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Though formerly I was a blasphemer, persecutor,
and insolent opponent, yet I received mercy because I had acted
ignorantly in unbelief. . . - 1 Timothy 1:13
"I am a former protestant minister." The
words sounded as if someone else had spoken them. I was in the office
of the pastor of the local Catholic parish. At that moment, I realized
that my whole life was defined in terms of what I used to be. A
silent wave washed over me: I used to be employed; I used to be
a homeowner; I used to be confident and focused. And I used to be
married.
A thirty-year marriage had collapsed a year earlier, though it had
been crumbling longer than I realized. My restless quest to find
an authentic expression of the church founded by Christ had placed
unbearable burdens on Laura and my three daughters. Five times we
had passed from one protestant denomination to another. I had completely
uprooted them, confused them with total reversals of doctrine, and
assured them that God would surely bless our obedience for making
this change this time. They weren't buying it any more.
They didn't know that I had called off the quest. Let someone else
figure out authenticity, I had given heart, soul, mind, and strength
to trying to make sola scriptura work. That pivotal doctrine of
the Reformation proved to be a cruel mistress, seducing me with
the promise of a pure and spotless Bride that never materialized.
The pursuit of this phantom had occupied the best years of my life
and drained the life right out of my family. When Laura announced
that she was leaving, all I knew was that I was exhausted-weary
beyond description-and frightened to death of trying to change careers
at age 52. I was trying to find a way to resign from ministry. The
children were all grown; one of them was married. Laura had decided
to salvage what was left of her rootless life, knowing it was wrong,
but unable to accompany me into any more uncertainty.
O Lord, rightly has it been said that if you should
mark iniquities, who could stand. Certainly not I. But how I rejoice
that you are a God who pardons iniquity and understands our ignorance.
We will, it seems, forever be choosing wrong pathways, and once
we choose them, we are most possessive of them. How great is your
mercy, for you understand that we did not intend to choose a wrong
pathway. How difficult is the task of removing our feet from that
which we have freely chosen and come to love, and yet your mighty
power, guided by Your love, is adequate for the task, though painful
for us. Most gladly therefore will I own my ignorance. Most willingly
I wrap myself in its mantle, for among the last words our suffering
Lord uttered on the Cross were, "Forgive them Father, for they
know not what they do." Through His dying eyes, all heaven
can see that my former blasphemies were but attempts to praise my
God. Be ever merciful to me, O my God.
My Fruitless Quest for Unity
Holy Father, keep them in your name, which you have
given me, that they may be one, even as we are one. - John 17:11b
No one had ever mentioned Catholic up to this time. The Catholic
Church was the one thing that we always knew was not the true church-the
only concept on which all protestants agree. Though I had not voiced
it but to two or three people, I had cancelled my quest at the point
of acknowledging the immense success of the Catholic Church as an
institution. History has an air of infallibility to it-what happened,
happened. I had to admit that one church had been in existence for
two thousand years, unlike ours. Fifty years would be an old church
for us.
Ironically, it was this recognition of our lack of history that
had launched my quest many years earlier. It disturbed me that the
longer any Protestant denomination stayed in existence, the farther
it strayed from my touchstone-the Scriptures. They would all begin
at some point to deny the authority of the Bible, never offering
anything better in its place. So, filled with many admirable good
works, but bereft of any moral authority, they all predictably failed
to find moral grounds for opposing abortion, for example. Among
the Protestant denominations that had not lost their bearings, I
could find the same tendencies beginning to crop up in the largest
ones. Plus we had turned worship into a circus. So I was consigned
to the smaller denominations. There I was shipwrecked by the principle
that if you want to stay pure, you have to keep splintering. But
you can't sail a toothpick. I found denominations as small as six
churches splitting.
Finding a true expression of the church was like a puzzle always
before me. It bothered me that I couldn't piece it together. I am
not really a cantankerous or divisive person, but at times in my
life I have been both. My frustration was fueled by our Lord's prayer
in John 17. The church Christ prayed for was a church of inclusion
and unity founded on truth-the Word of God. I knew from this prayer
that there was only one Church. But when I faced the multitude of
churches around me, I had no way of identifying any one of them
as more authentic than any other. That was because I had excluded
Catholic and Orthodox from the list. And mixing them all together
was both a practical and theological impossibility.
I was left with a masochist's delight-a puzzle that couldn't be
solved. Oh, the misery I could have spared myself if I hadn't been
so hard-headed! I concluded that the only way for Christians to
unite was around the Word of God, which I took to mean the Bible,
even though the New Testament wasn't written at the time Jesus prayed
the words of John 17. I turned this into a principle that I followed
scrupulously: the only reason for not worshipping with another church
was deviation from the Bible. I never allowed personality, preferences,
styles, or history to be the basis for division in my mind. We were
dealing with the authority of the risen Christ and His infallible
Word. Thus if there were different confessions of faith that kept
churches apart, someone had to be wrong. If I could not clearly
state where another church had denied the Word of God, it would
be sin not to worship with them.
Holy Father, you know not only my deeds, but the
thoughts and intents of my heart. In my folly, I fought against
my Lord's prayer for unity, all they while seeking its fulfillment.
Let my folly stand as a witness to the darkness which covers men's
thoughts until the pure light of Christ dawns on them. How much
we need the promised infallible guide, the Holy Spirit of God operating
upon the rock of Peter's confession and in the office given to him
and his successors. What difficulties I could have been spared had
I learned to trust your word and promise that you would not leave
us orphans. Let me never stray for the strong protection and safety
of the magisterium of our holy mother Church.
The Frustration of a Sincere Conscience
I appeal to you, brothers, by the name of our Lord
Jesus Christ, that all of you agree and that there be no divisions
among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same
judgment. - 1Corinthians 1:10
I can say this now, but at the time I could not
see what a perfect recipe for frustration I had concocted for myself.
On the one hand, I had to become an expert on other churches' deviations
from the Word of God; to avoid the sin of schism, I had to make
them be the sinner. But on the other hand, I had to at least tacitly
declare that my church did not deviate. Thus I became condemning
and self-righteous, which I despised in others but could not see
in me.
My frustration grew as I found no one else in ministry willing to
face this dilemma. None of my colleagues seem to understand that
if we were not the authentic church, then people's souls were at
risk. I was haunted by a thought I kept locked in a closet in the
back of my mind: I was supposed to be telling people how to get
to heaven. If I didn't have the proper authority, or if I misdirected
people, they would have every reason to blame me for their perdition
(or their increased purgatory, I can say now). This was the Protestant
doctrine of sola fide rattling its chains in my soul. I was ministering
in churches who constantly reassured their congregations that the
one time they walked down the aisle of their church to "accept
Jesus" was all they needed to be certain of heaven. Needless
to say, those looking for that kind of consolation found other churches
to attend. Mine never grew.
