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PAGE 5—The Georgia Bulletin, May 2, 1985
Louis Mayeux
Sparks From A New Catholic
After the lighting of the
new fire, I and about 40 of
my brothers and sisters
became Catholics during
the Easter Vigil Mass at
Sacred Heart Catholic
Church. The joyous night
was the culmination of
long months of
preparation and growth,
for us and for other new
church members all across
the Atlanta archdiocese.
During the sacred
initiation ceremonies,
dating back to the origins
of the church, more than
1,000 people throughout
the archdiocese received
the faith.
Outside the
100-year-old downtown
church, we catechumens
drew closely together as
the chilly spring wind blew
around us, and watched
the fathers who had
instructed us try to start
the sacred fire in a huge
iron bowl. The sky had
darkened into a deep
purple above the tall
downtown buildings. Like
a protective curtain, the
members of the church
gathered around us and
stood silently. As Father
Dan O’Connor and Father
Jim Murray struggled with
the fire, we laughed to
ourselves in affection,
having gotten to know
their humorous and
serious sides. No doubt
many of us saw the sparks
flying in the troublesome
wind as signs of our own
spiritual beginnings, all
those months before.
Finally, the sparks ignited
into flame, and we
marched into the church,
holding our candles high.
It was time for us to
look baclc upon our
journey. We had begun in
the fall, when the leaves
were changing color. A
group of strangers, we
came together at a certain
time at a certain place,
with nothing in common
but a small voice within
us. In the beginning, we
would look at each other
strangely and wonder why
we had come. The city
offered many other
amusements, just a few
miles away. Perhaps we
were afraid — of each
other, of the man dressed
in black standing before
us, of that stirring within
our hearts. Yet, many of
us returned, week after
week.
There was Father Jim
Murray’s class on Saturday
mornings and Father Dan
O’Connor’s on Tuesday
nights. As the leaves died
and the air became cold,
our faith and knowledge
grew. Slowly, very slowly,
we learned to listen to the
voice within, and trust it.
Before we even knew what
had happened, we were
surprised to discover that
we had changed somehow.
We were not so quick to
anger. We found it not so
easy to speak falsely of
others. It was less difficult
Dolores Curran
The Fat Child
He is 35 years old, trim,
successful in work and
marriage, and very bright.
But he never forgets his
childhood misery. “I was a
fat child,” he said, “and it
still haunts me. When I go
back to class reunions, I’m
still identified as Tubby.
Nobody ever saw anything
in me except my fat.”
Parents of fat children
know what he means.
When people meet thin
or average children, they
comment on their
personality, talents, humor
or looks, but when they
meet a fat child, they can’t
get beyond his girth.
“My, he looks
well-fed,” and “What a big
girl you are,” are their first
reactions. Mothers of fat
babies find themselves
defending their feeding
practices and hearing all
kinds of warnings and
advice. I know because I
had one who turned into a
stringbean of a child. Yet,
I underwent all kinds of
unnecessary anxiety.
Society today views
overweight as a moral
weakness. Yet mothers
know that three children
can eat similarly and one
can look like a scarecrow
and one can be considered
fat. It seems unfair to
deny the fat child the
same food freely offered
the other simply because
he or she inherited
different fat cells.
One mother told me
that she was breastfeeding
her fat infant who was
taking no other food.
Incredibly, her
pediatrician told her to let
the baby cry in hunger
rather than allow him to
build up fat cells. The
baby was all of two months
old. Imagine that mother’s
anguish: “I’m starving you
for your own good?”
Fat children suffer
terribly at the hands of
other children. They are
ridiculed incessantly and
their self-esteem
plummets, regardless of
their gifts and talents.
Many develop defenses
like misbehavior and
self-ridicule to deal with
their size. And little is
done in adult society to
help them deal with their
size.
That’s why I am pleased
to mention a book for fat
children between the ages
of seven and eleven.
Entitled “Mom, How
Come I’m Not Thin?” by
Bill and Enid Bluestein
(CompCare Pubs.), this
book won the Brandeis
University Library Trust
Award for Achievement in
Children’s Literature.
It’s a sensitive book that
focuses on the feelings of a
ten-year-old girl who is fat
and miserable. The authors
base much of the book on
Bill’s own experience as a
fat child and a formerly
fat adult.
According to Bill
Bluestein, “Most parents
would do anything to help
to love our neighbors as
ourselves. Even in the
middle of the week, we
would feel the need to
pray. One day at Mass, we
would go ahead and join
the others and kneel. We
would look around
self-consciously and
recognize a familiar face, a
fellow inquirer, kneeling
also. Then we would
realize that we were no
longer strangers, but
brothers and sisters, joined
by God’s grace.
