CALLED NOT QUALIFIED

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Romans 3:23

The moment God met me on my bedroom floor in surrender to His will, His voice emerged from the depths of my spirit as if it had hibernated in a long devastating winter. Once I gave him my “yes” there was no turning back. If my future decisions and losses had been laid out before me, I might have turned back.

Water pelted my face as I stood under the showerhead with my eyes closed.

“Teach CCE.”

The command was so loud and so real it startled me and I opened my eyes and gasped in a mouth full of water. Choking I stepped back out of the flow of water and grabbed at the tile wall for balance. It was mid-morning, Ryan was in his room watching Thomas the Tank Engine, and Seth was down for his morning nap. The bathroom was so small no one could slip in without bumping into me through the shower curtain.

Regardless I stood still and listened. Water rushed from the showerhead and slapped against the porcelain tub. There was no other sound than my raspy breathing.

I am crazy. I stepped back into the rushing water.

“Teach CCE.”

This time I couldn’t mistake where it came from. It wasn’t me but it was inside of me. I felt everything implied with the simple statement. When I cried out to God to change my life I wasn’t sure which denomination would nurture my faith, only that I was a Christian and everything else would be worked out later.

My ‘later’ and God’s ‘later’ were on separate timetables. Teach CCE? Yes, I was crazy to even allow the thought to cross my mind. Whether I’d heard the voice of God or just uncovered a hidden longing to understand Him dwell up from some inner depth of my soul -- either way it was still crazy.

I knew nothing in detail about the Catholic faith to teach a class to kids.

"All you need to know is my love."

Frustrated that my rare moment of silence and serenity had been invaded by this confusion, I flipped the shower knob off, squeezed the excess water from my newly cropped blonde hair, and grabbed a towel. Like a song stuck on instant replay I heard "Teach CCE. Teach CCE."

Once dressed I checked on Ryan and found that he had fallen asleep with his head next to the toy train track. Routine told me Seth had about a half-hour before he began to stir for lunch. "Teach CCE. Teach CCE." My mind didn’t stop. In the office I grabbed a notepad and wrote it out:

Teach CCE. He is all I need to know.

Finally, my mind went quiet. I stared at the words. Memories of Catholic catechism classes rushed forward. There were five of us. I was six years old, sitting at a table in a room as small as a bedroom closet. The teacher, the mom of the girl sitting next to me, held a plastic box that looked like a big television screen. She put in a tape and we watched bible stories come to life as the cartoon pictures scrolled across the screen one scene at a time. It was primitive but mesmerizing.

I got older and we moved. I was in Catholic school, which meant catechism was an actual religion class with notebooks, tests, and Mass every Wednesday. I volunteered to read the Bible at Mass only because I loved to read aloud. We learned to sing the Our Father and sign it as well. The guitar choir played the Alleluia, which was fun and a change of pace from the stuffy organ.

Catholic school ended when I was in middle school and once again I was in a classroom with someone's parent reading from a book and still more tests. "Whah,whah,whah.” They droned like the famous unseen Peanuts cartoon teacher. The older I got the more I cared about who was in the class rather than what I was learning from the class. By the time I was in high school I felt severed from God. How did any of this qualify me to teach children what I walked away from?

A faint babble came from Seth's room. I put the notebook back on the desk and dismissed the wistfulness that settled in my chest and pushed the thought away.

Sunday morning the boys were up, fed, and dressed. There was no excuse to avoid attending Mass. The last time I’d been to Mass I left Ryan in the nursery only to be told he bit the other kids and had ‘bad’ behavior.

Mortified and embarrassed I grabbed Ryan from the nursery worker’s arms. “Have you been bad?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Don’t say that. Ryan is not bad. His behavior is bad.”

My cheeks flamed. I grabbed my son and vowed to never go back.

My chest puffed forward with pride as I held onto Ryan’s hand and neared the nursery. The smile on the nursery attendant’s face didn't waver when Ryan and I walked into the little room. "Ryan.” She knelt to his eye level. "I haven't seen you in awhile. I'm so glad you're here."

I could tell she meant it. My chest deflated and I relaxed. She cared about him and that's all that mattered.

"I love you, buddy." I gave him a kiss before he wriggled free to play.

Seth was asleep on Neal's shoulder when I found them in the main sanctuary. It was as if the two edges of a zipper came together, the grooves meshing perfectly within the pattern, sealing what was once undone. The choir belted out songs of prayer that were familiar from my childhood, calling my spirit out from the depths of hibernation. The Scripture readings linked with the music as the Word of God fed my malnourished spirit. Receiving the Eucharist brought me back to my knees and the fresh memory of surrender.

