You Can Get Here From There: Part III -- A Protestant Excursion

Note:  I have been examining and assessing my spiritual life, growth, and development for some time now in preparation to enter discernment for the formation for the diaconate.  As part of this self examination, I was asked to write a spiritual autobiography of sorts.  This will be published in digestible bits.  I have decided to share this ever expanding text for two reasons:  One, to show people that wherever you are in life, a path to the Lord and His Church is right in front of you, and, two, to elicit prayers for my discernment.

I have a habit that is particularly annoying to my wife.  When I’m in the car, I am constantly changing radio stations.  Even when I hear a song that I like, I often wonder if I am missing something else better and hit the search button again.

I suppose that could be one explanation as to why I strayed away from the Catholic Church.

After I had graduated high school, I began to attend Mass less and less often.  I had my excuses: worked late Saturday night, had to work early Sunday morning, only day I can sleep in, didn’t get in until dawn.

My parents were tolerant of this behavior, that its, as far as I knew.  They never really said anything besides asking me if I were going.  I often wonder if they had, would I have gone to more Masses or would I have become bitter by their persistence.

Even though I was not attending Mass regularly, I never lost the strong sense of closeness I had with our Lord.  I prayed regularly, not formally, mind you, but more conversationally.  And, yes, it was probably mostly when I felt I needed Him most, when the car wouldn’t start, when I had difficulty paying bills, when young love turned to heartbreak, generally when things were not going as planned -- as I planned.

When I was 19, I started working at Sears just outside of Atlantic City.  There I met a young lady with whom I became good friends.  We would often talk about music, and when I told her that I played the guitar, she invited me over to play some music with her, her sister, and their friend.  I readily accepted.

To my surprise, the music being played was contemporary Christian music performed in a mostly bluegrass style.  Now at that time I cared little for contemporary Christian music and even less for bluegrass; however, I had fun playing and, as friendships grew, I returned a many times soon becoming a regular fixture.  

Before I knew it, with the addition of another person, I was in a Christian quintet.  I had begun to regularly attend a Methodist Church with my musical friends, where we were performing music on many Sunday nights.  We were writing our own songs, practicing many hours, and soon we were being asked to play at other churches and events throughout the area.

During this time, my parents didn’t really say anything to me about my new religious path.  They had attended one of our performances and entertained the band members at our home a number of times.

I will never forget the one day when my maternal grandmother was having dinner with at our house.  After the family said grace, my grandmom asked my mom why hadn’t I blessed myself.  She told her mother very matter-of-factly that I was no longer a Catholic.  My grandmom look right at me, shook her head, and said, “Once a Catholic, always a Catholic,” and went back to her meal.  That moment has never stopped resonating with me.

Looking back now, one of the things I found most interesting about this time was that I was constantly being asked if I knew the Lord.  Was Jesus my personal savior?  Had I been saved?  Was I sure I had been saved?  Was I born again?  Did I pray the prayer?  Did I answer the altar call?  I thought this odd because I had always felt a closeness to our Lord.  Even when I was very young, I remember talking with Jesus before going to sleep at night.  Jesus was always my savior, and I couldn’t remember a second of my life when I wasn’t in a relationship with Him.  And while I did have some emotional and sentimental experiences during particularly charismatic services, my sense of a personal relationship with Jesus was a continuum, not one moment off and the next on.

The best thing to come out of that period of my life was meeting my wife.  I met her at the Methodist church one particular Sunday when I didn’t even plan on going.  I remember sitting on the floor in front of the TV early that morning when my father came into the living room.  He asked me the obligatory what was I watching, and then he asked me if I was going to church.  I told him no.  That I just didn’t feel like going.  His response surprised me.  “You should really go,” he said and then left the room.  I sat flipping through channels for a few more minutes then got up to get ready for church.  

That Sunday I sat in the balcony of the church and was completely distracted from the preacher’s message by the beautiful young lady sitting below with whom I had just made eye contact.

And as one particular music faded, another came back loud and clear.