Where Shall I Find Rest

The other week – a Wednesday – I went to mid-week Mass at the Anglican chapel I usually go to. I was coming back after a (fairly) long absence, especially considering my penchant in days of yore for attending Mass every day. Anyway, the point is that, right before the consecration, I felt suddenly overwhelmed and cried a little. I’m fairly sure no one noticed. Fairly.

This really drives home the fact that I feel like I’m experiencing a sort of religious angst that was both unexpected and not: at a very deep level, I still feel incredibly torn between two paths – one that I’m leaving and one that I’m seeking. Conflicted. Confused.

The day before, I had gone to Mass at the university’s Catholic center for the first time, for reasons that were both whimsical and practical. Practically, the schedule for Mass intentions at my home parish has been thrown into complete disarray, since it was based on the presupposition that Mass was being said every day. Therefore, to ensure a timely Mass intention which I could attend, I got one at the Center. Whimsically, I went because Father was always saying, “Are you going to go to the Center? You should really go to the Center. Have you gone to the Center yet?” Anyway, it seemed perfect that now, after he died, I finally did what he’d nagged me to do for years.

I confess that I experienced the comfort I always do at Roman Catholic churches that comes from knowing the liturgy and being able to participate in the service without any sort of book. (After all, We Are Church, are we not?) I also received Eucharist: I’ve been doing that ever since Father died, which makes that about, oh, five times now. It was interesting that I decided to do that in the first place, since I had always sworn not to, and even more interesting that I felt no conflict at any time while I was doing it, or in the time surrounding.

However, when I went to Anglican church on Wednesday, less that 24 hours later, I felt a profound sense of…having done something wrong. As in, what have I done? I knew that by the laws I grew up with the idea of receiving Eucharist in two denominations at once is, well, frowned upon, though that doesn’t quite convey the horror orthodox, law-abiding Catholics would feel at the suggestion. Oh, I had all sorts of nice reasons planned out. ‘I still believe in the Apostolic succession of the Episcopate and the doctrine of Transubstantiation, so I’m not really separate when it comes to Eucharist.’ ‘It’s about me and Jesus, not the Church.’ ‘Now that Father’s dead, no one will be hurt.’ But those are really all justifications I came up with after having already acted on the basis of what I felt compelled to do.

I just feel…so profoundly confused. I don’t really know how to name what I feel, or even if it has a name. In many ways, I long for the certainty that I had in my youth. I am forced to ask myself why I decided to leave the Catholic Church in the first place. My blog has actually been very helpful in this: I looked back over parts of it and was able to say, ‘oh yeah, now I remember.’ But to base this decision primarily on private experience is, of course, profoundly un-Catholic.

I miss my community, the people that I love, singing hymns I know, being familiar with the liturgy to the point that I can reflect on it instead of trying to figure out what it is that I’m supposed to be doing. I wish I knew what the Anglican Church is, the beliefs, sacraments, colors, documents, prayers, movements, fundamental beliefs (aside from the shared Creed, of course)…I wish that there was someone to just, I don’t know, teach and discuss these things with me, so that I might find a way to catch my footing. I feel lost, and therefore conflicted about where it is that I am meant to be. I wonder if I’m supposed to go back to Catholic churches, if that’s what recent events have been pointing me towards, even though I do not believe, fundamentally, that this is true. In a way, my recent experiences of comfort represent a profound temptation to slip back into what is easy and familiar rather than to seek out in difficulty what path it is right for me to take.

In the Roman Catholic Church, there is a highly structured catechetical program for adults who want to be initiated into the Church, complete with discussions, teachings, and guidelines for experiencing what the corporate beliefs are. I don’t know if the same thing exists in Anglican churches. The Alpha program is not what I mean: I found it interesting but ultimately unenlightening and insufficient when I did it at my home parish several years ago. I want…I don’t know…someone cleverer than me to help me make my way through the tangled branches of it all. All this is assuming, of course, that there are shared corporate beliefs, at least sufficiently for such a program of study to be viable. Even looking at the latitude for variation is important, I think, since this is not something the Roman Catholic Church itself excels at.

Thus far, I have been unable to find this mythical mentor. For one thing, the church I’ve been going to places no importance at all upon actually belonging to the Anglican Church. For another…um…I’m not sure the priest there is actually suited for dealing with me in this way: I’m afraid I might actually trample him with my incessant questioning. I need someone to challenge my assumptions and show me new things, who isn’t going to get confused by what it is I’m asking. I have an unfortunate and sneaking suspicion that I already know more about liturgy and doctrine than this priest, given my hyper-dedication to studying catechism, tradition and law, as well as classical philosophy and theology. This actually puts me at a disadvantage, since I am well-schooled in the doctrines, history, and documents of the most systematic church currently in existence. The Roman Catholic Church is not exactly known for its brilliant expression of mystery…oh, there’s mystery in the doctrines and teachings, but it’s lodged firmly inside a logical and thorough account of the mystery in question. For example: transubstantiation. It uses the language of substantial ontology to capture the reality of what Eucharist is. The idea is that the accidental properties of the bread and wine remain, but that their substance is effaced and replaced by the substance of the Body and Blood of Christ. Yes, this remains a mystery, and the doctrine does not pretend otherwise. But the doctrine seems to, in a way, take away this fundamental aspect of mystery in gratitude and replace it with a kind of gratitude-in-understanding. Which is the only problem I have with the doctrine of transubstantiation as such.

But I digress.

The point is that I desperately need and want to learn about this way of being Christian that I am circling. But it just doesn’t seem to be happening. I also don’t have a confessor I click with…ideally, the two would be combined, since the idea of sin and understandings of doctrine are sometimes tightly bound up with each other.

Oh, my heart! There is such a great temptation in my longing, for that which I know and have known. I returned to my home congregation because I needed and wanted to be there, to grieve with the people I love and who love me, to face and experience loss in and with the community entire. I’ve gone to the funerals of three people from that church now whom I have loved deeply, and if there’s only one thing I’ve learned it’s that grieving is never done alone, not really. We come together and prepare, together, to go back out our separate ways. Although the healing and the returning to our separate lives is done individually, the process of that healing, as well as the sending forth, is only really accomplished in communion with one another. But now, out of this need to be home again, is the fear – and secret longing, as well – that I will not be able, not be willing, to go onward again as before. The tendency to return to the people who love and miss me, whom I love and miss, and the Church as I have understood it for so long, is a powerful one. In so many ways, I just don’t know what to do. It’s isolating and heartbreaking and I don’t know that I am strong enough to try and do this on my own anymore. But that still doesn’t change the fact that the place I need to turn to and lean on for support if I am to change doesn’t seem to exist, at least for me. I world of mirage and doubt and fear…where is this place that I have taken myself? Where shall I find rest?

To quote Jeremiah: “This is what the Lord says: ‘Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.’” (6:16)

Or, Psalm 62: “My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken […] Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him […] Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.” (1-8)

Or, Frodo: “There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?”

Or, with Matthew: “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (11:29)

Or, with St. Augustine: “God, you have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in you.”