You know the saying, "Once a Catholic, always a Catholic." Well, for a majority of Catholics that’s true. It’s harder to get out of the grotto, than out of the ghetto. (For you non-Catholics, a grotto is a shrine to the Virgin Mary many Catholics have in their yards.)

In fact, if it weren’t for the merciful everloving God intervening in my life, I might still be living under the fear of Purgatory or a worse fiery judgment. But, Jesus brought me to Peace with my heavenly Father and I no longer have to be afraid of losing my eternal salvation. I have something I could never attain as a Roman Catholic – ASSURANCE!

I can look back on my life and see the hand of the Lord’s protection on me even though I didn’t know it at the time. As a child growing up in a large Catholic family (7 girls and 2 boys), religion was a big part of my routine. But to me religion was something sort of spooky and superstitious. It was something we could never hope to understand but blindly submit to, heeding the instructions of a hierarchy that held the mysteries of the unknown.

I remember attending Mass as a youngster and being trained to whisper and show utmost respect for the mysterious presence of the Lord in the tabernacle. I would get goosebumps and reverential awe at the high Mass when the incense would fill the church. The priest was closer to God than we in the pews in my estimation.

My dad converted to Catholicism in order to marry my mom. He had been raised as a nominal Christian in a little country church in his home state of Oklahoma. His grandmother was a disciple of Mary Baker Eddy, the founder of Christian Science. His biblical knowledge was poor but I believe he made a true confession of faith during a bout with spinal meningitis during World War II while stationed in India. He saw his fiancé’s insistence on converting to Rome as God’s guidance when he made it home alive in spite of dire predictions by medical experts. He studied Catholic teachings religiously and became a strong devotee to the Virgin Mary.

My mother’s Catholic roots were very deep. Her mother was a native of Mexico and her father a political refugee from Yugoslavia. Both her parents had inborn allegiance to the Vatican. My mother’s Catholicism has always been very superstitious, probably due to her Mexican Indian heritage where Rome’s converts were encouraged to adapt Catholic teachings to their own spiritualism of their pagan tribes.

While growing up, my mom would read me my daily horoscope and buy me Ouija boards as Christmas presents. After I got saved as an adult, she would remind me of what the spirits contacted on the board had predicted years earlier regarding my life. At my baby shower for my first child, mom reminded me that the spirit had said I would have three boys. Well, they were both wrong. I responded, "Mom, those were demons and my life is no longer any of their business." At that same shower, her sister (also a Catholic) said to me, "Jackie, your baby’s going to be a Capricorn," and I retorted, "Sorry, but I don’t follow demonic astrology now that I’m a child of God."

My upbringing in "Mother Church" consisted of a regimen of weekly Mass, daily rosary, indoctrination in the lives of the "saints" and a study of the Catholic catechism. I was seen as an ongoing project to be worked on. My parents’ success as good Catholics hinged on the outcome of their nine children’s allegiance to Rome continuing into adulthood.

Stories of the ghostly apparitions of Mary had a real hold on me. I would listen to the stories of the three children at Fatima and pray and pray that Mary would honor me with a visit. I would stare at the sun, as the pilgrims to Fatima do, and only hurt my eyes. I would wear my brown scapular as one of the apparitions said we should so that she could get us out of Purgatory on the first Saturday after our demise. My dad read to us from the Fatima letters, warning about atomic war hitting planet earth if we did not pray for the conversion of Russia.

CHILDHOOD QUESTIONS

I remember my first experience with someone questioning my belief system happened when I was but 7 years old. Walking home from school with my sisters, wearing my uniform, some kids from the public elementary school began teasing us for being Catholics. I approached one and asked, "Why don’t you like us? What have we done?" The little boy responded, "You worship statues and light candles to them and one of the 10 commandments says not to make any molten images."

I was flabbergasted. I ran the rest of the way home and went straight to my mom and asked her if that was true. She said that we don’t worship the statues, but only what they represent. I asked about the commandment, and she explained to me that they didn’t list it as a commandment because it is the same as the first commandment to love the Lord God… I was somewhat relieved, but I still felt something was not quite right.

One consoling practice in the Catholic Church was the stations of the cross. This is a ceremony held every Friday during Lent where more scripture verses are read than in any other Catholic ritual. We would follow the "passion" of Christ, showing how He was brutally scourged and mocked and nailed to the cross. My heart would be touched so deeply while reading the Gospel accounts that I would walk away from there with a real sense of remorse that He had to suffer for my sins.

I never got much out of daily Mass especially since I learned the liturgy in Latin. I could say every response, yet I hadn’t the slightest idea of what I was saying. But I took pride in myself that I could say those mysterious words so well. I felt I was doing something religious when I would have to fast for three hours before communion and when I would abstain from eating meat on Fridays. But, then of course, it was a sin not to and I didn’t want to have any black stains on my soul.

But at the age of 12 during the time I was being prepped for receiving my Confirmation, the Vatican II changes began to take effect at our church. I was told it was no longer necessary to fast before communion and I could now eat meat on Fridays except during Lent.. And the Mass was now said in English instead of Latin and it seemed so alien to me.

When the day of my Confirmation came and I was to have hands lain on me by the bishop, my doubts were nagging at me. I did not want to go through with the ceremony, but I didn’t have any choice in the matter. The bishop also wanted my Confirmation class to take an oath never to drink alcohol and we were told to stand up and swear not to ever drink. I stayed seated as did a few others, because though I wasn’t interested in drinking booze, I knew my dad did and the priests drank wine at Mass and I didn’t want to promise something I might not be able to keep.

Vatican II, in essence, said to me that the Catholic Church authorities were admitting they were wrong about something and that their claims of infallibility were a big cosmic joke. I knew that truth doesn’t change even though I never heard the scripture verse: "Jesus, the same yesterday, today, and forever." I no longer had any confidence in their teachings since I knew the teachings could change with the next church council.
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