Where was my consolation in this, my torment? I was not an unpleasant
person to be with, but as I look back, I realize that there was
a restless churning of these issues in the back of my mind. I simply
had to be sure that what I declared to be the Word of God was the
Word of God. And if it wasn't, I had to be willing to repent and
change. My poor family. They had to live with a man who could never
be at rest; I was always wrestling with my puzzle. My distress was
caused by the fact that I had thrown away the solution. I didn't
know it at the time, but I was framing a question that only Papal
infallibility can resolve.
Merciful God and Savior Jesus Christ, what great
and precious gifts you have sent to the children of men and safeguarded
in your most holy Church. Men need not falter in their steps or
doubt a sure word from heaven. You deposited your truth with your
Apostles and guided them and their successors through the ages by
the real and abiding ministry of the Holy Spirit. Your Church stands
today stronger than ever, though assailed by evil, misunderstood
by opponents, and guilty of grievous sins within her own halls.
Yet her doors stand wide open to show the way of salvation to any
who search in earnestness, for you, O Lord, are present in her sacraments,
her worship, and her works of charity.
Help Despised
Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and
I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me,
for I am gentle and lowly of heart, and you will find rest for your
souls. - Matthew 11:28-29
God had actually sent help to me, always in the
most unlikely of packages. Only heaven knows how many attempts were
made to get help to this headstrong pilgrim, but I do recall one
incident, about ten years into my ministry. There was a young man,
just out of high school, who was a member of our church youth group.
He didn't seem to have any family, kept to himself, but always displayed
a very pleasant demeanor. He didn't attend regularly, but when he
did, he would listen intently to my preaching. His name was Daniel
Samson. One day Danny came to me with some words scrawled on a piece
of paper. "Here, Pastor Tom," he said. "I heard these
words in a song. I think they may help you." I opened the paper
and found the words to a Beattle song: when I find myself in times
of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, "Let
it be, let it be."
It took me twenty years to realize that this was heaven's remedy
for my restless soul. I threw the paper away, gently chided Danny
for turning to a secular source for encouragement, and plowed ahead
in my quest. How ironic. At the end of my quest, I find myself joyfully
turning to my Blessed Mother in full surrender as she, in effect,
says to me, "let it be, let it be."
Heaven is more involved in the affairs of earth than any of us realize.
Our Mother sits at the head of an innumerable host of saints who
watch with eagerness to see the stumbling steps of men ultimately
bring glory to the King of all kings, the Lord Jesus Christ. It
is as if they are saying, "Thomas, as bull-headed as the saints
whose name you bear, we've been waiting for you to exhaust yourself
so that we can fill you with grace to complete your journey."
I do not mean to promote a theological error here. I realize that
all we know for certain of the saints in heaven is that they can
pray for us. It is the Holy Spirit who infuses us with grace through
the sacraments of the Church, but that is exactly what the saints
are praying for.
O Blessed Holy Spirit of God, how I praise you for
your faithful work in the world today. Relentless in your pursuit
of sinners, faithful in your testimony of Christ, powerful in your
gentle way, you continue to convict the world of sin, and righteousness,
and judgment. How I praise the infinite mercy of the Triune God
who looked with pity on this wandering sheep. Though you often called
me, I did not know it was your voice, for I wanted your voice to
sound like my vile and corrupted will. I sought your blessing on
my errant pathway, but you were ever showing me a better path of
blessing. Eternal thanks will ever be on these chastened lips for
love that never let me wander too far and never gave up on me. I
am silenced by the thought. For who am I? I testify before men and
angels that I am no great prize to merit such divine attention.
Only when emptied of myself can your grace fill me. Then, filled
with your grace, I can hope to find favor in your eyes. And should
I find such favor, my stubborn will must recognize that it is your
grace in me, and nothing of myself, that commends me to my God.
My restless soul will finally learn to sit in peace upon his mother's
lap as a weaned child, happy beyond description.
Born on the Wrong Side of the Ocean
Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared
also to me. For I am the least of the apostles, unworthy to be called
an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. - 1Corinthians
15:8-9
Looking back, I see my life in a metaphor of a man born on the wrong
side of the ocean. He senses a deep, unspoken longing in his soul
for a safe harbor on the far side of the ocean. Some distant Irish
ancestors had perhaps brought their children to be baptized by Saint
Patrick with a prayer that their family might live forever in the
blessings and comfort of Mother Church. My grandfather left Patrick's
church and eventually became a colonel in the Salvation Army. But
God's faithfulness extends to a thousand generations. In His providence,
He had my parents baptize me in the Methodist Church. The liturgy
of those early years left me with a profound God-consciousness.
And the Father was faithful to His Word when He sent the Spirit
of God to stir my heart during my first years of college. The Baptists
recognized this stirring and led me to an experience they called
"getting saved". They baptized me again because-they said-my
first one didn't count. Then they put a Scofield Bible in my hands
which I devoured.
The Scofield Reference Bible is the largest-selling study Bible
in the history of the world. Its effects are deadening in three
regards. First, it orients the Christian towards an expectation
of Christ's return very, very soon, and thus there is no long-term
outlook. Second, it relegates the Church to a temporary "parenthesis"
in the plan of God. And third, it associates the antichrist with
Catholicism. Perhaps for this reason, the one church in the world
big enough to deal with its errors has chosen to be silent.
Here I must ask a very pointed question to all Catholics-in love
and friendship. But the question needs to be asked: Where were you?
I am not pointing fingers or blaming anyone. Forgive me this question;
I mention this merely as a demonstration of the wounds I bear in
following the path of Christ. It would be understandable if these
wounds had come from Christ's enemies. But they came from His shepherds.
The error of Scofield was taught to me by pastors and Bible scholars.
Where were you? I could have been spared over thirty years of aimless
tacking back and forth across the entire ocean, only to see my family
swept away in the end. All kinds of evangelical Christians were
there when heaven was awakening me to my need of salvation. Catholics
were there too. But they were silent. The Spirit of God is ever
at work; it is we who are asleep.
I even took a class on Church History at the state university I
attended. It was taught by a Catholic priest very well known on
the campus. I really thought I knew more than he did. The priest
was oblivious to the spell I was under; we couldn't communicate.
The introduction to the Scofield Bible says that C.I. Scofield studied
arduously all the systems of theology present in the world and verified
that the system of thought contained in his notes was indeed the
historic faith of the Church. That, of course, was a lie. I have
taken comfort recently in Augustine's Confessions in which he chides
himself for the foolish and ignorant doctrines of the Manicheans
he followed so avidly.
Bishop Ambrose understood Augustine's errors, could communicate
with him, and eventually won his heart and his intellect for the
kingdom of Christ. I have found very few Catholics today who understand
how extensive and damaging are the errors taught in the best-selling
study Bible in the history of the world. Perhaps one of the reasons
is that Scofield's doctrine has mutated into a thousand different
forms, none of which use Scofield's name. Worse yet, I have found
some Catholics who seek to imitate this and wish to incorporate
some of this error as well. God help us.
