This Monday, as part of our Eastern Orthodoxy class, we went to visit Father Otti, the Catholic priest in Lupeni, to hear about life under Communism. One of the first things Dana did was mention to Father Otti that I'm Catholic.
I've gotten used to being introduced like this. It was probably one of the first things this group learned about me. During an introduction to Tibi, who was instructing us regarding our involvement in the IMPACT groups, each of us was supposed to spend three minutes introducing another member of our group. Stalling for time, after telling Tibi that I'm Catholic, a certain member of our group proceeded to explain that my mom is Catholic, and my dad is Catholic, and that I have a brother and a sister - and they're Catholic. It's also on the list of things my host family tells people when they're introducing me. "This is Bet. (There's no "th" sound in the Romanian language.) She's from America. She has a brother and a sister. And she's Catholic."
The funny thing is that I don't mind. In fact, I kind of like it. I like the fact that, in their minds, it's right up there with my country and my family structure. It's an essential part of who I am.
After Dana introduced me, Father Otti asked (in Romanian and apparently jokingly) why I hadn't been in church on Sunday. Quite surprised, I replied that I had. In fact, I had gotten there in time for the second half of the Rosary before Mass. The church hadn't been that crowded. How could he have possibly missed the only American face in the building? How could I not have stood out?
Only later did Father Otti explain (through Dana's translating) that, when he saw me in church, he had thought I was Austrian. I was surprised - and, I'll admit, a bit flattered. Normally, walking down the streets, people know immediately that we're Americans. (Matt has to explain that he's actually Canadian.) It's common to hear people greet us with "Hello" instead of "Ciao" because they can tell where we're from. Father Otti could tell I was a foreigner . . . but didn't immediately peg me as an American. And he probably didn't give it a great deal of thought, either. Because it didn't matter whether I was Romanian or Austrian or American. What mattered was that I was Catholic.
For class yesterday, we were supposed to write a journal reflecting on the question: "What about you is Christian, and what about you is American/Canadian?" I ended up turning the question around and asking myself what about me was Catholic. Because a lot of things that are assumed to be uniquely Catholic back in the United States are beliefs that are held by Orthodoxy, as well. We share the same seven Sacraments - they call them "Mysteries". Our belief about the Eucharist is very similar, although they don't define it specifically as transubstantiation. We have similar beliefs about Mary and the Saints. We differ on matters such as Papal authority and the "filioque" clause in the Creed. And, oh, yeah, we use different calendars to determine the date for Easter. But, on the whole, we have a lot more in common than not.
I remember, during our first week at Straja, Matt VanderMolen and I went up to the Orthodox church and walked through the tunnel leading up to it. It was filled with pictures of Saints. A calendar covered one whole side of the tunnel - with a different Saint for each day. On the other end of the tunnel was one of the Stations of the Cross that lead up to the huge, glowing cross in Straja that can be seen from Lupeni. (The Stations lead from Lupeni, up the mountain to Straja - very nice, symbolically speaking.) I remember being surprised that, despite not having learned much Romanian by that point, I could tell, more or less, what the first part of the station said: "We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you, because by Your holy cross, You have redeemed the world." So familiar to me after years of going to Stations of the Cross with my family, my school, and at retreats. Something so familiar - here, in Romania, at an Orthodox church.
So what about me is Catholic? Does it really come down to the Pope, a different day for Easter, and three words in the creed? Is that it? Is that really all that's separating the Catholic Church from the Orthodox Church?
Well, no. That's not all. I'm learning, being here, that a large part of it is cultural. There's a vagueness, a mystery to Orthodoxy that is at the same time appealing and frustrating. We Catholics tend to define things more. The Orthodox pride themselves on the unchangingness of their beliefs, their worship, their way of life. Personally, I'm glad the Catholic Church has changed a bit - I barely know five words in Latin.
So what, specifically, about me is Catholic? I don't know exactly how to put it into words. But there's something special about being able to walk into the Catholic church here in Lupeni, and, aside from the homily, understand a good 90% of what is said - not because of my impressive Romanian language skills, but because I'm Catholic. It's good to know that, on the other side of the world, eight hours or so after me, my family will be doing the same thing. Sharing a common experience. On any Sunday I like - and some weekdays - I can walk into a fancy cathedral in New Ulm, Minnesota, or a small chapel at my grandma's nursing home, and Mass will be Mass. The Eucharist will still be the Eucharist. And a priest will still be a priest.
Which brings me back to Father Otti. What may stick with me most about the visit was when Dana told us that Father Otti and Father Ciocan (the Orthodox priest here) will sometimes officiate at each other's services. And my reaction wasn't, "What??? That's got to be against some rule!" My reaction was quite likely the goofiest grin ever, because, mentally, all I could think was, "Yes! Amazing! Awesome!"
It's people like Father Otti who make me really proud to be a Catholic. He knows what he believes and where he stands. Other people know what he believes and where he stands. But, at the same time, he's willing to reach out a hand of friendship to people who believe differently. He's willing to take part in an Orthodox service. He was willing to open his doors to a bunch of students from a Protestant school. And I couldn't help but smile when I saw a copy of the Koran on his bookshelf - not hidden away somewhere, but sitting right up front.
Maybe that's part of what's in me that's Catholic. It's not uniquely Catholic, but I'd like to think that, as a whole, it's becoming part of our mentality. A firmness in our own beliefs while accepting the beliefs of others with respect.
As for what in me is American, the question brought to mind a visit Pax Christi had from Professor Jundt last year. (Pax Christi - Latin for "Peace of Christ," accounting for nearly half of my Latin vocabulary - is a group on campus where Catholics and non-Catholics come to discuss various issues.) Professor Jundt was talking to us about the history of Catholicism in America. One of the things that came up was something John F. Kennedy once said: "I am not the Catholic candidate for president. I am the Democratic Party's candidate for president, who happens also to be a Catholic."
Well, I'm not. I'm not an American who happens to be Catholic. I'm not a student at Northwestern College who happens to be Catholic. And I'm not a student here on the Romania Semester who happens to be Catholic.
My Catholicism isn't a coincidence; it's a part of who I am. A part that transcends language and even culture. And, at the same time, a part that allowed and even encouraged me to, after going to Mass last Sunday, go down the road to the Orthodox church, then later to an impromptu sing-along-style worship service on a hill near our house with my host sister and brothers and a few of their friends, and, finally, to the Pentecostal church in the evening with my family. A part that reminds me to be firm in my own beliefs while, at the same time, respecting the beliefs of others.
That's what's in me that's Catholic. And I that, I think, is something to be proud of.
Pace si Doamne ajuta,
Beth
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