When we entered the
church on the night of the
Easter vigil, our candles
were lit from the fire of
the Paschal candle. As we
walked toward the altar,
two by two, to begin the
ceremony to become
church members, we could
recall struggles as well as
triumphs. There were
times when we faltered
and denied God’s love
growing within us. Our
friends sometimes could
not understand what was
happening to us and
reacted with ridicule or
anger. Even members of
our families turned away
from us. In our daily lives,
things would go badly,
despite our strengthening
faith. Our work would
become unbearable, our
homes stifling, our
children unmanageable. At
times, crushed by the
weight of life, our prayers
unanswered, we would
wonder if our new-found
God had so quickly turned
away from us.
But, we continued to go
to class, week after week.
We learned each other’s
names, and began to talk
and laugh together.
Slowly, we became
their child lose weight.
But all that overweight
children know is that no
one likes them for the
essence of what they are.”
For Dolly, featured in
this book, life is just one
humiliation after another,
from hopeless clothes
shopping trips to the
teasings of her thinner
schoolmates. She learns —
about heredity, about
calories, about beauty,
outside and within.
This is an important
book for schools, libraries
and parents. One out of
friends. As we continued
to gather, we could feel
that we were renewing the
ancient traditions of the
church. In the heart of
downtown, we were like
those groups of Christians
that gathered so long ago,
in the days of the Roman
Empire. Outside, looking
upward at the hotels and
bank headquarters
towering above, we would
realize that the world had
not changed that much in
2000 years, nor the
miracle of Christ within
the human heart.
As the year continued,
and we became familiar
with the corresponding
cycles of the church
liturgy, we marked our
growth. We were like
infants crawling, then
walking, or young trees
preparing to bloom. There
was midnight Mass at
Christmas, when the
glorious music brought us
close to heaven. There was
the rite of election, when
our names were presented
to Archbishop Thomas
Donnellan. The service at
the Cathedral of Christ the
King was attended by
catechumens from
throughout the diocese,
and we realized that our
personal conversion was
part of a widespread one.
One Sunday morning, our
intention to become
Catholics was announced
to the entire church, and
we passed from being
i n quirers to being
Catechumens and were
given Bibles. During our
parish’s week of renewal,
we heard Father Rutler of
New York speak on the
failures of 20th Century
materialism and science
and on the need to turn to
four children in America
has a weight problem.
This story is invaluable to
them and their families. It
includes long-needed
answers for any frustrated
parent who must deal with
that painful question,
“Mom how come I’m not
thin?”
And while we’re at it,
let’s look at our
responsibility as “other”
adults to fat children. Are
we helpful, sensitive and
caring or do we become
part of that vast and
critical mass that ridicules
God. There were the three
scrutinies, when we again
stood before the church,
and the growth and
discipline of our first Lent.
Now, on this special
night, we were walking
down the aisle of the
church with our sponsors
beside us to finish the final
stage of our journey.
Recently, we had
contemplated the Passion
of our Savior. Some of us
had attended the feast of
the Last Supper and
witnessed our pastor
washing the feet of 12
men of the church. On
Good Friday, we
meditated on the last
words of Christ and the
agony of his crucifixion.
Now, we were ready to
proclaim the good news:
Christ had risen, for us and
within us. We found our
special places in the pews,
our hearts beating. As
some of us were baptized,
we shared a great joy. The
others who were
confirmed, not baptized,
could also feel the
celebration of the entire
group, and the rest of the
church.
Then came the moment
that all of the minutes of
the previous seasons had
flowed toward. We walked
toward the altar, lifting
our hearts to God, to
receive our first
communion. Nourished by
the blood and body of
Christ, our journey was
complete. As we returned
to the coolness of the
night and looked upward
into the vast sky, we knew
that we had really not
come to an end but
embarked on a new
beginning. The peace of
God was with us.
FIFTH
SUNDAY OF
EASTER
MAY 5, 1985
Dwell in me, as I in
you. No branch can
bear fruit by itself,
but only if it remains
united with the vine;
no more can you
bear fruit, unless you
remain united with
me, alleluia.
_>
and condemns the fat
child who already feels
worthless?
We talk a lot about
fostering traditional
values, but when it comes
down to it, we tend to
feed into society’s
superficial values of
attractiveness, slimness,
and control. When a fat
adult or child comes into
our midst, do we really see
then as individuals worth
knowing or do we write
them off as freaks,
regardless of their other
gifts and caring?
the vine
YOURRETHEBRnnCHES