O God, our Creator, how many times must we taste
of forbidden fruit until we learn to trust your word! How many are
the serpent's lies today, subtly changing some aspect of your divine
counsel. Forgive us for the multitude of errors we have welcomed
into our bosom. We have found them full of bitterness and death,
and yet we still prefer them to simple obedience to your pure word
of truth. Help us to see what Eve could not see-how many of her
children she banished to an exile of pain and suffering because
she loved the lie and spurned your word. May we learn to hate all
that doubts your word and thus spare others the consequences of
our rebellion, through the one who died that we might live, Jesus
Christ.
The Fires of Lust
Do not follow your lusts;
Restrain your desires.
If you allow yourself to satisfy your desires,
This will make you the laughing-stock of your enemies. - Ecclesiasticus
18:30-31
I learned later that the priest who taught the Church
History course left the priesthood to marry. At least it was a woman.
I say that not to criticize-given the current circumstances unfolding
in the Church, it may well have been the honorable thing to do.
I hope I have learned not to be any man's judge, for I too was caught
in a different tentacle of the same giant octopus of sexuality.
The twentieth century was marked by the unchecked growth of this
monster. I had no way of combating it.
As I was exposed to Catholic teaching on sexuality, I found it to
be the most enlightened, liberating concept ever proposed to men
and women, and it shoots a fatal dart into the heart of this ugly
octopus that has millions in its grasp. Once again, I find myself-without
rancor-asking "why were Catholics hiding their light under
a basket?" The heart of the problem, as I now understand it,
is very, very simple to understand: we must not divorce sexuality
from procreation. When those two are separated, every manner of
evil and perversion rushes in. What results from this separation
was perhaps best captured in the song by the Rolling Stones: I can't
get no satisfaction.
While in seminary, Laura and I attended a retreat, sponsored by
the school, in which a husband and wife OB/GYN team-good members
of our denomination-taught us the various forms of contraception
available and provided medical instruction on maximizing our sexual
fulfillment. And we were one of the more conservative seminaries
in the country. God forgive us. What I learned in that seminar was
all I needed to fuel the fires of lust lit in my adolescence and
fed by the pornography I had been exposed to in high school and
college. Far from fulfilling our relationship, it was a constant
source of tension in our marriage.
Catholics, you need to know that God is working with you as you
follow the teaching of the Church. Don't be ashamed! Your Church
doesn't invent doctrine; she guards the deposit of faith entrusted
to the Apostles. The Spirit of God is not without His testimony
in the hearts of men. In the deep recesses of my heart, I knew what
we were learning was wrong. But I stifled that whisper and listened
to the only teaching I received on the subject. You will be called
medieval, prudish, ignorant, and impractical, but know that the
Church's official teaching on sexuality is none of those things.
It is the hearts of men that are wicked, perverse, hardened, and
full of darkness. Shine the light! Be not afraid!
Almighty God, giver of life, how well you understand
the origin of life! And how dark is our understanding. It is love
that generates life, for you have willed it so, out of the depths
of your divine love within the Blessed Trinity. We have covered
ourselves with shame and yet wear it as a mantle of praise. Forgive
our folly. We use our bodies as if they were ours. We deny the greater
love, the deeper joy, the more lasting pleasure by perverting our
desire for life into lust. We are killing ourselves and destroying
our children simply because we love ourselves more than we love
you. We content ourselves with the pleasure of now and find ourselves
with no future. Send us a mighty wave of repentances that leads
to reform and restoration that we may once again claim the blessing
you bestowed on Adam and Eve in the beginning.
The Other Side of the Fence
Woe is me! For I am lost.
For I am a man of unclean lips,
And I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips.
For my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts. - Isaiah 6:5
Both Catholics and Protestants deal with the same condition of men's
hearts. In college, after my first conversion, I was befriended
by a very young Baptist pastor as thoroughly devoted to the Scofield
error as I was. He did much to shape my life and ministry, most
of it in a very negative direction. He performed our wedding. Twenty-five
years later that I learned he was a homosexual who left his ministry,
his wife and four children to live with his "partner".
When I contacted him, he told me he had finally found the abundant
life Jesus promised.
The problem is the same on both sides of the fence-shepherds who
are more concerned with themselves than their flocks, more absorbed
in their sexuality than in their Lord. Ministry is all about sacrifice,
joyful willing sacrifice, offered in imitation of the "Lamb
slain from the foundation of the world." I know that when I
lost sight of that in my ministry, I was no longer doing anyone
any good.
Peter heard our Lord insist very pointedly: Feed my sheep! Where
were the shepherds who could trace their authority to Peter? They
were overworked because there are so few of them. And why is that?
Forgive me, my brothers, but there would be more priests if you
didn't spend so much time whining about the difficulties and demands
of the priesthood. If you weren't so focused on your sexuality,
you'd have all kinds of children and more pure, chaste love than
a human heart can contain. Listen to me, who has suffered from your
neglect. If you are not in love with your calling, then let a new
convert teach you the awe and wonder of the Eucharist. Watch that
convert fall in love with Jesus at the altar. But take them further-to
Jesus' Blessed Mother. No one who falls in love with her will have
any problem with sexuality. She is that beautiful.
Lord Jesus, Good Shepherd, see how far we stray
when we fail to find our contentment in you! We, who undertake the
task of shepherding in your name, have only scattered the sheep
as we neglected our duty in pursuit of own pleasures. Woe unto us!
We have become as unclean as our wicked generation. We follow and
do not lead. We are consumed with lust and then ask you to bless
it. Give us Adam's shame that we might learn to fear your holy presence.
May we blush before our Holy Queen for the carnal desires we have
enthroned in our hearts. May her beauty and perfections be our example
for purity and devotion. May her prayers lead us to forsake our
folly and live, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Nobody Told Me
Listen, my son, to your father's instruction;
Do not reject your mother's teaching.
They will crown of grace for your head,
A circlet for your neck. - Proverbs 1:8-9
Listen to me! When God woke me up in college, and I began searching
for Jesus and rest for my soul, all the Baptists could give me was
a book. Thankfully, it was the New Testament. All the while, right
across the street from my dormitory was a Catholic Church. I was
desperately searching for Jesus, and He was present in the Tabernacle
fifty yards away from me. NOBODY TOLD ME! I can't say that I would
have listened, but I can say that nobody told me that Jesus was
there. In fact, my anti-Catholic bias, picked up from the pages
of the Scofield Bible, left me with the impression, a picture in
my mind's eye, of Jesus sitting outside the Catholic Church on the
curb, alone and forlorn, while the worshippers gathered inside.
It may have been more true than I know.
I didn't have to launch out across the ocean in a leaky boat with
no map. But I did. I left that unvisited tabernacle far behind,
took a wife, went to seminary, took my first church, started our
family, and began my restless wandering. I loved the Church, and
I got that from the pages of Scripture. Surprisingly, the Baptist
seminary I attended emphasized quite strongly the primacy of the
local church with Christ as its head. But already, in my first ministry,
I began to realize that the authority of Christ was not present
in that church.
