Hello again, it’s Elizabeth.  This year has been rough for us Catholics.  The news has been so very hard to hear, and the path forward--at least for me--has been obscured.  I remember driving home on I-294 in tears as NPR reported on the Pennsylvania Grand Jury report.  As I drove home, I asked myself if I remain Catholic am I complicit in this abuse and cover-up?  And if I am, where do I go?  I graduated with a French minor but need some practice, I grew up hearing Polish from my grandparents but only know enough to be polite, and I learned the numbers in Spanish (long story about a terrible maternity leave sub).  So the Eastern Rites or the Orthodox churches are not an option.  The closest Protestant church would be Anglican.  But there would be no Real Presence.  I love the Eucharist, incense, and beautiful churches that lift my heart to heaven.  I love the 2,000 year history and tradition that answers me when I question my place in this world.  There is no other church that would surround me with the heavenly peace of adoration.        

That same day, August 15, I read the first reading for the Feast of the Assumption despite my internal conflict and doubt.  So, I raged at Him during the offertory.  Where’s the justice and cleansing fire?  Why would You allow Your priests to make fools of Your Church?  As I sat in that pew surrounded by the wood and marble that has housed my faith since childhood I felt angry and repulsed as I focused on holding back my tears.
Then, as we prayed the Eucharist prayer, my eyes lifted to the Crucifix on the back wall of the sanctuary.  Suddenly, I turned into a child running into my parents’ arms.  My world had shifted and I questioned the deepest part of my identity.  I knew Mary would hold me tight as her Son reassured me He makes all things new.  As I focused on the Crucifix, I knew that like Peter I could not leave this Church because to whom else shall I go?  I trusted God would bring us all, the Church militant, through the other side.  Men and women will rise up, Saints will be called, and the deepest desire of my heart at that moment was to echo Samuel’s “Here I am”.

That one day has not erased my anger and pain; it has not eased the paralyzing fear of the next news story.  But I have spent the last six months pouring my fears, anxieties, hopes, and dreams into the Crucifix.  I have put myself on the line applying to opportunities I was afraid of and I have heard His Voice deep in my heart saying not yet.  Without the Crucifix, these last few months would have been impossible.  With the Crucifix, these last few months have been a rallying point.