Sally
The Seduction
As far as I know, all of my ancestors wereCatholics. Being born into a traditional Irish Catholic family, and raisedin the suburbs of Chicago, I attended Catholic grade school, and for a coupleyears went to the Catholic High School for girls. In elementary school,going to Mass every morning was a requirement, not an option. Sunday Massattendance with my family was also a given. If my parents did not go forsome reason, I was still expected to, and so on those Sundays my father woulddrop my sister and I off at the Church.
Our pastor’s name was Father O’Hara, a short,round man with a quick pace and a big, smoky cigar that perched in his mouth. He knew that our nickname for him was “Pops”. Most of the time, he wasthe one who would perform the daily Mass. The Mass was the “best placeto get a rich share of the life of the Spirit of Christ”, ¹ and where,“Christ offers Himself, His Body and Blood, for you again”. ² It wasalso a time to ponder Mary. “At Mass, too, think of Mary, the Mother ofChrist. Mary stood at the foot of the Cross. It was there in deep sorrowthat she became your Mother and you became her child”. ³
My parents did their best to be good Catholics,and so they had me baptized when I was an infant. My official Godparentswere chosen, and attended the Baptism, but I have never met them, at least notsince that day. This Sacrament was the most important one, because withoutit, it would be almost impossible to go to heaven if I were to die. Itcertainly was not wasted, because I almost did die, twice. The first time,as a small baby, I became caught between the mattress and the foot of the bed,and was unable to breathe. My mother found me just as I began to turnblue. The second time, I was around two years old. My three-year oldsister was smart enough to tell my mother that she had just watched me eat thewhole bottle of tasty little orange morsels called baby aspirins. Whatwould have happened without an ambulance and a stomach pump?
When I was seven years old, I made my FirstConfession and First Communion. At around age ten or so, I made myConfirmation.
Do not ask me what Confirmation is because I donot remember. I guess it did not make as much of an impression on me asthe other Sacraments, Ceremonies, and Rituals did. All I know is that Ihad to choose an additional name for myself. I remember thinking howstrange it would be to have four names instead of three. It was called aConfirmation name. To help with the decision, my mother presented me witha little burgundy-colored, hard-covered book called “Lives of the Saints”. This small encyclopedia was filled with short biographies of those who had beencanonized by the Catholic Church as Saints. It even had an attached ribbonthat I could use to mark my place as I read the stories of people who had livedtheir lives devoid of selfishness, and those who had died for their refusal todenounce their faith. It was hard to decide which Saint to pick buteventually I made a choice. The only problem is that I cannot rememberwhich one it was, St. Catherine or St. Theresa.
One ritual that was repeated many timesthroughout those Catholic years was something called Confession. I learnedto do this in second grade, and making my First Confession was a prerequisite tomaking my First Holy Communion that would take place shortly afterwards.
The Sacrament of Confession was critical tomaintaining a right standing with God. It was a time to earnestly examineone’s conscience in the quiet of the sanctuary. The dim light offlickering candles and the fading smell of incense that still hung in the airfrom the morning Mass created just the right mood. Sitting in the pew, Iwould wait for my turn to confess my sins. With my eyes fixed on theconfessional door, I felt a little afraid and perhaps a slight sense of shame. I would say a simple prayer before entering: “Dear Jesus, I know mysins. I am sorry for them. Give me the courage I need to tell mysins, as I should. Mother Mary, pray for me”.4
Finally, the door would creak open and a penitentsinner would emerge. Soon I would be cleansed, too. My soul wouldbecome as white as snow, except for that one stain of original sin that wouldnever be removed. Entering the small dark cubicle and closing the doorbehind me, I became instantly aware of how alone I was in that very private,very personal space. Kneeling down in that sacred chamber, I felt like asinner, and I knew I was. Nevertheless, I also felt peace, and an assurance thatI would be forgiven. My slate would be wiped clean, and I would try harder fromthen on to be a better person.