We left that denomination and tried an independent work, mostly
composed of Catholics who left their church in the charismatic renewal
of the 70's. Those poor souls had never been instructed in their
own faith. They left Jesus in the Tabernacle to go wander in the
desert. We met in a picnic shelter in a state park every Sunday
to sing new songs and learn the doctrines of C.I. Scofield under
the guise of teaching "just the Bible." During that time,
I had the opportunity to work full-time and minister part-time,
but after five years I was restless and irritable again. Somewhere,
there had to be a real church.
How could I find my way home when those who were already there didn't
stay? How could I find the life-giving food my soul craved when
those who had dined on it despised it?
O God, our sins are so many, we scarcely hope to
stand! See our confusion. Behold our disarray. Our shepherds have
forgotten us. The world assails us. The night with its perils closes
in on us. The camp of the saints-the beloved city-is surrounded.
We have been deceived. In your compassion, understand that our wanderings
are really a search for you. For the sake of the seal we wear from
our Baptism and the mark of the Apostles on our forehead received
in our Confirmation, may you prove yourself to be the strongest
of defenders. Send down holy fire to consume our deceiver and all
his hordes of lying spirits. May your precious flock then repent
and return to Zion with humbled and contrite hearts. May we finally
learn never to wander but to trust in your goodness forever, through
Christ our Lord.
Running Too Hard
For thus says the Lord God; "Behold, I, I myself
will search for my sheep and will seek them out. As a shepherd seeks
out his flock when he is among his sheep that have been scattered,
so will I seek out my sheep, and I will rescue them from all the
places where they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick
darkness.' - Ezekiel 43:11-12
I created a tumult by leaving that church in the
park in the hands of the elders (I never was one) and attending
a church that had just welcomed our oldest daughter into its inaugural
first-grade class. No one understood what my soul needed. I certainly
didn't. The new church was part of fellowship of churches with a
statement of faith devoted to Scofield's teaching, so I was happy.
I was even happier when, in a strange set of circumstances, that
church called me to be its pastor. After five years of hard work,
the school grew; the church did not. I was frustrated.
Two examples will serve to show that God was chasing me, but I was
running too fast in the wrong direction. I remember one of our students
in the school bringing me her first Bible and asking me to write
a short dedication in it. When I saw that it was a Catholic Bible,
I exploded and refused to sign it, offering to teach the parents
the grave error Catholics had committed by adding to the Word of
God. Another time, I had worked very hard at cultivating a relationship
with a family whose children were in our school. I knew they did
not attend church anywhere. I would visit their home, answer their
questions, and encourage them to attend our service. Finally, they
said they would come that Sunday. When they didn't show, I asked
the husband what happened. He said, "Pastor Tom, you're not
going to believe this. We were all in the car, intending to come,
and just as I got to your church, I thought about how we're really
Catholic. If we're going to go back to church, we should go back
there first. So I drove right by and went to mass at Prince of Peace,
and you know what? It was great! It was just like everything you
taught us. Thanks!"
That kind of frustration multiplied as did my listening for faint
whispers of whatever was missing in my ministry. Our denomination
had an aggressive missionary ministry around the world, including
France. We met some of the French missionaries, considered whether
our gifts and talents would be better used over there, and even
made a visit to explore the possibility. My Scofieldism was still
intact and all the prophecy preachers I trusted agreed that the
Church would surely, surely be whisked off the earth before the
year 2000. What better place to spend our last years on earth than
right in the heart of antichrist's ten-nation confederacy taking
shape before our very eyes in Europe? That was at least one of my
reasons for being interested. As silly as it sounds to say, I can
assure you that this doctrine has many millions under its sway.
It would be difficult to estimate how many zealous missionary endeavors
are fueled by this kind of thinking.
Lord God of heaven and earth, how infinite is your
mercy and fathomless your love! With my head bent to my own destruction,
you sought me. Never did I wander out of your sight. The greatest
of miracles among men is how you change a hardened heart into a
heart of flesh. I despised your holy Church, maligned her good name,
opposed her doctrine, and taught others to do likewise. But I never
exhausted your love and your unfailing intention to seek out your
scattered sheep. Even before I asked, our Holy Mother prayed for
me, gently absorbed my calumnies into her immaculate heart and transformed
them into humility and praise with which I now rejoice in the one
holy catholic and apostolic Church.
We Cross an Ocean
I remember the devotion of your youth, your love
as a bride, how you followed me in the wilderness, in a land not
sown. Israel was holy to the Lord, the firstfruits of his harvest.
All who ate of it incurred guilt; disaster came upon them declared
the Lord. - Jeremiah 2:2-3
Laura always had more common sense than did I, and
so she always listened with a yawn when I began lining up the prophetic
"signs of the times." But this time it was Laura who said
yes, let's go to France. So we did. Trauma. Turmoil. Upset. Confusion.
Uprooting my children and throwing them into a whole new world really
hurt them, making it impossible for them to ever trust me again.
We all eventually adapted, and all of us would go back if we could.
We all loved our six years in France. But we lost the Lord's face.
When I saw my children thrown to the wolves in French-speaking schools,
there was no amount of consolation or prayer that would touch them.
They learned to turn their hearts to the same degree of stoniness
they found in their classmates. Dad felt so guilty he couldn't even
go in at night to tuck them in and pray with them.
That move cost too much. I couldn't pray any more. I studied and
taught, but my private devotional life dried up. My hope was that
the Rapture would come as predicted, and then my children would
forgive me. But Jesus didn't come. I was lost. I really was. I initiated
theological conflicts with my colleagues, thinking that fidelity
to our statement of faith was the way to restore order to our lives.
I could no longer live with authority that had deceived me.
What were we doing there anyway? France is a Catholic country, n'est-ce
pas? Once again, I have to say that, though I met some very vocal
Catholics who tried to defend their faith, they simply didn't know
enough of what they believed to make an impression. And they certainly
didn't know what I believed to be able to counter it. The closest
I got to understanding a Catholic was once in a conversation with
a devout man lamenting the fact that some modern priest had not
baptized his infant son because, the priest said, it is better to
wait until he can profess faith. The baby fell sick and the priest
did not arrive in time. The father was weeping as he told me his
baby was not born of the spirit. I tried to console him by saying
that the Bible does not teach that an infant is born again by through
baptism (for such we believed). In exasperation, he replied, "Well,
that may not be what the Bible teaches, but it is what my Church
teaches!" He knew where authority lies. I did not. How sad
that I spent six years in a land full of empty church buildings
that are little more than museums. Woe to the shepherds who do not
watch the flock!
