Swimming the Tiber

My dad was born into a devoted Roman Catholic family. He grew up as an altar boy and the whole nine yards. My mom grew up as a devoted Southern Baptist. After they got married my dad became a Southern Baptist and that is the church I was baptized in. I still remember that night clearly. It was late in the evening when we arrive at church. I went upstairs to a changing room where I was given a white gown to put on. There was a woman there with the hand full of us getting baptized. I wondered what she was doing there. She looked as old as dirt to me, who knows, she may have been only in her Forty’s. But why didn’t she get baptized at the right time? Doesn’t everyone do it when they’re five? At the appointed time we were all ushered to the top of the stairs above the baptismal pool and we were called down one at a time. The preacher asked me if I wanted to be baptized, which confused me. Why would I do all this stuff to get baptized if I didn’t want to do it? I didn’t know he had to ask me that before dunking me three times in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. I remember wondering if I was going to be scared to go under the water, but I wasn’t. That was the first thing I thought stepping into the pool, “I’m not scared.” When my family got home that night my parents sent my brother and sister up to bed and I stayed down stairs to talk with my parents. They asked me if I understood what happened tonight, which I did, and if I understood what Jesus did, which I did. I am not sure if we spoke about anything else but I remember being amazed at the depth of my understanding of God and His action in my life. Of course, I was well prepared for that night. My dad taught Sunday school and I loved the Old Testament stories. I remember learning about the Garden of Eden, Noah’s flood and why we see rainbows (which always represented God to me, to this very day I think “Every time I put My bow in the sky I will remember My promise to you,” whenever I see one), the destruction of Sodom, Abraham and Isaac, the flight out of Egypt, David and Goliath, Daniel in the lions’ den, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednago. I knew those stories very well but I never remember learning the New Testament stories (except Jesus feeding the multitudes because one of the hero’s of the story book I had was a boy named Joel, about my age, who brought the fish to Jesus), but I know I knew the Gospel because I knew all about Jesus.

When I was seven we moved from Anchorage, Alaska to Jacksonville, Florida (where it finally made sense to be Southern Baptist!) because my dad entered a seminary school there. We only stayed one year before he joined the Army though. We used to go to church twice a week, but now we didn’t go at all. I never gave it much thought. To keep quite during church my brother and I used to bring toys and play in the back of the church. I remember bringing He-Man action figures one time, but I felt it was heretical because the toys were too big! It didn’t matter any more. When I was a preteen and a teenager I began to read the Gospels at night lying in bed. Our family read the Bible after dinner sometimes and my dad (who I thought knew everything in the world) would teach us the finer points of Baptist theology. I suppose I had a prayer life suitable for my age, but something happened in my middle teen years. The cares of this world stopped drawing me closer to God and began to blot Him out. My love for the Lord never diminished and my faith never diminished but my attention dropped like a rock. When I was seventeen I was on my way to school one morning and the idea occurred to me, “You should become a priest.” That was immediately supplanted with the thought that I would rather have a family. I was curious why a Southern Baptist boy would think about becoming a Roman Catholic priest. When I was nineteen I joined the Navy and began to try to live up to the poor reputation of sailors. I was pretty good at that. It seemed that I just coasted along. For several reasons, mostly my hedonistic life style and my disgust with President Clinton, I decided to leave the Navy after only five years instead of twenty.

My life was about to change dramatically. I moved to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada! I started to work in civil engineering and land surveying. I felt like I found a really good job at a small but very good firm – Alpha Engineering. Right at the end of my enlistment in the Navy I had just about as much fun as I could handle and had to look for more civilized ways to spend my time. It was the Lenten Season of 2000 and I started to feel convicted by the Holy Spirit to tithe. So, I decided I better find a church I can belong to so I can fulfill the wishes of the Lord. At that time my mom was finishing RCIA. She and my dad decided to return to church and my dad wanted to return to the faith he grew up with. I had been to church with them several times (when ever I would visit for the weekend, they lived about 150 mile away from me), but I never really considered the Catholic Church in my search for a congregation to be a part of. I was certain I would join a Baptist church. In fact, there was a church really close to my house walking distance away that always seemed to be jamb packed, so I drove by one time to see which church it was – St. Joseph, Husband of Mary, Roman Catholic Church – I knew immediately I would never attend that church! Interestingly enough I ended up going every Tuesday evening for years and singing in their choir some time later. There were times when I was growing up I attended Catholic Mass. One of my good friends was a Catholic and whenever I spent the night at his house his mom would tell me to go to church with them. I never found it objectionable; I just thought I would be a Baptist, maybe even a preacher. I attended the closest Baptist church twice, one of the times was Easter Sunday, but both times the preacher was slamming the Roman Catholics. That really put me off and I decided not to return to his congregation. Even though I did not want to become a Catholic, I held them up as good Christian people. I made the rounds in Las Vegas but never found a church I was comfortable with. All the services I attended felt a little empty. I did not know exactly what I was looking for, but I knew I would know when I found it.
Several weeks had gone by and it was getting on towards the end of the Easter Season. It may have even been Pentecost Sunday. I do seem to remember red vestments, but of course, that may be my imagination filling in the details. I thought back to my first conscious experience with the Catholic Church, in the Sixth Grade. I went to the Children’s Mass with John Gendron (my good Catholic friend) and he told me how to receive Holy Communion on the way in. I said, “What?” and he answered, “Just do what I do.” Then Monday morning Emily (who was in our class) scolded me for receiving Holy Communion without being Catholic. I remembered visiting John after he moved away and going to church with him again while the bishop visited. He was just another preacher to me. I thought about attending Mass with my parents recently and talking to my dad about the Catholic Church. I knew he loved it. He used to tell us stories about when he was a kid, being an altar boy and playing Mass with his sister and telling people he would be the first American pope. I finally resigned and went to Our Lady of Las Vegas Roman Catholic Church. That was no empty service! The Spirit of the Lord filled the entire sanctuary and I was hooked! Walking out of the church towards my car I felt like I was walking two feet above the ground. On that very day I became a devout Roman Catholic. I went back to Our Lady of Las Vegas several times, but the parish I belong to (according to the boundary lines) was St. Francis de Sales. It was the middle of June before I found my parish. In the mean time I had spoken with my parents and they encouraged me to join RCIA, which I was eager to do.