Bowing my head, I rested my folded hands on theledge of the tiny window in front of me, praying as I waited. The windowwas covered with a black metal screen that separated me from the priest who satbehind it. It would not be long, and soon the silence would be broken. I would hear a faint rustling, or a quiet cough… and then he would slide openthe window, exposing the translucent shade behind the screen. His blurredsilhouette would appear through the soft glow of light that filtered in from theother side. As he pressed his ear to the shade, I whispered softly, andsaid, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one weekago”. Humbling myself, I would begin to confess my secrets and sins tothis Holy Priest who I could not see, the mediator between my God and me.
When it was all over, I felt a sense of relief asthe priest would pray for me in Latin, absolve my sins, and prescribe mypenance. I remember hoping that he would not give me too many prayers tosay. Then I would go back to the pew, kneel down, and taking out my HolyRosary, begin to recite the prescribed number of Hail Mary’s and OurFather’s. It felt good to be forgiven, but I would be back the followingweek to repeat this ritual.
I do not remember much about my First HolyCommunion, other than preparing for it by learning how to make my Confession andhow to receive the Holy Host. A prescribed prayer was said, part of whichwent like this: “O good Jesus, I believe that you, the great God ofheaven and earth, are present in the Host which I am about to receive.”5 And, “Now I shall go to the communion rail to receive You into my heart. Come, my Jesus, come. Dear Blessed Mother, Mother of Jesus and me, give mejust a spark of the ardent desire you had when you received your own Son in HolyCommunion.”6. I wore a special white dress with a veil, achild’s version of a wedding dress. Unfortunately, I do not remember what thesignificance of it was. My First Holy Communion was a cause of celebrationand the relatives were invited over for a party afterwards.
One of my favorite ceremonies was the springfestival in honor of Mary the May Queen, the Blessed Virgin, Mother of Christ. This was a special time. On a warm sunny day, we would be taken out of class,and gathered together in the beautiful garden that stood between the church andthe school. Lovely, fragrant bushes enclosed its lushness, and the focal pointwas a large shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Standing in front of thebeautiful statue of her, we paid homage with a special time of prayer, and sanga special song to the May Queen. I remember feeling awed in this place anddrawn into the mystery of worship. Then we prayed the Holy Rosary whileslowly encircling the inside perimeter of the garden, breathing into our soulsthe intoxicating scent of all the beautiful May flowers that were inbloom.
In fact, I was so enthralled with Mary at thattime that one day I decided to make a shrine to her at home. Setting up alittle table in my bedroom, I draped it with a pretty cloth, and placed myparent’s statue of the Madonna and Child on the table and surrounded her withall the colorful plastic flowers that I could find.
I also loved the Holy Rosary, and had severalsets over the years. The best ones were those that had been blessed by aBishop or Cardinal. I loved those colorful, gleaming beads. To methey were like sparkling gems. My favorite set was the one with the clear,light pink, cut-glass beads. Just the sight of them filled me with a senseof wonder. Many nights I would fall asleep with that Rosary in my hands,feeling the beads one by one in the dark. Praying one Hail Mary afteranother, I felt that she was near and watching over me.
Another favorite ceremony was called the Stationsof the Cross. Practicing the Stations of the Cross was a source of special“Indulgences” granted by the Pope. One of which was the “PlenaryIndulgence” which could be applied to the souls in Purgatory, shortening theirstay. Unlike the May Queen ceremony, this was a very somber time. Looking back, this was the only devotion that actually brought the person ofJesus Christ into focus. At each of the fourteen stations, colorful,graphic images in my little handbook depicted His suffering as each step broughtHim closer to his execution. I would feel increasingly sad, the closer Hecame to the Cross. In my mind, I can still see the cover of that book with theportrait of Jesus, blood dripping down his face from the crown of wicked thornsthat was embedded into His head. Yet, in all His suffering His expressionwas one of peace.
The Confusion
During all those years of religious training, Inever really understood that Jesus died for me personally. I am not surewhat I thought. I knew that His death was a horrible thing that hadhappened, and that because of it, I could somehow, maybe be a better person. It was not clear to me what Jesus’ role really was. Mary, on the otherhand, was the Queen that was worthy of my adoration. Jesus seemed to be amartyr, an innocent victim of evil men. Mary was the victor, the Glorious one. She was the one who imparted that feeling of hope, safety, and comfort. Itwas Mary that could be called upon when I was afraid, and when I had a need. Even though she too, suffered death, she somehow seemed to be more alive thanJesus. Even though He was a man at his death, Jesus had been relegated tothe position of a child... the babe in Mary’s arms. He was never allowedto come into His own…to become greater than Mary. She remained theMother, the Protector, and the Nurturer. Jesus paid the price, but Marygot the Glory.