Neal looked over at me every now and then as I wiped a tear away from the corner of my eye. Seth stirred only a few times but Neal held onto him, which gave me a moment to embrace the peace. When did the Mass change? I shook my head in reply to my own ignorance. The Mass hadn't changed. I had.

The priest stood to pronounce the final blessing but the deacon had an announcement to make. "Classes for CCE will begin the second weekend of September. The CCE office is in need of volunteers to teach all grade levels. If you are interested in learning more about volunteering there will be an information meeting tonight at 7:00pm in the Family Life Center."

My heart beat like I'd finished a marathon. Every hair on my body stood on end. "Teach CCE" I heard again as I did earlier in the week. I looked over at Neal with Seth nuzzled in the crook of his neck. What would hurt if I went to the meeting? I leaned into him. "I think I want to go to that meeting.”

His eyebrows shot up before he nodded in answer. The priest gave the final blessing. "When are the classes?" Neal asked on our way to get Ryan from the nursery.

I shrugged. "I guess I'll find out tonight. I'm not committing yet but I am interested in seeing if maybe it is something I would want to do."

Full of nervous energy I bathed Ryan and got him ready for bed so Neal didn't have to wrestle with him for the evening. Seth was fed and already sleepy-eyed when I kissed him on the forehead before leaving.

God I sure hope you know what you're doing. I pulled into the church parking lot. This was my doing and I knew it. Not long after the evening I cried out to God to 'do something with my life' I had confessed another truth. "God, I'm not sure which church I want to belong to," I prayed. "Do I stay with all of my new friends or remain Catholic?"

Some of the women from the Bible study had invited me to do Breaking Free again because the general consensus was that most of us would get more from it if we were to go through the study one more time, knowing what we were getting ourselves into.

Even still I knew I couldn't walk out on my Catholic faith, again. Talking aloud as if God stood right beside me I made a plea. "If you want me to remain Catholic then help me to be interested in the faith. Help me to understand it."

Now here I was 'called' to attend an information meeting about teaching the Catholic faith, not necessarily learning it. God had a sense of humor.

I walked through the doors of the Family Life Center expecting to sit down and listen to what was expected of a Catholic catechism teacher. Instead, I was signed in and asked, "What grade do you want to teach?"

"Uh, um...” Where did I need to begin? Which grade did they learn 'Jesus loves you'? That would have been the appropriate starting point and what I could probably handle.

A woman walked up to the table as I fumbled with an answer. "I think you would be perfect for high school.” She smiled. “How would you like to assist John with eleventh and twelfth grade CCE?"

They didn't know my name and I was already typecast. I got it. I was young, the youngest in the room for sure, and I was present. Two criteria met and I was in. Before I could answer the woman took me by the arm and led me to the side.

"I'm Theresa, the youth minister.” She was older than me and had an air about her that was both peaceful and confident.

"I'm Shannon Deitz.”

She leaned in conspiratorially." I've seen you in Mass and I've always wanted to meet you. There is something about you that told me I might see you in here one day."

I stepped back, physically shocked. "Really?" Inside I thought, "You have no idea who I am and where I've been."

She smiled and nodded. "I think you're what our teenagers need. Someone young and new. Come on. I'll introduce you to John."

John was the father of three, two teenagers and one not far behind. He seemed grateful to have the help and instead of listening to the meeting he pulled me aside into the classroom. He gave me the book and explained the lessons. He’d begin with the first one since they knew him and he had been teaching before. I was assigned the second lesson. We met on Sunday evenings with the first one starting in two weeks.

In less than an hour I left the Family Life Center with a workbook in my hands and an assignment. What just happened?

"Jesus Christ as Living Water" was the theme to the chapter I was assigned. I read the first chapter John was scheduled to teach and poured over the second, going deeper into the symbolism of water within our faith - baptism and blessings.

There was so much to learn and I was pleased to recall some of the teaching from my childhood. It felt like I received the key that opened a locked treasure chest that I'd had in my possession for years but had stored and put away only to be forgotten. The more I read the message became clearer. It was simple and yet profound.

After reading the chapter I visualized the water of mercy that cleansed me only a few months before as I cried out for God to take my life. I'd been drenched as a child with the holy waters of baptism, I had received Christ in First Communion, and as a young adult I declared my belief in the faith and received the Holy Spirit within Confirmation. But it wasn't until I surrendered to God when I fully embraced the gifts that protected my soul.

