Twenty-four years: Could it really be that long? We moved on Pentecost in 2001. I thought I might spot the Holy Spirit descending as we flew. When we arrived on Monday, it was still Pentecost, for in the Netherlands, the day after is also a holiday. As with Christmas, as with Easter. That was the first sign things would be different. The second came on September 11. And so it’s continued. Life abroad has always raised questions about my identity, both as a Catholic and an American.
Pentecost was fitting, symbolic, I thought. I was going to light a fire there. When I’d visited Holland in the past I’d noticed how listless the Church seemed to be. I’ll shake things up. But I got put in my place. I saw that rah-rah Americanism (“Let’s go! All aboard for the beautiful future!”) wasn’t going to cut it. What did I know about Dutch history and the present situation? Truth be told, at that point I wasn’t even so on fire myself. Though I didn’t see it clearly at the time, I later realized that my own faith had become cautious, vague, tentative. Given the mysteriousness of God and the pluriformity of people’s views, it felt safer to leave the concept of “God” open and to focus on loving my neighbor. In The Ratzinger Report, the future pope had called this putting orthopraxis (right practice) before orthodoxy (right worship). Eventually, I’d concede his point: the love of God lays the proper basis for our love of neighbor, and gives us the grace and courage to do it. God needs to run the show.
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