The Falling Away
This Catholic education continued throughout mychildhood, but at the same time, my home life was falling apart. Fromaround the age of ten, I lived in a war zone. Those rosary beads became alifeline on many nights as I huddled alone under the covers terrified of whatwas happening downstairs...the yelling and shouting, the pushing andshoving...wondering if my parents were going to kill each other. Clutchingmy rosary, I whispered those prayers, hoping that Mary would keep me safe.
Eventually, though, by the time I reached theteen years, the hypocrisy in this religion became evident. I became awareof the great gulf between religiosity and real life, at least in my world. I began to see it for what it was...a show, a pretense with no practicalapplication in my life or the life of others. I began to rebel. Idreaded going to Mass before school. I had no use for “Pops” as we calledhim, or the mean, bitter nuns. I would stall in the morning, and belate...missing Mass on purpose. On Sundays, after being dropped off atChurch by my father, my sister and I would walk the few blocks to the downtowndrug store. We would sit down at the lunch counter, tear open our offeringenvelopes, and spend the money on a nice cold “Green River” to drink. Sometimes we would run into friends there and hang out for a while. However, we had to be careful to time our escapade just right. We wouldhave to make it back to the Church on time for my father to pick us up, and noone would be the wiser.
I will spare you the hedonistic details of thosewild, rebellious teen years, and go right to the part where I fled home when Iwas eighteen, at the first opportunity that came along. That opportunityhappened to be my boyfriend of two years, and the man who would become my futurehusband. I snuck away in the middle of the night, with all my belongingspacked into 2 or 3 boxes, and moved in to his apartment. I had been soafraid that this plan to escape would be discovered and foiled, but when wepulled out of the driveway,...I knew I was free!!!!!!!! What surprised melater was that my parents did not seem to be the least bit shocked that I hadleft.
During the following six months that I lived withmy boyfriend, I could not shake the guilt of “living in sin”. Myfather refused to speak to him, and would not allow him to come to my parent’shouse. He constantly condemned me for the way I was living. Unableto take the pressure any longer, I simply told my boyfriend that we should getmarried...it just wasn’t right to be living together. He said ok.
One More Try
Quickly we planned a small, makeshift wedding. We were both Catholics, although by this time neither one of us was a practicingCatholic. Nevertheless, it was only appropriate, and expected, that we shouldget married in the Catholic Church. One of the pre-marriage requirementswas to go to confession. Now it had been a number of years since I hadgone, and I was not looking forward to it. So many sins had piled up sincethen. Where would I even start? Nevertheless, it was a necessity. I told myself that maybe it was time to try to be a good Catholic again. After all, I was going to be a married woman...at the ripe old age ofeighteen.
The time had come, and off we went to the churchone evening to make our pre-wedding confessions. I nervously waited in thepew for my turn. Being there in the sanctuary brought back all thosehallowed memories of the early years. I started to think that maybe itwould not be so bad after all.
The End
Soon it was over, and kneeling there in the darkin front of that familiar little window, I waited for the priest to prescribe mypenance. Instead, he began to ask some questions, saying, “Are you usingany form of birth control?” Stunned by his probe into my personal life,but believing I was obligated to respond, I replied, “I’m taking thepill”. He then informed me that, “The Catholic Church does not permitthe use of birth control”. I immediately felt threatened and defendingmyself, I said, “But I’m too young to have a baby. Idon’t want to get pregnant right now.” Unmoved by my protests, hereplied, “If you do not agree to stop taking the pill, I will not be able togrant you absolution for your sins”.
What happened next is somewhat of a blur, but itwas the turning point in my religious experience. Shocked and outraged byhis words, I stormed out of the confessional and when I saw my fiancé sittingthere waiting for me, I burst into tears of anger and distress. Dashingout the door of the church sobbing, I described to him what had happened. I was humiliated. I had just confessed all my sins, and for what? After going through all that preparation for the confession, gathering mycourage, and looking forward to starting married life with a clean slate, myhopes were now dashed. I felt crushed and betrayed, and the worst thingwas that ……I remained unforgiven.