Lord Jesus Christ, you are the light that enlightens
the soul of every man. How great is the darkness of the soul that
blocks your light. My headstrong charge to serve you plunged me
and my family into the very blackest of nights. It was my folly
to seek to serve you apart from your ordained means of grace and
protection. How I praise you that the darkness was only dark to
me. You saw my plight. And you constantly sent me help which I refused.
Let all who have breath give praise to this mighty God of love who
pursues those who have lost their way. Then, when we have turned
and found the light, you have a servant who will never wander again!
O, nail me to your side, Lord Jesus! Better to share in your suffering
than to invent my own.
Scofield Unmasked
For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when
we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ,
but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty. - 2Peter 1:16
While in France, I met the author of the only comprehensive
biography ever written on C.I. Scofield. It seems Scofield was incapable
of writing the notes that bear his name, and the origins of those
notes remain shrouded in mystery. It is clear, however, that this
system of thought was devised near the end of the nineteenth century.
I say this to my immortal shame: Woe unto shepherds when they feed
the sheep doctrine invented yesterday! As I shared my discoveries
with my colleagues in ministry, I was stunned to find that they
didn't care. Our whole statement of faith was based on Scofield's
system. Perhaps they sensed the upheaval I would experience as I
began to extract myself from its influences. They simply didn't
want to face it.
I needed time to sort it all out and discover just what I did believe,
what-or whom-I could trust. Our work in France was done, and we
were due for a year back home, after which we could report for a
new mission elsewhere in France. Our oldest daughter was ready to
enter college, and the others would follow shortly after her. We
made the decision to return home permanently. I considered stepping
out of the ministry, but knew that the theological questions would
not go away from my mind. I hoped to find a small church in our
denomination where I could devote time to extensive study and re-thinking.
We found such a church, and began to face the same trauma we had
faced in moving to France-reverse culture shock. Our girls were
rootless and alone as they faced the challenges of American life
and culture. Dad was changing what he said all the time, and so
they decided to tune me out. I kept my public preaching and teaching
within the bounds of our statement of faith, but knew that a crisis
was coming. I tried to develop a business on the side so that I
might have something to support me when it hit.
This was change number four for my family, and the biggest trauma
I had ever faced. My world was shaken. I felt betrayed by men I
had trusted to teach me the Word of God. I didn't know how to approach
the Scriptures. The issue of authority was now a wide open question.
I began reading everything and anyone, some of it quite novel and
bizarre. But, of course, I read no Catholics. They were the enemy.
The question spurring me on was, "who has the authority to
speak for God?" I had to conclude from the very apparent evidence:
anyone, absolutely anyone. Anybody can start a church; anyone can
get on the radio or TV and speak in Jesus' name.
O God of truth and mercy! Never could I wish that
you had left me in ignorance and error. Never could I wish that
you had imposed your will upon mine. I had to find you by searching,
but how perilous was the path I chose. I cannot speak for the thousands
who presume to speak in your name. I know that I fear you too much
to repeat what you have not spoken. My hope for your mercy lies
in your perfect knowledge, for you know that when I spoke lies,
I thought them to be the truth. When I misrepresented what you have
spoken, it was after taking great pains to assure myself that I
was not distorting your Word. You know, O Lord, that when I discovered
my faults through your strong hand of chastisement, I always repented
and never taught that error again. My fault was with my teachers
and with a fallen intellect, heart, and will that was attracted
to the errors. I freely admit to choosing my own poison, of despising
the pure bread and wine of forgiveness you freely offer to all men
upon every consecrated altar in the world. If you can forgive and
love a fool, then forgive and love this one, for he will be forever
at that altar as the most grateful of all men.
My Wittenburg Door
For you shall not go out in haste, and you shall
not go in flight, for the Lord will go before you, and the God of
Israel will be your rear guard. - Isaiah 52:12
I had painted myself into a corner. Our denomination was composed
of autonomous churches voluntarily cooperating in a fellowship that
we insisted was not a denomination. There was no hierarchy, no central
authority, only voluntary organizations formed from the churches
to accomplish various tasks such as foreign mission work, education,
or new church planting. We had groups of pastors in a region meet
in what we called a ministerium. This group had no authority over
the churches. We would examine a man for ordination, for example,
but it was his own local church that ordained him. Each church owned
its own property and incorporated independent of any other authority.
I raised certain questions in our ministerium in regard to our statement
of faith, a woefully inadequate document that essentially said "we
believe the Bible, and the Bible teaches this. . ." followed
by fourteen headings (not explained) of what we believe. I had hoped
to initiate a district-wide study of certain of these headings that
I had become convinced were not taught in the Bible. Not even the
terminology could be found in the Bible. I had realized that a study
of these things could lead to my resignation, but I had hoped to
at least provoke some others to re-think these things in order to
avoid the damage they create when taught and believed.
I should have known better. I was too weary in mind and spirit,
though. My mind was constantly racing in those days, as I studied
some new aspect of my quest and had to make room for it in my theology.
I was constantly shifting everything, because one new doctrine affects
all the others. I felt like my mind was one of those puzzles with
sliding tiles and one empty spot that allows you to shift everything
around to get a picture or a message. I was shuttling those tiles
frantically in my mind, night and day, trying to put it all together.
I prepared a document for my colleagues, outlining my concerns.
But it was too pointed, too critical, and too intimidating. I should
have foreseen their reaction. They simply wanted to know if I believed
our statement of faith. No study. Very little discussion. I said
no. They said, "Then you must resign."
I was imbued with the spirit of Martin Luther at this point. I said,
"I do believe what our statement of faith affirms in its one
opening statement, that the Bible alone is our source for all doctrine
and practice. I do believe the Bible. But I do not believe the Bible
teaches some of the fourteen points listed, and I can demonstrate
that to you." They again asked me to resign. I was perverse
enough at this point to realize that one reason they wanted me to
resign is because they had no authority to take any action. I pressed
my point. "No," I said. "I will not resign, because
I want you to go on record as saying that all fourteen articles
of our faith are taught in the Bible."
What I had hoped to accomplish is not at all clear in my mind. I
suppose it was a bit of a martyr complex. It had taken me over 25
years to get to the point I was, and I wasn't going to turn back.
I had the full support of the leadership of my church, as I kept
them posted on all the proceedings. I fasted for several days and
went to face my sentence. The ministerium met and determined that
they would have to remove me from the list of approved ministers
in our denomination. I smiled inwardly because I knew that no such
list existed. They could not, and in fact did not, revoke my ordination.
But I got the point. They threw me out.
Holy Spirit of God, what a tangled web we weave
for you to sort out! You needed to minister to my bruised heart
while I was leading a charge against brothers and sisters you love
as much as you love me. Far better if I had resigned and thrown
myself upon the infinite mercy of God. I am as full of remorse for
how I handled myself in these proceedings as I am for the errors
I was trying to erase from my record. How precious did those words
of absolution soothe my troubled soul when first I heard them pronounced
by your servant over my name! Never do I wish to wander again from
the truth. Yet I know I cannot keep myself from error. Hold me tightly
to the breast of my Savior, O Spirit of the living God! And let
it be inscribed in the halls of heaven: I would rather be forgiven
than right. Let my righteousness be found in Christ my Savior.
