Catechesis.
That's Catholic, right? Perhaps you received the invitation from a fellow Catholic, or the invitation came during Mass - several times, even. Perhaps a small group of people - a married couple, a young person, maybe a seminarian, perhaps even your parish priest - dropped in during knitting club at the church to invite you. They spoke vulnerably, powerfully, and maybe a little uncomfortably, but something struck you: maybe it was pure curiosity, or the desire to develop your faith more, and you trust the church or the person inviting you. They even produce a letter from the (arch)bishop himself adding he has told them "to proclaim this message at every parish!". Maybe it's like the invitation indicated - you're suffering in your marriage, your family, your life, and their words hit a nerve. Maybe you go because it's even been given to you as a penance after confession. So you find yourself sitting in a room in the church, rows of chairs facing a panel of people staring right back at you, or perhaps they sit with pitifully pained faces, looking at the floor, waiting for their turn to get up and share a word, or two, or six, or a few thousand. Maybe.
The speakers, or "catechists," seem as though they don't know what they're doing exactly. They might fumble through their words, or seem as though what they are trying to share with you is difficult to get out; they'll even look back to the other panelists as though they need help with nailing down the word they're looking for. And you may notice something kind of odd: they all seem to speak with the same inflection and mannerisms, maybe even develop an accent (although they're from your local area), and when not speaking in the group, the accent and mannerisms disappear. They'll use foul language, and share personal, even shocking, stories about themselves--sexual improprieties, adultery, masturbation, fornication with many partners, spousal abuse, abortion, sexual abuse, substance abuse, workaholism, neglect, just all-around DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS--but then they heard a word. Many will say they grew up in the Church but then fell into ill repute. But, hearing this kerygma, this good news, they were able to see their sins but know that God loves them; something they didn't know or believe before.
They then launch into teaching you how the church, the building itself, has the people all around it--they'll draw this out on a marker or chalkboard--and they'll talk about the people that come to Mass but do not talk with each other, the little old lady that stays in the pew by herself and no one talks to her, and how it's not any different from the person on the far end of the church's proximity - that there is no community, in the Church or outside of it because of *gasp* "natural religiosity". You wonder what "natural religiosity" means exactly and why they keep saying it like it's a dirty word. If you aren't already a practicing Catholic, this may sound comfortable to you. After all, you may have shied away from the Church because you don't like religion, but you like the idea of being "spiritual". If you are a practicing Catholic, you may start to think maybe you've been doing something wrong, that the way you practice your religion is deeply off course because they are there to "implement the way the first Apostles originally intended the Church to be". As a practicing Catholic, whether fervent and regularly attending, to occasionally going to Mass - all along you've just been part of a club, looking to feel validated that you're a good person, get your Jesus and go home to continue living blind to your sin and wearing a mask of fakeness. "Your life is like an onion and when you peel the layers of the onion back, it stinks" - and they are there to help you peel that onion. Why? Because to be a true Christian is to walk around with that odor, to have your true nature revealed to you and everyone else and the only way is through a community of people that God has chosen for you. Keep coming to the catechesis, they say. To be a true Christian, you need to go down, down into the waters of baptism (and drown) before you can come up and live.
They'll strum another tune out on the guitar where the panel and several others in attendance sing along with a clap, clap, clap, repetitively, and you are dismissed after a solid 90 minutes where you did exactly as they bid you do in the invitation - you came and you listened. Depending on your motivations for being there, you might feel as though the kids aren't practicing Catholics anymore because now you know, you've been doing it wrong; or you're more confused than ever, but you've been reassured that, in time, things will make more sense, you just need to put your brain and burning questions in the back seat and go for the ride; or you feel better about yourself because these people, even the priest, talked about their sinfulness without shame, in front of everyone, so you're not so bad either! So, if you have the time and inclination, you'll return because what you came for may not have been fulfilled, but surely, it will get better and more interesting.
But you might think that something kind of stinks--and it's not the metaphorical onion.
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