Go to the Easter Vigil Mass on Saturday evening.
Watch the fire bringing light to the darkness. Listen to the chant "Christ our Light." Listen to the Exultet. Yes, listen to the words:
The power of this holy night dispels all evil, washes guilt away, restores lost innocence, brings mourners joy; it casts out hatred, brings us peace, and humbles earthly pride.
And after the constancy of God's love and mercy is proclaimed through the Scriptures, watch.
Some men and women, and maybe some children will come forth. They will stand in front of the rest of us, a little nervous, but resolute and starting to overflow with what is called joy. They will answer questions about what they believe with a firm "I do." They will willingly plunge into cleansing waters or they will gladly present their heads for anointing. And a bit later, barely able to believe that the gift and the privilege is theirs, they will move with the rest of us, hands outstretched, hearts open, newly clad in faith, to receive Him. To be joined with Him and with the rest of us.
They will be Catholics.
Brand new, happy Catholics, with no regrets or anger, only hope. Freshly-minted Catholics who do not have time to gripe or seethe, even with righteous anger, not here, not now, because they are so blessed and they know it. Blessed to be part of the Body of Christ. Blessed to belong. Blessed to be.
Catholic.
Yes. At this moment, I can think of no better antitode to our weariness and our wariness, our shattered trust, our doubts about the future, our arguments about solutions, and our suspicions.
Go to the Easter Vigil. See happy, grateful Catholics. And try to make their joy yours. Again.