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I attended mass in my parish church. The church was practically empty. Thinking of her legions of lapsed Catholics (myself included), I drank a bottle of wine and wrote:

She Waits

At the church gates
longing for her lost children
Hers the hand that bathed
their infant brow with holy waters
anointed their youth with chrism oils
Hers the heart that loves them
and forgives them all their sins

Where are they now
Gone, all gone
Leaves blown in the four strong winds

Her bells call unheeded
While all over the land
the demons cavort
and gleefully gloat:
They all ours now.
two thousand years it took us
and you never getting them back

The long years come and go
the cold bitter snows of Winter
follow the hot burning suns of Summer
Her walls crumble and fall
Saints and martyrs lie broken in the dust
amidst the stained glass and faded vestments
The Holy Cross hangs by a thread

And yet she waits at the church gates
Forsaken forgotten
Her tears fall in the snow
Her Sacred Heart breaking
She gazes down the long lonely overgrown path

But no one comes…….
 
Your poem is simply stunning.

I’ve been thinking about this article for days.
Lapsed for twenty years, I’ve returned to find so much damage done.

patheos.com/blogs/deaconsbench/2013/11/conversion-story-church-becomes-gym/

Those beautiful churches were built when people loved, trusted and needed God. Now, we love and trust in technology. And we certainly need it to function in the workplace.

My husband and I are working hard to pass on our knowledge of the faith, however imperfect, to our son. We’re lucky to be in a vibrant and active parish. Yet, I have many friends who insist on having their kids in PREP, but never take their kids to Mass-not even at Christmas! I’ve come to understand that these people are frankly lazy. They don’t understand or care that they are raising the next generation of lapsed Catholics! I’ve stopped trying to reason with them.

This is was happens when you take it all for granted. We are in a post-Catholic era. Since it represents a millennial shift, I don’t know if this can ever be repaired. It’s utterly demoralizing.
 
Perhaps you should think about attending my parish Church – St.Gabriel’s in San Francisco – it is never empty. Also I sometimes attend Mass at a beautiful Church in downtown San Francisco – St. Patrick’s – and usually it’s mobbed!!! One day someone asked me a question on our way out after Mass if the Church was always this crowded – sometimes it’s even more crowded if it’s a feast day or a special day. I believe St. Patrick’s was the first Catholic Church to be built in San Francisco and I love it!!!
 
I Iived in San Francisco for 15 years. Although largely lapsed, my go-to parish was Saint Mary’s-the one that looks like a washing machine agitator-because it was near my work. I’ve also been to Mass at Saint Patrick’s, Saint Ignatius, Holy Name, Saint Ann of the Sunset and Saint Thomas. Where is Saint Gabriel’s?
 
Thank you, Modern. It’s the first and only poem I’ve ever written. It’s nice to know I’m not alone. As lapsed Catholics returning to fold, I know we’re the thin edge of the wedge. I will certainly devote my life to helping our brothers and sisters come back home.

Barb, I’d love to attend St Patrick’s. I’ll even sit on the floor.
 
Awesome!

Welcome to CAF!

God that is always,
always waits,
always welcomes,
For all time.
 
I retired last year. That’s when I wandered into the church above. It was a watershed moment for me. It caused me to ask: who am I, why am I here, how should I live my life, where do I go when I die.

So I decided to go on a Catholic pilgrimage.

A few days later and across the high seas, I started my walk of a thousand kilometres across France and Spain: the Way of St James. On the Camino with only the mountain and the blue sky for company, I was able to reflect. I come from an entire generation of Catholics who for a variety of reasons are so no longer. I could no longer deny the religion of my childhood. Sometimes, I saw Roman Catholicism intricately woven into the fabric of the Camino itself. I saw the Camino Francis as a cleansing fountain exquisitely designed to refresh the parched soul by graduated degrees to its final fulfillment in Santiago. It seemed to me that the churches on the Way corresponded to the Stations of the Cross, each emphasizing a different aspect of the Passion. It seemed to me that the churches were strategically placed so that they were the first thing that met your eye after a particularly arduous walk. A pilgrim of the past must have been overjoyed to see the church tower reaching towards heaven and hear the bells pealing. And before partaking of his mead, meat and rest, he must surely have fell to his knees to quench his thirsting soul:

Take this, all of you, and drink from it: this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven.

