Journeys Home (18 page)

This is why, I believe, so many "born again" ex-Catholics say
they had never heard the Gospel before. What they are really saying
is this: "I was never put in a position to say 'yes' before."
At least this was true for me.

But another aspect of most Evangelical Protestant churches is
also important: the feeling of involvement. In the Southern Baptist
church I began to attend, Sunday school was followed by the morning
service. In the evening, another time of teaching called Training
Union was followed by the evening service.

On Wednesday we had midweek service. On Thursday, we had visitation
to the people who had visited the church on Sunday or who recently
had moved into the area. Throughout the week were Bible studies
and committee meetings. With all of this I began to feel involved,
to feel needed -- that I was "somebody."

I have learned that the same opportunities for involvement have
been there all along in most Catholic parishes. Many things are
going on, ministries to be involved in and therefore ways to feel
you have something to offer. But I wonder how many former Catholics,
now so heavily involved in their new Protestant churches, made
the same efforts to be involved in their former parishes? More
than attending weekly Mass, I mean. How many taught religious
education or worked with the teens, college students, singles,
young married couples, widows, converts, those who are grieving,
those who are in need, or others?

In April, 1974, I became a Baptist, joining the church I had been
attending. I preached my first service at a youth revival in June
of that year. I remember working for days on that sermon and being
so nervous when the day finally came. I arrived at the church
early and sat anxiously in the first row.

With my back turned to the congregation, I had no idea how many
people were entering behind me. When it came time for me to preach,
I approached the pulpit and turned to see the building absolutely
packed. I had never seen the church that full before.

In spite of my heart pounding and my knees shaking, I began a
one-hour sermon that probably included every piece of Bible knowledge
I had accumulated since April. Anything and everything I had ever
heard was in that message. At the end, I gave an altar call, and
a teenage girl came forward and gave her life to Christ. It was
one of the most exciting nights of my life, and I felt sure I
was where God wanted me.

While helping with the youth group, I met a young woman named
Jeannie, and within months we concluded that God was calling us
to be married. I discouraged any of my family from attending our
December wedding. This of course was just another "hurt" in a
long list of "hurts" that I would cause for my parents.

The excuse I gave was that the wedding was in Louisiana, a long
way from my parents' home outside of Chicago. There were still
six siblings living at home, so it would have been very difficult
and expensive for them to come.

But the real reason I persuaded them not to come was because I
was embarrassed by them -- not by them personally, but because
they were Catholic. In my heart, I truly wanted them to be there
with me, especially my mom and dad, but I didn't want to introduce
them to my new church family. My anti-Catholic feelings were starting
to emerge. I was beginning to enjoy my new zealousness, and I
didn't want to be challenged by two Catholic Christians.

I enrolled in a Bible college, and for the next few years, my
anti-Catholic views and at times hatred for the Catholic Church
were the dominant part of my life. I had just enough knowledge
of the Catholic Church to be considered an "expert" by many of
my fellow Bible college students, but not enough to be able to
discern the errors that I was hearing about the Church.

From 1974 to 1985, I served in several Baptist churches in Louisiana,
Washington State, and California. I was always involved in lay
ministry and church leadership. I served in pulpit ministry, preaching
when the pastors were on vacation or ill. I also taught Sunday
school classes as well as adult Bible studies.

When we moved to Arizona in 1985, my wife and I took the opportunity
to join an Assembly of God (Pentecostal) church. We remained there
until April, 1997, when I finally resigned my positions as deacon
and secretary/treasurer of the board of directors.

I think the beginning of my restlessness with the Protestant form
of worship -- basically prayer, a greeting, singing, announcements,
an offering, more singing, more prayer, a special song either
by the choir or an individual or group, a message, and finally
some opportunity to respond to the message -- was the realization
that this was all about "going to get something." If the songs
weren't the ones I liked, it could ruin the whole service for
me.

Participating in the leadership team, I always tried to make sure
the emphasis was on worshipping God regardless of how we felt.
But so often it still came down to how we felt. I believe this
is the source of the standard line heard among dissatisfied Christians:
"I'm not being fed."

Without knowing it, I was beginning to think there had to be a
better way. I remember talking to the pastor shortly before I
announced I was leaving, and he admitted that he felt under much
pressure -- that he was carrying the service on his shoulders.
He didn't want it that way, but he felt like he was performing.

Then in the spring of 1996, my family began preparing for our
first visit in ten years back to my home near Chicago. I am the
oldest of nine children -- six boys and three girls. Most of my
brothers and sisters were small children when I left home at the
age of nineteen, so I didn't know them very well, and the thought
of seeing them became an ever-increasing problem.

I was the only one who had left home, and I was the only one who
wasn't Catholic. Over the years, I had always found excuses to
avoid returning, and by now my anxiety verged on paranoia.

The reason for this particular trip home was the wedding of my
brother Paul to his fiancee, Katherine. I had missed many of my
brothers' and sisters' weddings, but this time, my dad insisted
that all of his sons be in this wedding.

Paul and Katherine were graduates of Franciscan University in
Steubenville, Ohio, where Paul had received an M.A. in theology.
I remember thinking,
What a sap! He spent all that money and time
earning a degree in Catholic theology. I'll bet they didn't open
the Bible once during the whole two years he was there.

We arrived a few days before the wedding, and of course everything
was in chaos. I made a point of stealing some time alone with
Paul to discuss his education and to convince myself he was really
a Christian. During our discussion, the subject of Mary came up.

We talked about the different doctrinal beliefs about Mary that
Catholics must hold, and at first I thought he was kidding. This
had to be a joke that he had been saving for months to spring
on me. Then I realized he was serious.

