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Why I Cover My Head In Church

HeadCovering

My Dear Reader,

During my trip last year to Italy and the tours we took at the Vatican, I had an awakening.

I had gone back and forth between wearing a veil and not wearing a veil when I was younger.  I often stopped wearing when I felt that uncomfortable by being the only one in a congregation that was wearing one.  Peer pressure put me at odds with something I wanted to be doing.  I am blessed now to know I don’t need to be worried about what others think of me while I’m in church.

There are a lot of reasons why women veil inside the Catholic Church.  Some quote scripture and say that they veil based on scripture, others say it comforts them and reminds them of the way the congregation once respected God’s house pre-Vatican II, and others that it is a sign of respect and humility.

I fall into that last category.

We know that Jesus resides in our churches.  The red glow of the candle lit near the tabernacle reminds us so.  In the consecrated host, He is physically present in every church most days during the year except for the time between the Maundy Thursday and the Easter Vigil on Saturday when the consecrated host is removed from the tabernacle to symbolize for Catholics the time between Jesus’ death and His resurrection.

Now, the moment of awakening…we took a tour under the basilica and came up to the inside of the basilica at St. Peter’s feet.  After seeing what I had seen underneath and knowing what I now knew about the Vatican and the faith that built this amazing city, I knew I wanted to humble myself before my God and my Savior.  Not so others could see me and think me pious.  Not so Father would think of me as devout.  Not to “prove” anything to anyone.

In this act of covering my head, I honor my God.  He created me.  He loves me.  He sent His only Son to die for my sins so I can be with Him in eternity.

How can you know this and not want to cover your head before your Savior’s physical presence inside the church?

It is interesting to me that in Italy, especially in Rome but also elsewhere, there are signs in the churches and baskets of cotton scarves.  They ask women to cover their shoulders when entering, as a sign of respect for the holiness of the place they are entering.

I contend that when we humble ourselves before God, when we show that we understand that Jesus physically lives in our churches through the Eucharist and in the consecrated host that stays within the tabernacle behind the altar, that we are transformed and are better disposed to hear the voice of God in our lives and to remember the amazing sacrifice of His Son, Jesus.

Covering your head can take many forms.  I have recently ordered veils from Liturgical Time on Etsy because I think the Infinity-style of the veil will make it easier for me to wear as a scarf before I place over my head as I step into church.  I usually wear scarves or hats although I keep a small black triangle veil in my car in case I decide to stop at church or I forget to wear a scarf.  Overtime, I’ve found that infinity scarves or long rectangular scarves work best for me versus other types of scarves but I really think it is a personal choice.  Many ladies at our church wear white or black veils, some with adornments, others plain.  The style isn’t as important as making that initial decision to cover your head.

You may be asking yourself, why are you sharing this?  No one cares.  Or even, why is she preaching at me about veils, scarves and hats?  It’s not her concern.

That may be so, but again, my readers, I write as I am inspired to do so.  I believe that I am called to share this information about my own journey.  It may not change anyone’s life but perhaps it will inspire you to remember that you are in the presence of the physical body of Jesus Christ when you walk into church.

As always, you are in my prayers.

Yours in Christ’s Love,

Mrs. Summitt

 

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Wrapped in Our Lady’s Love

Dear Reader,

The next phase in my faith journey started with my introduction to the Blue Army in the 5th grade.

We had moved again and now lived on the East Coast of the contiguous United States and I had started a new school, Sts. Philip and James.  Sts. Philip and James had a convent with IHM nuns in actual habits.  Our principal was a nun as were many of our teachers and while I had been taught by nuns before, they had been wearing regular clothes and not habits.

During my first year at Philip and James I met Renee and Mary who were to become two very good school friends.  One day, Mary invited me to attend a Blue Army meeting.  I didn’t really understand exactly what the Blue Army was but I agreed to go because it was something to do that my mom wouldn’t object to.

The Blue Army meeting focused on prayer and teaching about the Blessed Mother.  We prayed the rosary every meeting.

It was in these meetings that I first began to understand what it meant to be a child of Mary.  What it meant to think of Jesus first in my day and over time, what it felt like to go to Mass and be completely immersed in the liturgy.  I was wrapped in Our Lady’s love and I felt God’s love for me as I had back when I was receiving my First Communion.

I was not a living saint during these days.  My mother can attest to that.  I was often annoyed by everyday life and people and had a difficult time countering those feelings.  I acted out quite a bit and did the usual round of not listening, playing music too loud, saying bad words, begin mean to my sister.  I actually once told my mother that she wasn’t my mother, Mary was.

