PART I: Mosaic tiles fitting around His story...

I'm not Catholic, but I've been attending Mass off and on for about a year. I have only one prayer memorized (Hail Mary), but mostly, I find myself questioning the words, rather than meditating on them.

I've also been pondering many strings of thought which tie themselves to the Bible; after I became a Christian, I read the Word and it became the foundation to understand God's unconditional love.

I have trouble grappling why I can't take communion in the Catholic church, but equally so, I can't begin to understand why we take it so rarely in other protestant Churches.

When I was a child growing up, I experienced a modge-podge of churches; I always took note of the liturgy and traditions, such as-- the lighting of the candles, the small pauses before and after prayer, the angle at which one tilted his or her head, how one folded or did not fold his/her hands and finally, my memory collects the sounds of church the ringing of the bells, whether by pulling a large rope or by gently ringing it in the palm of one's hand, the songs, hymns and praises, the testimonies or prayer requests. My observation of the practices of each church did not compare to the actual relationships I formed with the pastor, congregation,or peers. In each sanctuary, I found a niche and uniquely absorbed scripture and wondered if I had just heard the ending or beginnning of another prayer....

During the past few months, I've taken witness to the space that I create around myself, either to protect myself or I've discovered that this space has been carefully assembled for me to enter in and create.

Specifically in the Catholic church, I know I am both an outsider and a blessed guest, even though I cannot recite the common prayers uttered by most of the Catholics standing on either side of me, I am still welcome to participate, sing and listen. I am always surprised when someone younger doesn't mind fervently saying the longer prayers outloud; but I also hear a mumbling from other young Catholics standing on the opposite side of me or directly in front of me.....

It's nearly impossible for me to ponder how the wine and bread can symbolize the "real" body and blood of Christ. **I say all of this to explore and define my own position, not to bring insult or injury to anyone's beliefs** I understand the metaphor as a visual artist;it's very powerful..... I cannot deny that the whole thing shall make sense eventually, later or even more later than that.

I don't understand prayers said to Mary (such as the Hail Mary- the one prayer I actually memorized ) when it is God our Father whom we should pray..... but I have great respect for the liturgy and the book of common prayer. Catholics and many believers say specific prayers that can be said at all hours of the day...recently, I have been sharing this prayer:
"Peace to you."

There's also something very powerful about opening one's heart up in a state of vulnerability, expressing a personal prayer at an undesignated time, sort of being open to the stillness that envelops me whenI I least expect it.

All of this to say, that I experienced somthing through the Stations of the Cross that was altogether different, very reflective and quite beautiful. The entire time we were there, it was assumed that the timing was off, or that some people simply couldn't stay to pray. A few remained, and it is true, "Where two or three (or in this case, four) pray, t here is theLord also." I copened up my heart in the error of incorrect directions, poor timing and an upset, grumbling stomach ("What's new I say?")

The other night, I prayed the Stations of the Cross. If you've never heard of these, please visit.... this link! I meditated on each scene and recalled my own human error to falter, to fall short of the grace that is given so freely with unconditional love.

I am loved in such a way, that even when I fail, I can be forgiven.

How are the mosaic tiles going to fit around my story?
Look for this answer and more in PART II of this entry.....