One week before our first class I received a phone call from my mom late at night. "Shannon, I'm sorry to tell you.” I heard her pull the phone away and sob. “Jason killed himself. I just got the call and I thought you'd want to know."

Jason was a friend from high school, one of my few Catholic friends. He was a year younger but we were in the same CCE class. Ironically, I was his confirmation sponsor, the person he chose to put a hand on his shoulder as he accepted and said 'Yes' to God and to our Catholic faith. We were children. He chose me because we were comrades in the unknown. He looked up to me because I played the part well as if I knew more about our faith. I took our friendship seriously but I was blind to the responsibility of guiding him through the Sacrament and to grow in faith.

Now he was gone. The grief threatened to tear me into shreds. Somewhere along my years of growing up in the faith I was under the impression we went to hell if we committed suicide. But I couldn't fathom his soul lost in the depths of hell because he had taken his own life

Jason can’t be in hell. I screamed into a pillow, the sobs wracking my body.

Neal didn't know what to do or say except suggest that I call Fr. Richard. The next morning I called him once Seth was down for his morning nap. I needed to know before I called Jason’s mother.

Unable to take my call I was told Fr. Richard would call at his earliest convenience. Intermittently the tears flowed between diaper changes, feedings, and building train tracks.

"Why you sad, Mommy?" Ryan put a chubby hand up to my wet cheek. Sensing my obvious melancholy he was more in tune to me and how I felt than insisting on unobtainable tasks or requests that inevitably ended up with a head-banging tantrum. It was a reprieve.

Late afternoon Fr. Richard returned the call and when I told him what happened there was a deep sigh. "I am sorry for your loss. It is tragic to lose someone as young as he but to lose him to suicide is all the more devastating."

A whimper escaped my lips. "Is he in hell?" I sounded like a five-year-old girl hearing about death for the first time.

He sighed again. "The Catholic Church has come a long way in response to suicide. The Church realizes it cannot ignore the many cases of mental health that result in an unclear and unstable mind. Because of this it truly depends on the mindset of the individual. Were they depressed? Were they of sound mind when they made the decision to take their lives? If this is the case and they suffered from mental illness then the death is a tragic loss but one the Church recognizes and treats as a loss that is worth the same dignity and burial on consecrated ground as any other death."

"So he's not in hell?" Hope filled my heart.

"No I'm pretty certain he is not. There is a hell but it is not for us to contemplate who among us will spend our time in the internal inferno." He cleared his throat. "This young man's family moved away not long after I became the pastor here but from what little I know they are a good family. I'll say a prayer for the repose of Jason's soul in Mass tomorrow morning."

For the first time all day I felt at peace. "Thank you."

The call to Jason's mom wasn't as daunting now that I knew he wasn't condemned.

“Shannon, Jason was a tortured soul. One minute he was high and life was good. In the next breath he’d tear about the house like a maniac on a rampage. We tried to get him help. He was seeing a counselor. I don’t know why he’d do this.”

The sound of a mother’s grief cuts deep. “Jason was a good guy.” I knew she didn’t hear anything else. No words could bring her the comfort she longed to hold onto.

What if we had remained close? Could I have helped him? I wept over the years I'd lost contact with Jason and how he’d chosen me to stand with him in his faith and I didn't follow through.

Time for the first CCE class arrived. I was thirty minutes early and sat alone in the empty classroom for twenty minutes. Ten minutes before class John came in with his teenage son, a junior in high school. I blinked. He looks like Jason. I swallowed heard and mentally shut the door to my sadness.

A few minutes later a few more boys sauntered into the room. They high-fived John and crowded around him as they talked about football. Clumps of girls filed into the room. They whispered amongst themselves and gave me the once-over before circling up at the back of the room.

I was transported back to high school, to the awkward moment of being the only one left alone, the odd ball, the only one not in on the joke. Heat rose up my neck. Finally John called the class together and made the girls move out of their circle to join the rest of the class.

"This year I have an assistant." He gestured towards me. "Her name is Shannon Deitz so you guys be nice to her, okay?"

They regarded me with little interest. A few girls, not a part of the 'inner circle' group, sat alone along the edge of the room and offered a welcoming smile. I smiled back and did my best to fake confidence.

John made a few announcements and allowed the kids to go around the room, introducing themselves before he started the lesson. I observed the dynamics of the group to pick up on the body language of the various groupings of kids. It had been a decade since I was in their shoes but it felt as if I were sucked through some unseen vortex and a younger version of myself sat in front of them on display.

