Why I Am Not Leaving the Catholic Church

Five years ago, I became a Catholic. It was Easter Vigil. Beautiful music was sung, holy readings were pronounced and I found myself with four other candidates anxiously standing behind the altar. The moment had arrived. As Fr. Michael approached each of us, he leveled his warm and knowing gaze and swung the smoking thurible in our direction. The sweet smell of incense was potent and delicious. And as the onlooking congregation became obscured by the rising smoke, the beauty of what was happening dawned on me. After years of attending Mass and observing the priest or deacon wave the thurible toward the Holy Gospel or the altar, I found myself transfixed by this ritual. Smoky incense emits from the censer and lilts its way heavenward as a sweet, aromatic supplication – an offering, a gift – to the Lord above. But now, on Easter Vigil, as the thurible swung toward me (once-twice-three times) and I was surrounded by smoke, I finally understood. Tonight, I was the offering. It was one of the most extraordinary moments of my life.