Six years ago, I made a decision that would impact much of the rest of my life. Most big decisions come after much thought, internal arguing, and weighing pros and cons. Mine? No, mine came from a self-imposed bet, of sorts. See, a very long time ago, I wasn’t a believer at all. I used to joke about religion, and swore up and down that if I ever had to walk into a Christian church, I would choose the Roman Catholic church because, as I thought at the time, it’s the most “unchristian” Christian church of all. Well, little did I know at the time how that “bet” would impact me, my decisions, and my life later on down the road. Fast forward a number of years.
It was a dark and stormy… well, no. It WAS dark. It wasn’t actually stormy, though, unless you count the internal storm that was tormenting me. See, I had been going through a very rough patch in my life. I had reached a point where I didn’t really care about anyone except myself. I was lashing out at my friends, my family, and the world as a whole. I just didn’t care. I didn’t care who I hurt, and I didn’t care what it all cost me. I honestly didn’t care, as bad as that sounds. But there was something I didn’t take into account. The way I was headed… that dark, lonely road… was leading nowhere good. In fact, it was leading very quickly to destruction. And one night, I found myself sitting on the bank of a large drainage ditch in the Arizona desert. I was done. I couldn’t take any more. I just wanted to die, and I didn’t care how. I was at the end of my proverbial rope. But even though I was finished, God wasn’t finished with me.
In a sudden moment of clarity, it hit me. I knew what I was missing. I knew what I needed. I raised my eyes toward the dark sky and cried out to God for help. I cried out for peace, for Him to reach down and comfort me… to fix me. I was broken, and He was the only one who could repair the damage.
Over the next few days, my entire outlook on life began to change. I knew I needed to go back home, and I did. I knew I needed to find a church and start going. I suddenly remembered what I used to say, and decided to check out the Roman Catholic church. The first time I went to Mass, I was so confused that I ended up getting up and walking out halfway through the service. As I’m heading down the aisle toward the doors, I look over my shoulder in time to see the offering plates going around. “Great,” I thought to myself. “I just made myself look like a cheapskate. Nice!”
But I didn’t give up. I decided to go back, but this time I called ahead and talked to the priest, Father Kirk. He told me to come see him before Mass, and he’d help me. I did, and he found a nice couple to sit with me and explain the Mass as it unfolded. I was enthralled. I loved it. The peace, tranquility, and lack of “chaos” were right up my alley. I went through RCIA, I got baptized, christened, and confirmed. I took my first holy communion. I attended religiously (no pun intended) for a couple of years, until my youngest daughter was christened. After that, I just kinda fell out of practice. Yes, I became one of THOSE Catholics.
Fast forward a few more very chaotic years. Long since divorced, new job, new life, new happiness, and new direction in my life. I still miss the Catholic church. I miss the peace I feel there, but at the same time, it’s just not the same. The last couple of weeks, though, I’ve been attending a new church with my girlfriend, and the differences between the two churches are like night and day. Where my church is somber, classic, and relaxing, hers is upbeat, uplifting, and energetic… all things that I used to say I didn’t want. But you know what? I actually enjoy it. Every week, I walk out of there refreshed. I feel like I actually gain something from the service, not just perform a duty (as a Catholic, I am duty-bound to attend Mass faithfully). I’m just not that faithful to a church that I feel so out of touch with. I have trouble remaining faithful to a Pope that preaches things he knows nothing about, a priest that force-feeds me doctrine that I have trouble swallowing (Mary as Queen of heaven? Co-redemptrix? Co-mediatrix? Really? Umm, where’s that in scripture, exactly?).
So, therein lies the dilemma. Do I continue to fulfill my duty as a Catholic, attend Mass regularly, take communion, go to confession (I have to admit, confession does make me feel better, as does holy communion), and play the part of the good little follower, or do I leave the Church and go where my heart feels led? Of course, logically, the choice is easy… I should follow wherever God leads, right? But how do I know what God wants? How do I blindly follow?
Faith!
I must have faith. Do I know where I’ll end up? No, I don’t. Not exactly, anyway. I don’t know what church I’ll end up in. I don’t know what type of service I’ll end up liking more. For now, we’re planning to attend both. But what I do know? I’ll end up exactly where I’m supposed to be. That’s the way God works. I may not understand it, and I may not even notice it happening, but somehow, someway, God will lead me to the place I’m supposed to be.