My nerves flared when it was my turn to share a little about myself. I was tempted to shrug my shoulders with feigned indifference and give some smartaleck comment about being a young mom. It was my go-to defense move - when nervous, shy, or insecure, say something witty and deflect the attention.

"Hi, I'm Shannon.” Twenty pairs of eyes looked at me. They were interested or so it seemed. "I am married and have two little boys, Ryan who is about to turn three and Seth who is six months old."

The girls gave a collective, "Ah," when I mentioned the kids.

This eased the moment and before I knew it I said something I hadn't planned. "It hasn't been long since I've been in your shoes so I hope that maybe this year we can learn something together."

There were a few nods from the boys, smiles from the girls. John clapped his hands together and took it from there. "Okay, let's get started then.” He opened the workbook to chapter one.

And read.

In each chapter was a lesson, questions for the group, a suggested activity, and a prayer. We listened to John read the entire lesson. Eyes closed, girls doodled, and the boys stared up and counted ceiling tiles. The question session revived them but the content of the lesson had been lost to most. I was stuck in the vortex and back in the same CCE class I sat through in high school.

This has to change. It wasn’t that John’s heart wasn't in it. It was clear the kids adored and respected him and he’d taught it this way for years. The teens’ blank stares triggered me and I felt a desire to show them something more.

I reviewed the lesson I was to teach again and couldn't help but think about the moments Jason sat next to me in class. We’d pass notes while the parent/teacher or nun read the lesson. We solved the world’s problems via secret script, more concerned about the ins and outs of our love lives than the salvation of our souls.

Did he turn to you, God? Did Jason pray and ask you for help? Were you speaking to him but he couldn't hear you?

Before me, as if played out on a movie screen, I imagined Jason in the last minutes of his life. "Wow." I came out of the trance. Without hesitation I grabbed my pen and wrote it all down. It was clear to me. I needed the teens to understand what I’d witnessed.

Sunday evening came and every nerve in my body was ablaze with anticipation. In Mass I prayed for the confidence needed to deliver the message in the way I felt God called me to carry it out. It was only a room of twenty teenagers but I was petrified.

They sauntered into the room, some already in their groups, while others ate the last bites of the meal the church served in the Family Life Center. John hadn't arrived and panic set in. Is he making me lead the entire class alone? I saw his son enter the room, John following behind.

He smiled. "You ready?"

I nodded, afraid to speak for fear I'd lose the little thread of courage I had to do the lesson.

"Alright then, let’s get them gathered for opening prayer." He whistled and motioned everyone to come closer to us in the front of the room where all of the couches and chairs were. "Tonight Shannon is going to do the lesson so let's bow our heads and pray an Our Father and a blessing over Shannon.”

The room got quiet and everyone prayed the Our Father in unison. John put his hand on my shoulder and I felt a few more hands touch my back. I closed my eyes and concentrated on John's prayer. “Heavenly Father, fill Shannon with your peace. Guide her and direct her. Come Holy Spirit. Be with us this evening. Open our hearts to your message. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

My body relaxed. I prayed, "Father, please let at least one person here get something from what you've given me.” I opened my eyes and felt an eagerness to get started.

I needed room to move around. I made everybody get out of their comfortable chairs and couches to sit in a half circle on the floor. I opened the workbook to chapter two and read a bit of the lesson that went into our 'thirst' for truth and how Christ as living water can fulfill this thirst. I looked at the group and witnessed what I had witnessed the week before: yawns, tops of heads as they scribbled on notes, blank stares.

I closed the book. “When I was seventeen I sat in a room like this and listened to the same lesson. When I looked over it again for this week I was surprised to remember a few details about baptism but most of it felt new.”

A few teens were still preoccupied but I had the attention of the majority of the room. “I didn’t listen to the lessons because it didn’t feel like they mattered. I was already baptized, I went to Mass every Sunday. Why did I need to listen?”

“I even became the sponsor for Confirmation of a good guy friend of mine, Jason. It was like the blind leading the blind.” I laughed and heard a few courteous giggles. “He chose me because he knew I wouldn’t make a big deal about all the rules we needed to follow. Jason and I became close friends that year. We spent the majority of our CCE class writing back and forth on notes like that.” I pointed to a note that a young man passed to the girl behind him. In embarrassment he put his head between his knees. The class laughed.