The House Collapses
See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace
of God; that no root of bitterness springs up and causes trouble,
and by it many become defiled. - Hebrews 12:15
As this incident was reported by others, I had been
"defrocked". That was not true, but had I known this was
how it would be viewed, I would have simply resigned. I think. I
cannot speak for my state of mind at that time. What I really needed
was a vacation. I had not had one in two years. Plus I was working
frantically at an outside business in an attempt to earn enough
income to retire Laura from her work. I knew she was terribly unhappy
with her job, and I felt like a failure that I could not supply
enough income to put her in the home full time. Later this would
hit me with waves of remorse as she left me to marry someone at
her work.
The congregation of my church then had to decide to ask me to resign
or leave the fellowship. I offered my resignation, arranged a business
meeting of the congregation, invited officials from the ministerium
to come address the meeting while I left town. The church overwhelmingly
voted to leave the fellowship, which they were perfectly free to
do in the voluntary association we had. Once again, the telling
of the tale was worse than the act. Word was that I "stole"
the church from our fellowship. It is difficult for a Catholic to
understand the structure of independent, autonomous churches in
denominations like ours. But the congregation owned that church,
and at the end of the ordeal, they still did.
Had I exercised better judgment, however, I would have resigned
and moved on, if for no other reason than the rest I needed. I now
found myself at the head of a congregation eager to learn what I
had been unable to teach them up to that point. In addition, I wanted
to find a new denomination for us to join. We finally settled o
the Reformed camp of Protestants because they at least had historical
roots back to the Reformation. This camp included all the various
Presbyterian denominations. History was becoming important to us.
Here I absolutely ran out of gas. Mainline reformed denominations
were already straying far from the Bible as their authority, and
that left me with the disgruntled, the divisive, the self-righteous,
and the confused reformed and Presbyterian pastors, most of whom
were trying to form new denominations. I finally settled on a medium-sized
Presbyterian group that had its problems, but would give us some
identity and sense of history.
It was about this time that I flipped the switch. I wanted to lead
our church into this denomination and then resign. I didn't know
where I would go, but I was aware of a curiosity-how do those Catholics
keep themselves together in one group and not lose their moral identity?
For example, they are unquestionably, the most pro-life institution
in the world, yet they also did more than anyone on earth to help
those who had had an abortion. What was probably more amazing is
that this church maintains the fervent loyalty and devotion of those
who disagree with these positions.
However, these remained mere curiosities. Before I could resign,
Laura announced her intention to leave me. I persuaded her to seek
some counseling together. Laura had agreed in counseling to stay
in the marriage; I agreed to find some other line of work. I resigned
from my church immediately. I should have realized that Laura was
already too emotionally wrung out to make such a commitment. What
we both needed was a rest. But that wasn't to be.
God of the ages, you have always worked out your
will on earth through adversity and despair. Well did the Apostle
remark that your strength is made perfect in weakness. You led Abraham
into his old age before he brought forth the son of promise. You
kept Joseph locked in prison until his appointed time. Moses was
lost to the Egyptians in his infancy. David hid in caves after being
anointed king. Your prophets were stoned, your priests ridiculed,
your temple destroyed. And your own dear Son was crucified. But
you are the God of resurrection. Every saint who ever trusted in
you saw a resurrection from their distress, whether in this world
or the next. O God, my house has collapsed. My dreams are dashed.
My hopes lie in the dust, my prayers unanswered. I languish in the
prison of your love, awaiting a resurrection I am powerless to command.
Do with me what you will, only do not forsake me. I offer the ashes
of my life to you as my sacrifice, consumed in the flames of your
holy altar. I only regret that I did not offer it more willingly,
that my faith might glorify you all the more.
Now I'll Listen, Lord
The salvation of the righteous is from the Lord;
he is their stronghold in the time of trouble. The Lord helps them
and delivers them; he delivers them from the wicked and saves them,
because they take refuge in him. - Psalm 37:39-40
I joined Toastmasters in an effort to open up new
vistas. Someone there heard me speak and gave me a tape with a witness
I would recommend to anyone. He said, "Tom, I think you will
really appreciate this. I realize it could be offensive, and so
I will never mention it again. However, if you like it, I have several
other similar ones." It was Scott Hahn's testimony, a man who
went through every contortion I had gone through in Protestant theology.
At any other point in my life, I would have thrown the tape away
because it was Catholic, but the Lord's school of discipline had
finally softened my hard head enough to at least listen. I couldn't
refute anything he said. That meant I would have to study more.
I asked for the rest of the tapes and was stunned to hear the testimonies
of several former protestant ministers who had converted to Catholicism.
The tapes and my accompanying reading addressed what had been gnawing
at my sanity for a couple of years-the issue of authority. I had
upset the comfort zone of everyone around me by simply going through
every aspect of our church life and asking, "Who authorized
this?" The typical reply of "The Bible" was beginning
to be unmasked for the ruse it was. An open Bible on a pulpit authorizes
nothing. It takes a person to read it and then authorize some form
of action. I was beginning to see that we probably had a thousand
different voices in the Protestant world authorizing various doctrines
and practices in the church, all from the same Bible. What we did
was pick the voice we thought best expressed the intent of the Scriptures.
I was nearly haunted by the conclusion that was forming in the back
of my mind-everything we did was self-authorized. In the end it
was my individual decision that said, "The Bible says we must
do this."
Scott Hahn addressed this issue head-on. The Reformation doctrine
of sola scriptura says that the Bible is the sole source of authority
for faith and practice. The only problem with that idea is that
it is not taught in the one place it should be taught-the Bible.
Hahn made that very clear, and I was ready to hear it. But what
was left? Could it possibly be the unbroken tradition of apostolic
authority established by Christ Himself? That authority loomed before
me now. I knew that I could not do what Scott Hahn had done. He
studied every last doctrine and document, consulted with the best
anti-Catholic scholars he could find, and finally concluded that
the Roman Catholic Church was the one true Church. That approach
seemed me to be more of the self-authorizing route I was trying
to abandon.
I saw myself more in the role of the Roman centurion asking for
a healing in his household (Luke 7:1-10). His doctrine and understanding
were probably woefully inadequate. All he needed was the source
of authority. Jesus commended his faith as greater than all the
scribes in the land. My white flag had already been hoisted. I wanted
to surrender to an authority greater than myself. I would conform
my belief to this authority, and not the other way around. To my
great surprise, when I first attended a mass, I found the words
of that centurion forever memorialized in the liturgy of the Eucharist,
as the congregation responds to the invitation to come to the Lord's
Supper: Lord, I am not worthy to receive You; only say the word
and I shall be healed. Thus before I ever attended my first mass,
I was emotionally converted. But emotional conversion is not adequate.