That night, what I had hoped would be a newbeginning, turned out to be the end of my relationship with the Catholic Church. Although I could not yet understand the significance of what had happened, Iknew that it was somehow a life-changing event. It was as if in oneinstant I became aware of the fact that the Holy Priest hiding behind thatlittle screen in the dark was only a man! I imagine this must have beenhow Dorothy felt when the curtain was drawn back and the mysterious Wizard of Ozwas exposed for what he really was. I didn’t realize it at the time, butas I emerged so shaken, from that dark confessional into the dim light of thesanctuary, I was being set free from the darkness of the teachings of theCatholic Church into the soft glow of the promise of a new hope. I did notknow it then, but I had just been rescued, and it would not be too much longerbefore I would meet my Holy Hero.
Well, the wedding took place in St. Raymond’sCatholic Church. I did go off the pill after being on it for just a fewmonths. Not because the Catholic Church disapproved, but because Ifelt some nondescript side effects from it. Our son was born almost twoyears later.
After his birth, the Catholic Church would haveone more appearance to make in my life. Even though I had emotionallydisconnected from it, I was reluctant to dismiss the necessity of having our sonbaptized…it was my duty as a parent. What if it was true that if he wasnot baptized and something happened to him, he would not make it to heaven? I could not take that chance. So again, I half-heartedly told myself thatthis might be a good time to give the Catholic Church another chance. After all, I was a mother now, at the ripe old age of 20. I had to protectmy child from any chance of spending eternity in hell.
Hope
Shortly before my son had been born, my sisterhad gone into the hospital for knee surgery. While she was there, mymother became friendly with my sister’s roommate. This woman’s namewas Lynn, and she was a Christian, a born-again believer. She held biblestudies in her home and she invited my mother to attend, which she did. Atthat time, I had never even heard the term, “born-again Christian” and wouldhave had absolutely no idea what it was even if I had heard it.
My mother continued to attend this Bible Studyfor a while, and one day she invited me to come with her. At this point,my son was only a few months old, and I was suffering with depression. Iwas a little hesitant at first, having never read the Bible, but it did soundsomewhat interesting. Even though the Catholic Church did not encourageBible Study, we did have a big white leather Family Bible at home. It hada beautiful picture of the Blessed Virgin with Child on it, in the middle of thefront cover.
When I was a child, my mother had some interestin the Bible, and although I do not recall actually seeing her read it, I doremember her commenting on a few “prophetic” verses...especially the onethat said...
“Behold, I show you a mystery: We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump; for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.” 1 Corinthians 15:51-52.
I could not get those words out of my mind. “In the twinkling of an eye”... they had planted themselves deeply in myheart, and would never be shaken loose. Occasionally they would come tothe surface, as if they were beckoning me to come closer, to know more, todiscover the Person behind those Promising Words. However, reading theBible was just not something that Catholics did. Now I know that it wasdiscouraged because the Church was the only one who was qualified to interpretScripture.
Although I was curious, the idea of a Bible Studyseemed strange. I was only twenty-one and could not picture what it wouldbe like to be with a group of older women studying the Bible. I decided togo anyway. Little did I know that I would soon be ushered into the Kingdomof God. Soon I would experience the new birth. This would be the daythat I would meet my Hero, the Bridegroom. This would be the day I wouldmeet the One who had rescued me that night at the church. This would bethe day that Jesus would come out from behind Mary’s shadow.
The Beginning
Lynn made me feel welcome as she sat me down atthe table with the others. They seemed happy, cheerful, and peaceful sittingthere in the dining room with their bibles open and drinking coffee. Shequietly began to explain the gospel to me. I do not remember now thedetails of what she said, but all I know is that I believed what she was tellingme. Without hesitation, I simply said, “Yes”, when she asked me if I wouldlike to receive the Salvation that God was offering me. There were nobells, and no whistles at the moment I said yes to Jesus Christ on May 15, 1975,just a quiet assurance in my heart. As I sat there, for the first time inmy life, I began to read the Bible. I felt a sense of peace. Something real had happened; something was new, including a new sense of hopeand purpose. As I began to read the simple story in one of the Gospels, Ifelt like I had just discovered a hidden treasure. I felt that my eyes hadbeen opened. I had found my home. I had been born again.