I was struck by the profound and moving imagery found, not only in the great cathedrals, but also in small village churches. This was not the sedate and sanitized Christ found in Canadian churches. This was an emaciated, bleeding and anguished Christ crying for us, forgiving us even as we whipped Him at the stake, nailed Him to the Cross and watched Him die. As if to drive home the point that it was men just like us, the men driving those huge spikes through His hands and feet were not always anonymous Roman soldiers, but Spaniards clad in the garb of the time.

I thought about the New Testament narrative on the Camino. God came to us as an illiterate Middle Eastern peasant two thousand years ago. He advised us to conduct our lives in a manner that does not come naturally to us: turn the other cheek; give away your worldly goods; love your neighbour. So we killed Him. Then unlikely as it seems, eleven unlettered men of humble station spread out from an obscure corner of the Empire and succeeded in convincing untold millions to live their lives in a way that does not appear to be natural to us.

And we strove for fifteen hundred years to atone for killing God by raising great cathedrals in His name, but we split St Peter’s church into warring factions.
Today, we have simply forgotten God:

Do this in memory of me.
 
I harbor a secret wish that I will walk The Way with my family some day.
 
Thanks for the background camino.

Shine that light bright. I think we’ve hit a trough, and will see some real greatness over the next decade.

People forget God when living of the world fills their hearts. When the world stops filling that space, as it is guaranteed to do for every person at some point because death is real, when we ask, God flies to fill that space.
 
I decided to walk the Camino to renew my faith. The Camino did renew my faith, but not the way I thought it would. I thought I would meet devout and holy Catholics who would inspire and sustain me. This was not to be. Sadly, of the two hundred thousand people who walked the Camino last year, hardly any were practicing Catholics. When I attended mass in huge cavernous churches, there was only me and about twenty elderly local Spanish ladies, their plaintive singing sounding a death knell over the declining body of my church; it tore at my heartstrings. And I thought: where are my Church’s strong knights and stout hearted defenders. All literally turned to stone; all watching the same TV program: like the sheep they accuse the devout of being, they all repeat the same mantra of clerical abuse and the Church’s supposed wealth.

No, I furthered my faith in solitude, in the wilderness, in the furthest reaches of the Camino where there was just me in the bright sunshine, the startling blue of the Castilian sky, layers upon layers of clouds, mountains, green fields gently waving in the soft breeze, red earth, purple hills, vistas of red, lilac, yellow flowers: God’s creation speaking directly to my soul.

The essence of my Camino was religious. But, as a child of the sixties, I enjoy a good time as much as the next guy. Most people who walk are open, honest and adventurous.Most also are lapsed Catholics, perhaps responding to half forgotten childhood memories. Good fellowship is the order of the day. Good food, good wine, good company. I had a great time.

I whole heartedly recommend it.
 
camino said:
No, I furthered my faith in solitude, in the wilderness, in the furthest reaches of the Camino where there was just me in the bright sunshine, the startling blue of the Castilian sky, layers upon layers of clouds, mountains, green fields gently waving in the soft breeze, red earth, purple hills, vistas of red, lilac, yellow flowers: God’s creation speaking directly tomy soul.

I whole heartedly recommend it.
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Wow, you have an amazing gift with words! Wonderful. i think our faith journey is often one of solitude. Basically its between us & God individually, as Mother Theresa says. Whereever you are, God is always speaking to us via His creation. There is a song by Sting, called ‘all this time’, & he sings about how through all the commotion of life, in regards to Heaven, “we only get there one by one”. Specifically the words are “men go crazy in congregations, but we only get there one by one”.
 
