But in a good way.
Well, that's what I think now. Let me back up a bit.
Long ago, in the galaxy of my life that is far, far away, I didn't want to be Catholic because I thought Catholicism was simply too weird.
So many things put me off: the chanting, droning sounds of the responses at Mass (which served only to reinforce my idea that Catholics were sheep who, having happily checked their brains at the door, now followed the leader), the statues, the kissing of the Cross on Good Friday (I remember the first time my friend, Jack, told me about that one. "You kissed it? A piece of wood? You mean, you kissed it ... with your lips?")
It's hard to satisfactorily explain to those who have been Catholic their entire lives exactly how foreign and shocking and incomprehensible some practices and traditions are -- how strange they look and sound, seem and feel, when you are first exposed to them.
The idea of a Corpus Christi procession was once alien to me, to put it mildly. But as I walked through the streets of my town yesterday -- holding hands with my husband, praying for people we know and people we've never met, singing, thinking -- I was struck by how perfectly normal the whole thing seemed to me. Strangely normal. Comforting, touching and stirring.
I felt, all in the same moment, tethered to earth and ready to fly.
It's the weirdest -- and best -- feeling ever.