Shortly after that, my husband came to know theLord, and we were both baptized by immersion at the local Bible Church.
The Victory
That was twenty-six years ago. Since then,there have been good times and bad. One of the memorable times was havingthe privilege of being a part of the founding of a new church. I wastwenty-four then, my husband was twenty-eight, and we were living in a verysmall town in Northern Wisconsin with our young son. We were part of agroup of young Christian couples that had found each other and began meeting forBible Studies at each other’s homes. We became one big happy family,something I had never experienced before. It was one of the happiest timesin my life. God blessed us and our group continued to grow. Weselected a pastor and the next thing we knew we were starting a buildingprogram. The Northland Bible Baptist Church was built and is still theretoday.
Before and since those eight years we spentthere, we have moved frequently, fifteen times in thirty years to be exact,making it difficult to really put down any roots. At the current time, weare attending a Baptist Church.
Over the years, there have been more than a fewfailures in my walk with Christ, especially in those early years. Myformer lifestyle without Him had been deeply ingrained, and for many years, Istruggled to let go of it. Even so, Jesus has always been faithful to me evenwhen I was not faithful to him. He has been with me all the time. Hehas patiently waited, as I have taken side trips off the straight and narrowpath, getting lost and tangled in the bramble bushes of sin and despair. He has been with me in the darkness, as I lay curled up on my closet floor, notwanting to live anymore. He has delivered me and set me free from mybondage to cigarettes and alcohol. He has been with me in the loneliness,pain, and suffering that I have felt. He has led, guided, and protectedme. He has never let me get very far away, even in the worst oftimes.
He has brought some wonderful blessings into mylife that I am eternally grateful for. In fact, I am grateful foreverything that has come into my life, good and bad. It does not reallymatter what happens in life, because I know that He is working something out inme that will have eternal value.
Although I was not aware of it then, from a veryearly age I had a sense of emptiness and longing for something or someone whocould make me whole. When one is starving and dying of thirst, I guess it iseasy to swallow whatever is offered, even if it is not the Truth.
False Religion
Ironically, my mother, the one who planted thoseseeds of faith many years ago, has not yet been able to embrace the simpleGospel. Although she is fascinated with prophecy, she cannot seem to breakfree from the false teachings of the Catholic Church. At times, it appearsshe is finally starting to see the Truth, but then she falls back into the armsof the “One True Religion”. She and many other relatives of both myhusband’s and mine have been trained from childhood to believe that Salvationis a process, achieved through grace and a complicated system of Sacraments andworks. They seem to have a hard time understanding the priceless “Gift ofGrace”.
Lately I have come to realize the seductive powerof the Catholic Church. It is a religion steeped in the spirit of sensuality. Just as its doctrine promotes grace plus works, its sacramental rituals andluxuriant adornments, are designed to appeal not just to the spirit, but also tothe flesh, creating an ecclesiastical stronghold not easily broken. Grandchurches and architectural wonders are filled with beautiful works of art,paintings, stained glass, statues, carvings, gold objects, and worship utensils. Fine fabrics… silk, linen, brocade, tapestry, and beautifully embroideredgarments clothe the priests and the altar, color-coordinated for each occasion. Sounds of chanting, litanies and repetitive prayers, the Latin language that noone understands, but is mystified by, and the bells that ring during Mass arehypnotic.
Sweet-smelling incense fills the sanctuary andsoul, intoxicating and lifting the spirit to a higher plane. The Holy Hostis dispensed by a Holy Priest, and placed on the unholy tongue of the sinner,with the promise of nourishment and eternal life to the hungering soul. Praying hands caress the rosary, as fingers grasp each bead and whisper HailMary’s to the Glorious Mother of Christ. Holy and pious men withoutstretched arms and open hands, beckon the sinner to come and partake as theyoffer a feast for the senses.