Now I want to walk the Way of St James, too…thanks for sharing a beautiful story, Camino.
 
camino said:
Thank you, Modern. It’s the first and only poem I’ve ever written. It’s nice to know I’m not alone. As lapsed Catholics returning to fold, I know we’re the thin edge of the wedge. I will certainly devote my life to helping our brothers and sisters come back home.

Barb, I’d love to attend St Patrick’s. I’ll even sit on the floor.
Click to expand...
Thank you for such an inspirational, beautiful poem. Don’t be surprised by the Graces He can give you when you least expect it. I hadn’t written for years, decades perhaps and He has inspired me so much I sometimes can’t keep up, which is why I started my blog. I wrote my first poem in decades last month, after returning in February of this year. What a blessed Year of Faith and us lapsed/returned(!!!) Catholics!! Thank you for sharing, and go wherever He leads you; don’t be afraid!

Again, welcome Home!
 
The tide is turning. Our church may well be the last best hope. Two hundred thousand pilgrims are definitely searching and may well find their Way home. And as you say, ffg, God will be waiting to welcome them:

God that is always,
always waits,
always welcomes,
For all time.

I’ll be leaving for the Camino again in the spring and who knows, I may well meet you, Modern and Secretary on the Way.

Spent a pleasant time listening to “All this time”, Joy and reading your blog, Christina – Good stuff.
 
I visited a small Catholic historical mission in California and heard that only 6 people attend. When I went into the small chapel for Mass there was at least 56 (myself included). Not bad for a chapel that only fits around 100.
 
That is a beautiful poem and your account of the Camino is lovely. But it is all so sad. I hope that your future experience as a practicing Catholic will be more joyous. Because there is so much joy and the faith is vibrant, you just have to find the right spot.
 
camino said:
I decided to walk the Camino to renew my faith. The Camino did renew my faith, but not the way I thought it would. I thought I would meet devout and holy Catholics who would inspire and sustain me. This was not to be. Sadly, of the two hundred thousand people who walked the Camino last year, hardly any were practicing Catholics. When I attended mass in huge cavernous churches, there was only me and about twenty elderly local Spanish ladies, their plaintive singing sounding a death knell over the declining body of my church; it tore at my heartstrings. And I thought: where are my Church’s strong knights and stout hearted defenders. All literally turned to stone; all watching the same TV program: like the sheep they accuse the devout of being, they all repeat the same mantra of clerical abuse and the Church’s supposed wealth.

No, I furthered my faith in solitude, in the wilderness, in the furthest reaches of the Camino where there was just me in the bright sunshine, the startling blue of the Castilian sky, layers upon layers of clouds, mountains, green fields gently waving in the soft breeze, red earth, purple hills, vistas of red, lilac, yellow flowers: God’s creation speaking directly to my soul.

The essence of my Camino was religious. But, as a child of the sixties, I enjoy a good time as much as the next guy. Most people who walk are open, honest and adventurous.Most also are lapsed Catholics, perhaps responding to half forgotten childhood memories. Good fellowship is the order of the day. Good food, good wine, good company. I had a great time.

I whole heartedly recommend it.
Click to expand...
200,000 people…you said you would like to help your brothers and sisters come back home? How do you see yourself accomplishing this?

I have been trying to ‘come back’ for many years, it was not my choice to leave in the first place, it was my parents’ decision. But I have met with busy priests who do not have the time to talk to me. In my part of the world our parishes are full, pews are full several times on Sunday. Where are these priests who do not have full pews? Do I have to move there? Maybe we will move. Thank you for your wonderful descriptions of the camino of Santiago de Compostela.
 
Casilda said:
200,000 people…you said you would like to help your brothers and sisters come back home? How do you see yourself accomplishing this?