I needed to actually meet with Catholics and attend mass and study
and pray. For the first time in my life, I was willing to do it.
Lord Jesus Christ, our way, our truth, and our life,
your authority is all we need. You have ascended to the right hand
of the Father with all authority in heaven and on earth. One word
from you and mountains are overturned, sickness healed, and sorrow
turned to joy. All I ever needed to do was come as did the centurion,
confident in your command, and trust you all the more if that command
is withheld. Never have you lacked the power to answer all our requests.
But we so often ask amiss. And so often we lack faith as we ask.
In patience, you order our lives so that our requests are more pure
and our faith more firm. And then you bid us come, that whatever
we ask in your name might be granted to the glory of God the Father.
A Strange Welcome
I am feeble and crushed;
I groan because of the tumult of my heart.
O Lord, all my longing is before you;
My sighing is not hidden from you.
My heart throbs; my strength fails me,
And the light of my eyes-it has also gone from me.
My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague,
And my nearest kin stand far off. - Psalm 38:8-11
When I finally brought the tape home, beaming that
at last I found someone who understood the questions I had been
asking throughout my ministry. Laura exploded and then crumbled.
What was left of her emotional reserves dissolved like a sandcastle
on the beach. I can only plead idiocy. I really should have known
how Laura would respond. How many other tapes had she seen me enthusiastically
endorse? It was either some great preacher or some business plan
that was going to get us out of the dead end we were in. She never
saw the tremendous amount of study I invested in each tape I endorsed,
and indeed I had done a good deal reading after listening to the
Scott Hahn tapes before I mentioned it to Laura. I foolishly thought
she would be happy that I had found a new direction to move us out
of our dead end. I could see that every painful move we made had
brought us a little closer to the truth. She couldn't see it; it
was all trackless wandering to her. She moved out. We sold the house.
She filed for divorce.
In my metaphor of the man born on the wrong side of the sea, I could
now see that I had often sailed past the harbor I was looking for
because the harbor was Rome. At time in my journey, I would hear
the distant call of her voice, but as I sailed our ship in that
direction , I would recognize it was Rome and pass it by, only to
wonder why the voice faded. Other times, I would see the light of
the blessed port I sought and head in its direction, only to overpass
it and see its light fade. What I didn't know was that I was tacking
across the ocean, zigzagging ever nearer to my sought-after harbor.
Each time I passed it by, I was actually closer. Finally, I could
smell her sweet fragrances, and wondered why they faded as I passed
by the one place I knew was not my destination.
Scott Hahn's tape brought me to the shore. Storms had wept my children
and my wife overboard. Shoals and crashing surf had beaten my ship
to splinters, but I was like a mad Captain Ahab, determined to meet
my destiny. I finally understood that all I sought for was present
in the nearest Catholic church. Jesus was there in the Blessed Sacrament,
watched over by a successor to the Apostles with authority to absolve
my sin. Overwhelmed, weary, beaten, guilty, forsaken, and hungry,
I drove to the nearest Catholic parish. I made an appointment to
see the pastor. There I met a man who, in an attempt to encourage
me, said all the wrong things. He scoffed at the idea that he was
in the line of succession from the apostles and told me other things
I pray he has since reconsidered. I forgave him. I told him that
he could be a drunken, homosexual pedophile and I didn't care, because
I knew he had the authority I was seeking.
Once again, my greatest deterrent to finding my way home came from
within the Church, not without. God forgive us. I had found the
pearl of great price, and it has cost me everything. This priest's
confusion wasn't going to deter me. I started attending mass at
his parish. But I sought out other help from someone who could understand
why I had crossed the ocean to come home.
O Lord, our God, scarcely do the righteous stand
in this evil hour. Strengthen and fortify your servants that they
fix their hope on you in order that they not grow weary in their
struggle against sin. May all of us be ready to give an answer for
the hope that is in us. May the communities of the faithful strengthen
one another to stand firm, for our enemy is defeated by one word
of faith. May we find the joy of your countenance in all that we
do, particularly in our hour of trial. May the beaten, bloody body
of our Lord renew our courage and rekindle our love.
Tangible, Visible Authority
But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city
of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels
in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are
enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits
of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new
covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than
the blood of Abel. - Hebrews 12;22-24
I was at a mass once where a deacon was going to read the Gospel.
Before he was permitted this responsibility, he bowed his head before
the priest who blessed him and authorized him to carry out this
task which tens of thousands of Protestants do without batting an
eye. To me the image was clearly speaking of authority. The deacon
had to be authorized by the priest to even read the Gospel. The
priest is authorized by the Bishop, to serve in his place, so to
speak. Bishops are appointed by the Pope as successors to the Apostles.
There was the authority I was seeking.
Another incident I observed will further illustrate this. I had
begun the practice of visiting as many different Catholic services
as I could, even though I could not partake of the Communion. One
Sunday, I took a seat in a church and watched the usual reverence
of worshippers arriving early to kneel in private prayer before
the service began. I saw a young mother come in with a babe in arms
and a three-year-old son trailing behind. The boy seemed to be watching
everything but his mother as she found a seat a few rows ahead of
me. She knelt at the end of the pew, in reverence of the presence
of Christ in the Tabernacle. As she rose to make way down the aisle,
her son arrived, and not knowing any different, he kneeled as he
had seen his mother do. I was genuinely moved. Where, in this world,
does anyone learn respect and reverence for anything? The authority
present in a Catholic church brought a toddler to his knee, even
though he didn't know why. All he knew was that there was some reason
to kneel in a Catholic Church. I thought about the hundreds of evangelical
churches I had been in. There was nothing in any of them worthy
of such respect.
I knew I was coming home. I knew I was seeing something I had longed
for all my life. Sometimes I could smell the bouquet of the communion
wine. How had I lived all my life without it? How could I live any
more without it? I was already beginning to lose the ability to
communicate with old friends. As an evangelical Protestant, you
define home as a place without repetitious prayer, without images
and statues, without prayers to saints, without devotion to Mary,
without priests, without an altar, without purgatory, penance, and
confession. When you break free of that and begin searching for
a home with all those things, you are left with almost nothing but
arguments. I didn't want to argue. Neither did anyone who knew me
before. They simply didn't want to encourage me to go down this
path. And so they didn't. I had to go alone.
Jesus, you are present anywhere a knee is bowed
in reverence to you. May I ever bow my knee, my heart, my whole
life in humble adoration of you. Your glory fills my soul. Your
joy floods my being. Your goodness cheers me. Your truth enlightens
me. Your strength supports me. Your grace overwhelms me. Your love
captivates me. Your mercy saves me. Your wisdom humbles me. Your
nearness silences me. If I should be forsaken of all earthly comforts
and friendships and still have you, I would be a rich man. May I
never lose the radiance of your smile. Keep me faithful to my calling,
that I may one day be welcomed into your eternal presence with the
greeting every saint longs to hear; "Well done, my good and
faithful servant!"