Many other facets of the Catholic Church areappealing. It provides just the right balance of spirituality, sensuality,and many opportunities for man to participate in his own Salvation. Itprovides him with a Mother and a Father, and a baby Son who is perpetuallyrestrained in the arms of His Holy Mother, while the Pope replaces Christ, theGod-Man, on earth. Conveniently, the Catholic Church places its authority abovethe Word of God, appealing to those who would rather not face their own personalaccountability. It acknowledges a Triune God, yet denies theall-sufficient saving power of the second Person of the Godhead, Jesus Christ. A seducing spirit indeed.
The Catholic Church is also filled with thespirit of confusion. Not only does it believe in the Father, Son, and HolySpirit, there are other entities that are also worshiped. Mary is hailedalong with Christ, as are the angels, and even Joseph, Mary’s spouse. The following is a portion of a prayer that was said after Mass. Itillustrates the concept of more than one Redeemer and the other confusing issueabout Mary and the Catholic Church both being our Mother.
“Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy, ourlife, our sweetness, and our hope! To thee do we cry, poor banished children ofEve; to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley oftears. Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us”.7
“Pray for us, O holy Mother of God. That we many be made worthy of the promises of Christ”.7
“…and by the intercession of theglorious and Immaculate Virgin Mary, Mother of God, Saint Joseph, her spouse, ofThy blessed Apostles, Peter and Paul, and of all Thy Saints, in mercy andgoodness hear our prayers for the conversion of sinners, and for the liberty andexaltation of our holy mother the Church”.8
“Holy Michael, the Archangel, defend us inbattle; be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil”.8
The Catholic Church offers: One God; One HolySpirit; Two Jesus’ – (Jesus the Baby and Jesus the Crucified); Two Redeemers– (Jesus and Mary the Co-Redeemer); One Mother of God; Two Mothers –(Our Mother Mary and Our Mother the Catholic Church); A Replacement for Jesus onEarth – (The Pope). There is no other religion quite like this one... acomplex system that entraps and entangles man in a lethal web of highlysophisticated deceit. I am more than thankful that God has rescuedme.
One Way
One of the greatest truths I have learned sincebecoming a Christian is that God’s grace even provides the power to trulyforgive others who have deeply hurt me, and love them in return.
One of the biggest obstacles in my path has beenmy attempt to control my own life. Little by little, God has patientlyshown me that I do not have to worry about anything. I have nothing tofear because He is in control. I am learning to wait upon Him and trust Him tomeet all of my needs.
One of the greatest lessons I have learned isthat God is not some distant entity that has no interest in my life. He isa real Person, having thoughts and feelings and desires. He can feel joy,anger, and grief. He is unbelievably patient and long-suffering. Heis a God that can be known.
One of the greatest revelations I haveexperienced is the Truth of God’s Word. There is no other book on theface of the earth like the Bible. It is alive, an interactive connectionto a loving God who wants to be known by us. He wants to be desired andloved. We are made in His image. God understands our pain, longings,and loneliness. The only way we can truly get to know Him is by readingHis Word. This is how we become conformed to His image and take on themind of Christ. The more time we spend with Him, the more we become likeHim. The pages of the Bible are where He reveals Himself to us and wherehe holds up the mirror that shows us who we are.
My greatest hope and expectation is the return ofJesus Christ. I can honestly say there is nothing in the world my heartdesires more, than to be with Him, the One who rescued me. The lowlycarpenter, who was born in a stable, came into this world to take my place, andpay the penalty of death that I deserve, so that I could be set free and haveLife with Him eternally. There is no greater love than what God has donefor me.
“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God—not of works, lest any man should boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9 “
Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.” John 14:6 “And call no man your father upon the earth; for one is your Father, who is in heaven.” Matthew 23:9
“For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man, Christ Jesus, Who gave himself a ransom for all, to be testified in due time.” 1 Timothy 2:5-6
“But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the pagans do; for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking.” Matthew 6:7
Footnotes: 1-8 The Marion Children’sMissal by Sister Mary Theola, s.s.n.d. 1 pg 5; 2 pg. 5; 3 pg 6; 4 pg 132; 5 pg133; 6 pg 134; 7 pg 78; 8 pg 79.
Email Sally
