During the very first Mass I attended in Afghanistan, this was all I could think about. I looked around the small chapel with tears in my eyes thinking 'this is the universal Church.' I may be on the other side of the world but, during that hour of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, my soul is at home.
Sometimes I would wake up in strange places. Sometimes I would wake up on the bathroom floor. Once I woke up in a bus station downtown after a baseball game, escorted by a kindly police officer to his waiting cruiser and delivered unceremoniously to a detox center in the next city over where I attended college.
I knew Jesus had room for me—he hung out with my crowd, loud mouth recovering know-it-alls trying to figure out how to follow Him. That wasn’t my issue. It was the Church, with its pearls and stained glass, its rules about candle height and liturgical music and specific wordings—that was where I wasn’t sure I was welcome.
"I was sitting in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting the other day - it was a women’s only meeting - and I was struck by how honest, vulnerable and real everyone’s shares were. I wondered if I had been to any Catholic women’s gatherings where…"
“Every human being has gifts, insight, and presence that are needed by the rest of us; some of us are in a position to have our offerings valued by the world, and some of us are not. That doesn’t mean some have less to offer—it means we have to create a world that elevates the voices of those who have been silenced…”
In the second letter of our Cultivating Sisterhood short-series, Sara reminds us that no matter who we are or where we go, we can always bring a little bit of the Church with us to others using our unique gifts & talents.