A Warm Welcome
O Lord, my strength and my stronghold, my refuge
in the day of trouble, to you shall the nations come from the ends
of he earth and say: Our fathers have inherited nothing but lies,
worthless things in which there is no profit. - Jeremiah 16:19
I felt like the prodigal son who grew tired of eating
with the pigs. I was going home. I called Monsignor Laurence Higgins
and explained that I was a Protestant minister seriously considering
converting. He cleared a space for me on his busy schedule, and
met me with a broad smile and arms wide open as I walked into his
office. Earlier I had met with Father Philip Scott who had his whole
religious order pray for me. And through Monsignor Higgins I was
introduced to Bishop Thomas Larkin. It took all three of these men
of God to keep me in one piece as I went through the devastation
of divorce, all the while taking classes, working at nights, and
trying to find a new vocational direction for my life. During this
time, I found great solace in the mass, even though I could not
partake of the elements. I learned to pray the rosary. And I frequently
went to sit before the Blessed Sacrament in any church I happened
to pass.
When most of the dust had settled, Bishop Thomas Larkin took me
through a condensed RCIA course and arranged a private mass for
me to be received into the Church. On May 14, 2002, on the Feast
of St. Matthias, I was welcomed into the one holy catholic and apostolic
church. When this seventh change came-into the Catholic Church-I
was all alone. Except I wasn't. Monsignor Higgins sponsored me and
Father Philip Scott concelebrated with them this holy feast where
I first tasted what my soul had ever longed for-the body and blood,
soul and divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ. I had earlier attended
an Easer Vigil. It was the first time I had ever herd the Litany
of the Saints. That tune is ever in my head. I am not alone. I never
was. And I never will be. I am home.
Eternal God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, how great
is your lovingkindness to men who merit only your wrath! Mercy has
triumphed over judgment. Where sin abounded, grace did much more
abound. The perils of the deep did not consume me. I was found by
your powerful hand and made to stand upon the rock. I shall never
be moved. O, loosen my tongue to sing your praises. Many were my
difficulties, many were my sins, but your infinite grace mastered
them all, and I now live because the Father sent the Son, the Son
defeated death, and he Spirit now fills the world with his glory.
O God, three times holy, three times blessed, may the children of
men learn to ever sing your praises!
Home
Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a
cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin
which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race
that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter
of our faith. - Hebrews 12:1-2
Home. It is what drives the Pacific salmon to turn
away from the vast waters of the ocean to head inland. Sensing a
call to spawn where she was spawned, she will brave peril, danger,
difficulty, and exhaustion to answer that call. Once she starts
her journey, she will never know the help of her natural element.
Upstream, always upstream, she will struggle mile after mile against
swift currents that at times become raging torrents. She will brave
them all and then somehow summon the strength to jump time after
time up spills of water, defying the waterfalls. She is driven by
something unseen to arrive at all costs at her destination, the
place of her origin, that place on Mother Earth that nurtured and
sustained her first days of life.
The call of home is that powerful. On the day I was received into
the Church, I stood with my hand surgically pinned together after
a recent fall. I had a mountain of medical bills as a result and
no steady employment. I had no title, position, or honor. I was
a divorcé, prevented by Church law from marrying again. I
was still emotionally bruised, still weary from my journey, still
confused about my future, still hurting from my ordeal. The timing
couldn't be worse. It was that dreadful time after the Holy Father's
urgent meeting with the American Cardinals and before the Conference
of Bishops in June. The news was full of stories about abuse, corruption,
coverup, and scandal in the Church I was joining. As her flaws were
uncovered, I was transfixed by her beauty. There was not a happier
man on earth.
Our Lord told a parable about a man who found a treasure hidden
in a field. He sold everything he owned to buy the field. He was
a wise man. I was a fool. He willingly sold all he had. I had to
have everything stripped from me to realize the value of the treasure
in that field. Any who read this, please understand. I have not
lost anything. I have only gained. What the world sees as a little
round wafer I see as a treasure worth more than all I have. And
as long as I live, I will ever praise my God for loving me enough
to chase me into His kingdom.
Lord Jesus Christ, you saw the beauty of your Bride
before anyone else did. She was ever in your eye. Never did your
love waver, never did your resolve falter to seek your Bride and
take her to your heavenly palaces. Her beauty radiates throughout
time and eternity. She grows ever more beautiful with every passing
day. That I should be included in such celestial delights is beyond
my ability to comprehend. Fill me with the anticipation of my fist
glimpse of you, O Lord, as a bride awaits the call of her husband.
A Final Plea
Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the
surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I
have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish,
in order that I may gain Christ. - Philippians 3:8
I do not share this story to magnify any heroic
effort on my part, for there is no heroism here except for the man
of Calvary, God in human flesh, willing to taste death for our redemption.
I relate my journey for the purpose of instructing others on the
vast and treacherous distance that separates those who freely dine
at the Lord's Table from those who seek to satisfy themselves on
something less. I hope to encourage others to make the same journey
I made, only more willingly. And I hope to assist good Catholics
everywhere to never cease in their labors to invite all men everywhere
to this wonderful feast of love. There is no price too high, no
sacrifice too precious, no demand too great for the privilege of
dining at the table where Jesus comes to us in the Eucharist.
As a parting plea, if anyone is moved at all by my story, I would
make a simple request. I would not request payer for me. My turmoil,
pain, confusion, and loss were all needful things, sent by a loving
God to spare me worse pain and loss. In my distress, He has filled
me with peace my soul had long sought. No, if you would pray, pray
for Laura, who for thirty years was my wife. When the dark mists
surrounded us, I had lost my way, and no help was in sight, she
jumped overboard in distress, anguish of soul, and rebellion. Like
Jonah of old, our Lord may have a fish's belly prepared for her,
but pray that she might utter a prayer even better than Jonah's
as she learns to submit her will to the God who sees as well in
the darkness as He does in the light.
And don't stop there. Pray for my three daughters. Think of them
as swept off the ship I piloted through a raging tempest, not knowing
where I was going. Two of my daughters who live in town came to
my reception into the Church. The third lived too far away. Pray
that our Blessed Mother will find each one of them and lead them
to the fullness of her Son in the Church she guards with her prayers.
The only thing that I still am today that I used to be, is a father.
That is significant, and so I plead for your prayers. Thank you.
O Triune God, you who are in your essence a family bound by inseparable
love, look with pity on all the embattled families of this earth.
Send forth your word to rebuke the forces that seek to destroy our
homes. Most especially, I pray for my family to be united in the
Faith that shall last forever. May our joy resound throughout eternity
as your grace triumphs aver our sin. May we come to realize that
all that we seek, all that we desire is found in your loving embrace,
in your heavenly home. May our restless souls find their longing
fulfilled in you.
T. Hickey
Palm Harbor, Florida
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