I have been trying to ‘come back’ for many years, it was not my choice to leave in the first place, it was my parents’ decision. But I have met with busy priests who do not have the time to talk to me. In my part of the world our parishes are full, pews are full several times on Sunday. Where are these priests who do not have full pews? Do I have to move there? Maybe we will move. Thank you for your wonderful descriptions of the camino of Santiago de Compostela.
Click to expand...
Casilda,
We want you to come home. It is such a JOYOUS occasion. I’ve fallen away twice: once as a teenager (no real catechesis growing up), and again as an adult due to my own fault but exacerbated by others who pushed me away.

If you are Catholic, one of the best and easiest ways to come home: Make a good confession. You don’t NEED to make an appointment, but if you don’t mind being last in line you might get that extra time you need. If you’d rather do it outside of weekly confessions, call a parish office, ANY parish office, and make an appointment. It doesn’t need to be the priest you plan on seeing every Sunday, nor your home parish if you’ve already picked one out. Sins forgiven! Boom, you’re back!

Now you can do some work on your own. Do you live in a metro or rural area? Metro areas have many resources, but you might have to search them out. Unfortunately, half the battle is knowing the right questions to ask…if you don’t know the questions, it’s impossible to get the answers! 🙂 There are many online courses (free!) that teach you about the faith. You might even be able to get books or videos at the library.

Is there a Catholic (not Christian) bookstore/gift shop in your area? They can refer you many times to a good parish or good priest. They talk to people from every church in the area. Also, they (or online, or on Catholic Radio) can give you good advice about where to start, and how the rituals have adapted while you’ve been away.

After joining a church (or even while deciding and visiting) attend a social event or two; it might be coffee after Mass (which hasn’t worked well for me personally) or a catechesis class, a bible study class, or a talk across town. Visit your Archdiocese webpage for some ideas.

I should have said this up top, but PRAY. Pray some more. It doesn’t have to be scripted prayer; it’s just talking to God. Be reverent; be happy; be angry; be sad. He loves you no matter what. I’m soooo truly excited to see someone else who wants to come back. It isn’t necessarily easy, and I’ve been very blessed to be in an area that has many options for worship and participation; I hope that you are too, but if not, it can still happen!!

God bless you! Feel free to email me here!

I’m not too bad at Google, and I’d be more than happy to help you find some great resources in your area to get you jumpstarted! If you want to let me know your geographic area, I’d be thrilled to help!
 
“you said you would like to help your brothers and sisters come back home? How do you see yourself accomplishing this?”

Am I to be a greasy shifty eyed merchant
At his stall in the common marketplace
Proffering the goods of our Lord,
For sale?

Here comes one, see how confidently he strides
His cloak spun of the finest gold
Woven of comfort, fine wines and fast cars
Riches beyond counting, the admiration of all.

Fine Sir, give me your cloak and take this course robe
See, it is spun from the sacred scripture of the gospel
Dyed in the blood of saints and martyrs
It promises eternal life
If only you would trade.

Here comes another, see how calm he walks with measured tread
His cloak a multi-coloured patchwork
Of new ageism, spirituality, meditation and mysticism
A little bit of this, a little bit of that
Discipline and self mastery, an example to all

Enlightened one, give me your cloak of many colors and take this plain one,
See, it is spun from one color, the only true and apostolic church
as it was in the beginning, is now, and will for ever be
It promises all you have and more, much more
It promises the truth, if only you will trade.

Here comes the strong man, sufficient unto himself
No cloak for him, he cares not what others think
In his individualism, he shakes his fist at the raging storm
I am a man! I need no Gods.
At the end, he rages at the dying of the light.

Just for you Sir, trade me your rage for my Lord’s peace:
*Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
*
Am I to be a greasy shifty eyed merchant,
at his stall in the common marketplace
proffering the goods of his Lord,
for sale?

If I can make just one sale,
Yes, a thousand times Yes!
 
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