“We helped each other get through some issues. His girlfriend was crazy.” I made a funny face and with the response I could see I had the guys’ attention. “And he encouraged me when I was down, which was a lot my senior year.” My throat tightened, and I knew it would be hard to get through the lesson without tears.

“Jason passed away last week.” The room went quiet. “He committed suicide.”

I let a few tears fall. John jumped up from his chair and grabbed a tissue. He handed it to me. “Are you okay? You don’t have to do this?”

I took the tissue. “I’m good. I need to do this.” I looked at the kids, every pair of eyes in the room were on me. “When I first went over this lesson I realized the gift we have in our Sacraments. The security of being baptized, the weekly gift we receive in communion and then to have the help of the Holy Spirit in confirmation. I didn’t get it when I was your age. I don’t think John did either.”

I cleared my throat and felt a wave of fresh energy wash over me. “But when I got the call that John committed suicide I was devastated. I was afraid he’d go to hell.” I saw a few nods in the room. “A priest helped me realize that’s not our place to assume. I don’t know John’s state of mind when he died but I do know he was depressed. When I looked over this lesson again I couldn’t help but picture what might have happened.”

I put the book down and brought a chair to the center of the room. “Jason is in his room sitting at his desk hunched over the paper that held his final message. His body physically tired from the pain of depression. His heart splintered in his chest in a million pieces too daunting to find a way to mend.”

I saw Jason in the chair as I explained my vision to the teens. With words I showed the scene. “Jesus appears behind him, his hands rest on Jason's shoulders, light illuminates from Jesus, pulsating and growing brighter. The light is an energy that takes on a life of its own and pours over Jason like a waterfall. An invisible barrier surrounds Jason and blocks the light from seeping through, keeping Jason from healing.” My voice cracked.

Not a sound could be heard in the room, not a rustle of paper, a yawn, or a sigh. They sat straight and leaned in. John brought me a cup of water.

“The barrier keeps Jason from hope and truth. Mistakenly defeated he gets up from his desk and follows through with his plan.” I stood by the chair and imagined I was Jesus with Jason in my arms. I couldn’t stop. “In the end Jesus weeps. Holding onto Jason's tortured soul Jesus cradles him as a mother would her newborn child and the light of his tears covers Jason's soul, embracing him in eternal life and making all things new.”

I looked into their wet eyes, felt the pain, the loneliness, the understanding of what Jason might have been feeling and my spirit came alive with a great desire to make the message clear.

I stood up to speak, reinforcing what the lesson in the book said but giving it to them in a way I needed to hear it when I was their age. “Christ is our living water. There is always hope. The enemy tries to distort that message and make us think we aren’t good enough, we aren’t worthy, we can never overcome the depression. But those are lies. Jesus is always with us and His mercy breaks those barriers when we invite Him in. We can’t give up.”

A fire I’d never felt before burst forth from within. “Even if. Even if you’ve been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Even if you’ve gotten so far behind in school you can't keep your grades up. Even if you feel alone because your best friend ditched you for another group. Even if your girlfriend or boyfriend cheated and doesn't want to date you anymore. Good riddance!” There was a spatter of laughter.

“Even if you’ve been carrying the shame of a dark secret since childhood.” All of these scenarios and emotions slammed into my spirit like a freight train. The last time I'd felt emotions of those around me this intense was when I was nine years old with my face down on the altar carpet of my aunt's church. I was filled with a desperation for them to know the freedom of following Christ.

“Christ is always here. Christ is always pouring out His light upon you but we have to want to make the move to receive it, to let his light cover us and soak in.” I took the cup of water and held it up for them. "I'm thirsty. John gave me this cup of water to drink to quench my thirst but in order for it to work I have to take a drink." I drank the cup of water. "John and I are here to do our best to teach you more about Christ. We are handing you a cup of water but it's up to you to take it and consume it."

Kids toppled on top of each other to get their questions out. Many wanted to know more about the Church's teaching on suicide, and when did I think Jason walked away from feeling like there was any hope. It was a great discussion and it was obvious it hit home for many.

Afterward once everyone had gone a young woman came up to me. "I've been there before." She bent her head in shame. "I couldn't go through with it."

I reached out and brought her into an embrace. "I'm so glad you didn't. You are such a beautiful woman and I know God has great plans for you."

Her body shook with sobs. I held her until she calmed down. She looked up at me. "Thank you."

In bed I thought about the young woman who felt such sadness she wanted to take her life. I understood. And I understood why God called me to teach CCE. If not for growth in my knowledge of the Catholic Church, then to help other teens get through what might be the hardest part of life.

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