to be a significant influence in my youth. It must have been a factor in my life as I moved through high school, college, and young adulthood knowing that my sister was unshakably convinced of the love and goodness of God and that we belonged to a faith that demanded radical things of us.

I’m not certain if my answer to his question was moving or satisfactory or what he expected. But the quote from Eudora Welty seems to connect because this conversation has caused me to look back and wonder, “what was it?” There are connections which I can see in my life, but there is no one reason I remained in the Church. It is more like a spiderweb of influences, various experiences and truths which have led me to remain in this new ark which passes through the turbulence of our times.

Like the multifaceted development of one’s personality or the causes which have led to one’s family dynamics, the question of what has influenced or shaped my life of faith is layered and, in the end, unable to be fully known this side of Heaven. Yet it has stirred up in me a gratitude for what I have experienced and the people I have encountered who have helped me to grow roots in this Body of Christ. Though partial, there is a light that can be shown on my childhood and youth which points to numerous encounters with beauty, truth, and goodness. I cannot know exactly why this sinner remains in the broken yet beautiful Body of Christ, but I am incredibly grateful that I am still here, still learning, still growing, and still hoping for holiness.

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Photo by Rohit Tandon on Unsplash