Luckily, my mom has forgiven me for my cheekiness during those years.

Along this same timeline though, I began to be enthralled with the lives of the religious and decided that I wanted to become a nun, a cloistered nun.  Anyone who knows me always finds this amusing but I do believe that this was the first time God called me to do something specific for Him.

Now, I know that you must be asking yourself…..Is she a nun?  Was she a nun?  Isn’t she married?

I am not a nun.  Why I am not, is its own story.  For the moment though, let’s just say that my faith didn’t do well when I was no longer surrounded by the same opportunities and nurturing as I was during my 4 years at Philip and James.

This was not God’s last call but it would be the last time I heard and acknowledged His call for almost 20 years.

While I wouldn’t want to trade the life I have today to go back and do it over, it does pain me that in exercising my free will, I did not do as God asked.

I’d like to end this post with a quick prayer,

Most Loving Father,

I have run from Your will for me and hidden in my sin from You as Adam & Eve did in the Garden of Eden.  Help me to trust in You, to keep faith in You, to never allow this world to keep me from You.  Guide me on the path to do Your will.   Your way is not easy but it has the greatest reward, everlasting life with You.

Amen.

Yours in Christ,

Mrs. Summitt

 

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The Formation of My Faith

Dear Readers,
This particular blog post will be much shorter than many previous ones. The brevity reflects a gap in my ability to remember much about this particular time in my life from a faith perspective. Upon reflection, I believe this time existed in my personal journey by design. I am not completely sure why but in the end it allowed me to understand the magnitude of the gift of faith I would one day receive.

I would also like to take a moment to share that I will be posting a story that is not my own but reflects a faith deeper than I could hope to have.  Along with this story, a new feature will be available on our site for your prayer requests.  I look forward to having it available very soon.

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My family had occasion to move due to my father being reassigned when I was about 8 years old. It wasn’t our first move nor would it be our last.
The striking thing about this move is the fact that while I can recall the beauty of the place we lived and the different things we did, I don’t remember much about the Catholic Church we attended or even the Catholic School we attended for a short time. Over a year of foundational time as a young Catholic and I can’t recall much of anything. I remember learning my times tables. I recall learning to swim. I remember my uniform and the bus ride we had on a public bus to and from school. My heart breaks that I don’t recall more of my faith experiences in such a beautiful place.

My family can likely remember more as I was rather young at that time.

This “absence” of my faith, however, was also a catalyst for my next faith chapter, an intense awakening of my soul, that began shortly after we reached our next new home.

Yours in Christ’s Love,

Mrs. Summitt

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In The Beginning (of this story), God Created Me

Hello, dear reader!

I know what you’re thinking…this lady has indicated she’s in her 40′s, so I hope she isn’t planning to go year by year with her faith journey. I can’t imaging anything more boring!

First, let me calm your worries on the first; I am not planning on going year by year.
There are, however, things much more boring than my faith journey. At least I’m pretty confident there are. We’ll find that out together as I write and you read.

In the beginning, two wonderful, loving, married people had a baby girl. I wasn’t their first child but would be their last. They had her baptized and started her down the path as a young Catholic.

It was as a young girl that I first felt the tugs of Christ in my heart. I remember watching people go up to communion and wondering why I couldn’t go. Some of that was likely because I was a bit of a spoiled brat, but I remember thinking that something special was going on up there at the altar and I wanted in on it. So much so that I didn’t wait for my official first communion date to receive communion. I couldn’t wait any longer and I went up for communion. Father smiled down at me and he let me receive a few weeks early as a regular communicant with no fanfare. It was the beginning…the beginning of my relationship with Jesus Christ in an intimate way that Catholics are blessed with, consuming the Body of Christ. The True Presence.

I am sure my folks remember the event a little differently but I remember an anxiety over not being able to go up to communion that seemed overwhelming at times. I actually remember my mom telling me that once I received communion I couldn’t bring raisins to eat during Mass…a big deal for me as my parents volunteered quite a bit at the parish and we seemed to be at the church for hours and hours on Sundays. Although I am confident our parish priest was relieved to see me no longer sitting with my box of Sunmaid raisins. We always sat in the front row and it had to be a bit distracting.

As life changed and we moved, I lost that sense of joyous anticipation, the burning desire to be one with Christ in the Eucharist. I still went to Mass and went to Confession and Communion most of the time, but I had lost that connection. Luckily, it wasn’t forever. But that’s a story for another day.

As I look back on my experiences, I know how blessed I am, how blessed I have always been. I also pray that others experience the same joy and connection in the Eucharist that I did and do.

In Christ’s Love,
Mrs. Summitt