The Cross, Conversion, and Chippendale Chairs

I've really enjoyed following the Bright Maidens' Lenten blog series, especially this week's installment about conversion. I've had conversion on the brain lately since I've been following Kassie, Brit, and Kortni's poignant journeys into joining the Catholic Church this Easter. Being a cradle Catholic, I never had the experience of a dramatic leap into the truth, but lately I've been realizing that God requires a change of heart at every stage of life.
Elizabeth's Bright Maidens post really resonated with me since she described the stage that I'm grappling with right now - figuring out how to balance my faith and my professional life. When I interviewed at my grad program, I described my volunteer work with the poor and my love for fancy museums as "two halves of me that I'm trying to reconcile." Two years later, that is still a work in progress.

One of the new lambs on the museum grounds

When you spend most hours cramming information into your brain, there is little energy left to worry about your soul. Sometimes it's hard to see life beyond stacks of books and papers. I feel like to much of academia, my church-going is just a quaint hobby that makes me really good at art history trivia. It's only slightly more relevant to modern society than Civil War re-enacting, and probably less palatable since re-enactors don't ever tell people their choices are immoral. What do my beliefs have to offer modernity except the Cross and self-denial? That's a hard sell, and its discouraging. I've gotten a little too jaded about how crazy and kitchy Christianity must seem to outsiders.

I'm startling to realize that this is another conversion opportunity. I have to decide to be Catholic not because it's what my parents taught me, or because I'm afraid of hell, or even because I loved my college campus ministry community. No, it has to be something I choose myself, today, for the way I live right now. But exactly how do I make that choice?

Lamb of God headstone at my Delaware parish

God gave my jumbled mind and heart a breakthrough this Tuesday as I sat with the daily readings in my local parish. My over-academic brain noticed that there was a lot of material culture in the Gospel accounts of Holy Week - clothes, dishes, donkeys, attic spaces, plants, money. Maybe the two halves of me weren't so separate after all...

I thought about all the reasons why Catholics are supposedly weird:
- We talk about people and things most people have never heard of. Oh wait, that's what my classmates and I do all day long. Normal people don't spend car rides discussing Chippendale chairs, museum ethics, vernacular architecture theories, or Jackson Lears' conception of antimodernism.
- We have goofy rituals and traditions that are off-putting to outsiders. Well, at grad school dinner parties we flip over chairs, climb under tables, and analyze the china. (Seriously, I did that last weekend.)
- Then there's that sticky final issue of poverty and self denial. Frankly, I can't think of a better way to describe getting a master's degree or PhD. Case closed.

late 1800s embroidered Lamb of God burse at Church of the Transfiguration, NYC

Really, the two halves of me work best when they are in tandem. Catholicism has given me an advantage as an historian, and not just in the trivia department. When I look at the world through the eyes of faith, I can see connections everywhere - the hand of Providence in good things, Old Testament allusions in the Mass, words of hymns that pertain to certain moments, experiences that I can compare to events in Christ's life. The entire world is bound together by the love of God, the waters of Baptism, the tangible mystery that is the Eucharist. When I was at Mass tonight, I was connected to thousands of people who lived centuries before me.

There are times when studying history feels similar. Sometimes my mind envisions a timeline of people and events stretching back through the decades, connected by threads of causes and ideas. Good history books weave a complex web of lives and stories to help us understand how the world got the way it is now. The best way I can try to explain it is a kind of 3-D or polarized filter, and you have to make a point to turn it on.

Today, Holy Thursday, I turned in my master's thesis about Episcopal vestments. The whole thing is secretly about the allure of the Eucharist, so it's perfect that it ended on the day Christ instituted that very sacrament. Maybe God is trying to tell me something.

For the rest of the Triduum, I'll be praying for the converts waiting to be Confirmed, and working on my own conversion. I'll be praying for God to open the eyes of my heart, so I can see the connections that have yet to be made.