When I visited Israel, I was warned that customs officers would pick people at random to ask them questions. I don’t know if I’m naturally suspicious-looking, but I wasn’t surprised when they called me over out of my group. The questions were pretty standard—where are you going, what are you seeing—then the officer looked at my name on my passport.
“Carmella?” he said, seemingly impressed with my middle name. “You know there’s a Carmel in Israel?”
“Really?” I replied.
I realized my mistake when he raised an eyebrow. “Mount Carmel?”
Duh.
I’d never made the connection—that my very name was a derivative of that holy mountain, where Elijah called down fire from Heaven. When my group eventually ascended that mountain, I felt that special connection. The name had become a family name, with an awesome and sacred history.
Mount Carmel seemed to follow me after that. I didn’t notice until recently, but it’s been everywhere: the first Mass I attended at Our Lady of Mount Carmel church. The books I read of the saints. My confirmation name, after St. Edith Stein. Eventually we bought a house fifteen minutes from the National Shrine. Wherever I went, OLMC followed me.
When I first converted, it then became a question of what kind of Catholic I would be. There are countless ways to worship, and we’re each drawn to different things. Was there a certain order I felt an affinity to? The answer was almost too obvious, and it seemed hasty to declare. But it was there all along, Carmel from birth. After we moved, there was only one Columbiettes Auxiliary in the area to transfer to—St. Titus Brandsma, the Carmelite’s newest saint. I threw my hands up and laughed, because where else would I end up?
When asked why, I don’t have a straight answer. I like that their prayer is contemplative, a quiet, internal sort that suits my personality. I think of St. Theresa of Ávila’s Interior Castle, an interior journey that brings you closer to God. I read it early in my own journey, and it became a formative text. Also, with my love and respect for the Jewish people, the connection to the Prophet Elijah is fitting. The Carmelite crest itself holds the Star of David.
I don’t know what it all means yet, but I like having the direction. I visit the shrine sometimes, and they have an excellent gift shop. One day I will probably own everything from their growing book selection. In the meantime, I have some guidance. There’s a method of prayer that suits me, and a whole team of saints to depend on. It’s like finding a little home within a home.
