Dive Into the Tiber

I’ve just passed one of the most trying days of my life: Sunday 3 February 2008.

Let’s start at the beginning, at midnight. An hour and a half before that (OK, so that is before the beginning, on Saturday evening), I had been sitting at my computer, doing what poets do for courage and optimism instead of imbibing alcohol:

I swim the Tiber

Horatius Cocles fought until the bridge
Broke under him; with joy in every fibre,
He cried (his foes still on the other ridge)
‘Accept me in thy waters, Father Tiber!’
Sharp-shining arrows shot the other host;
Horatius Cocles swam towards his home.
The lone contender, hoisted on the coast,
Looked, humble, satisfied, upon Old Rome.
I once lived in Geneva, but am fled,
For they resent the treasure for the taking.
I see the city! Let me turn my head
And draw my sword; I hear a bridge a-breaking.
I splash, and shout, in near-ecstatic hope,
‘I swim the Tiber! Mary bless the Pope!’

Then I went downstairs and made coffee, wishing to announce my intention of converting to the Roman Catholic Church. However, I missed a wonderful opportunity when I let the conversation slip past carnival and nominal Catholics, and then my father went out to get a few things done.

Which takes us into Sunday, around 0.30, when I was asked to go to bed. Feeling pressured, I went through my introduction in mumbling haste, then said that Sunday morning might be one of the last times of going to church together with the others, since I intended to leave the Gereformeerde Gemeenten (Reformed Congregations) and become a Roman Catholic. Feeling rather defensive, I had taken out Transitus Tiberis and showed it.

There was surprise, of course, as well as disappointment, skepticism, incredulity. My mother raised the possibility that Catholic church services might really disappoint me. Of course they might – I’ve thought about that. It’s not as if my reason for converting is the nice statues in the Catholic church of Middelburg or Fr. Josef’s joyful smile in the Siegburg abbey. But I had been asked to go to bed, and went – in turmoil, of course.

Having been challenged about my late rising on previous Sundays, I woke up before the others and made tea and breakfast (partly), bringing tea to Eva (my sweet 5-year-old sister) in bed, who sleepily called ‘Thank you, Eli!’

I went to church, and when I came home and the others were out of the way, I was asked why I had not mentioned before what I was up to. Choosing my words very carefully, I conveyed the message that I had not wanted to worry anyone needlessly as long as I was not certain. (Remembering Cardinal Newman comforted me; in his time of doubt about the Anglican Church, newspapers had followed him and asked his opinions all the time, because he was an influential figure; he had not wanted to voice his doubts, because he did not know if he would keep them.)
Then, it was objected, why had I not talked to Mr. Eikelboom, an elder in our church?
Because that would not have solved anything. Although Mr. Eikelboom has an uncommon mildness, great piety and much life experience, he would not have been any help in a theological question. His wisdom is practical, not academic. So I had looked for help in other quarters – not only Catholic ones. I have debated the most important issue quite extensively.

It turned out that my mother had more or less seen it coming. (One does not hide secrets from mothers – ever.) However, she had hoped the reason for my lingering on Catholic websites was to provide a Reformed perspective there. She had never really believed I would go on to become a Catholic, because she did not believe anyone not raised Catholic could ever accept Catholicism. (Those interested in a brief overview of the primary differences between Catholics and less traditional Christians should have a look at Fundamental Differences Between Catholics’ and Other Christians’ Worldviews.)
My father doesn’t believe it either. He expressed the opinion that it was just an adolescent thing. I have no history of rebellion, but maybe he thinks I ‘bottled it up’ or something. In other words, I was just play-acting (contrary to everything I have ever done) and I would grow out of it.

During the day, we also had brief discussions on Penance, the Eucharist, Purgatory, the Reformation, and Biblical interpretation (and carnival! I said I preferred the fasting :D).

I went to our church’s youth club at 16.00 to discuss the topic of clothes (decency, men’s and women’s clothes, Sunday clothes), then went back at 18.00 to look after Eva, since church would start at 19.00 and the others were going. Eva is making wonderful progress copying words from a book to the computer. One day she’ll write as fast as I do. Then I put her to bed and read some Jip en Janneke stories.

The day was almost over, and I had to prepare for returning to Middelburg again. There I am now, listening to nostalgic, romantic music by Danny Elfman, writing a blogpost about yesterday, a day of trial.