Thoughts flew through my mind.
My brother isn't a Christian! Two
years at that school, and he thinks Mary is equal to Jesus!

At first this discussion only led to anger, but slowly I began
thinking again about the Catholic Church. At first, the thoughts
weren't things I cared to share with anyone. But slowly over the
days before the wedding, God began softening my heart.

As far as I was concerned, the wedding rehearsal was a disaster.
I wouldn't cooperate by bowing before the altar as I came down
the aisle. I goofed off the whole time, making jokes about everything
the deacon was saying or trying to do. I was a total distraction
to those around me. That was the first time I had been in a Catholic
church for a long time, and I thought it was all a joke.

The morning of the wedding was an exciting, beautiful day. I had
gotten over all the fears and apprehension of seeing my brothers
and sisters, not to mention relatives that I hadn't seen in twenty
years. I was even looking forward to seeing everyone at the reception
afterward.

At the church, I began seeing people whom I never thought I'd
see again. We laughed and told stories, amazed at how years could
vanish in moments. We gathered in the church and waited for the
bride to arrive.

I noticed that my brother Don was acting as if he wasn't feeling
well. He started to get anxious for fear of disrupting the wedding,
which made him feel worse. We tried to calm him down, but he kept
getting worse.

I put my hands on his shoulders and prayed for a healing touch
and calmness to come over him. It was the first time I was able
to do "my thing" around all these Catholics.

Praying for my brother helped me to focus on the wedding, to think
about God, and to make a commitment to Him that I would take the
upcoming ceremony seriously. When Katherine arrived, the wedding
began. In a few minutes, I would begin a journey that I never
thought I would take.

I was enjoying the wedding Mass, looking around, making eye contact
with cousins who had arrived late and who appeared just as excited
to see me as I was to see them. I was feeling at home, very comfortable
in a very strange place. When it came time for Communion, I had
no intention of going forward to receive, but I sure wanted to.

Being in the wedding party, I was sitting in the front row. To
my surprise, after the priest gave Communion to Paul and Katherine,
he came straight to the wedding party in the front row. I was
second and was caught off-guard. When the priest came to me, obviously
assuming that I was Catholic, he said, "The body of Christ" and
I instinctively said "Amen" and received the Host.

I knew (and know) that I should not have done that. But the moment
I received the Host, something happened in my heart: I instantly
believed in the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist.

It seemed so "right." Why had I ever doubted this? A hunger was
born inside of me, and a need to rediscover the Catholic Church
began.

Without making a big announcement -- "I am rethinking the Catholic
position" -- I began reading books and magazines, listening to
tapes, anything I could find at my parents' home. Eventually I
found a copy of
Pierced by a Sword
, a novel by Bud Macfarlane,
Jr. The title was intriguing, and the book cover surprised me.
Here was a Catholic novel dealing with the end of this age, something
I had become quite "informed" about as an Assemblies of God Christian.

As I read, I thought,
But where's the Antichrist?
There was no
mention of a temple being rebuilt or any talk about the "rapture."
There was a lot of talk about Mary, but what did she have to do
with the end times?

I also struggled with the novel's main characters. How was I going
to accept or believe that God might use characters who drank and
smoked? Not just a little -- a lot! Even the priest in the story
drank and smoked, and yet he was portrayed as a good priest.

This was too much for my Assemblies of God scruples to handle.
"Christians don't drink or smoke," I said, "and if they do, they
sure don't do it where they can be seen."

In
Pierced by a Sword
, the author intersperses information and
statements from the many reported visitations or apparitions of
Mary. He also slips in a lot of Catholic theology and philosophy.
I kept saying, "Where is this guy coming up with this stuff?"
I probably threw the novel down six times, each time saying something
like, "I've got better things to do than read this."

But I finally became totally absorbed in the book. I couldn't
stop reading it. I was getting up early, staying up late, trying
to have some quiet time or find a quiet place to finish this book.
Nothing else mattered; I had to finish this book.

In the end, it was a story of hope. It particularly helped me
understand the Catholic teaching on the communion of saints, which
in just a few months would prove to be an unexpected comfort.
I probably could have picked up any number of other books lying
around that also could have affected my life. But God, who understands
me better than I do myself, knew which one I needed to pick up
and read.

If I had just read that book and left it at that, I would have
returned to Arizona and never thought again about becoming Catholic.
But my heart was driven to take another step. After our vacation,
I wrote to Bud Macfarlane, Jr., to tell him about the impact of
his novel on my life. In addition to an autographed copy of
Pierced
by a Sword,
Bud sent me a copy of
Surprised by Truth,
edited by
Patrick Madrid, a book of testimonies of Protestants who had come
home to the Catholic Church. This I devoured. I had no idea there
were other Protestants who not only were thinking about becoming
Catholic but who actually had become Catholic.

One of the wonderful ways that God encouraged me during this difficult
time was in the way people would make contact with me. I was reading
Surprised by Truth
and happened to finish the chapter written
by Marcus Grodi, the founder and president of the Coming Home
Network International. The very next day, when I returned from
lunch and listened to my messages on my answering machine, there
was a message from Marcus saying how Bud had given him my name.
Even more than a great story,
Pierced by a Sword
was used by God
to bring people like these Catholic brothers into my life. It
started a chain of events that in many ways was miraculous.

Beginning in the fall of 1996, Bud and Marcus became my support
team by telephone, mail, and email. Their wisdom, along with a
ton of tapes by Scott Hahn and other great teachers -- which I
had purchased or borrowed and listened to multiple times -- plus
a great deal of research and prayer eventually brought me to a
crisis point. I had to announce my resignation and my return to
the Catholic Church. If I did not, I was being disobedient.