Each of us exists in two realms at the same time, the physical and the spiritual. It is akin to walking through a swimming pool in water that is just above waist high. The water beneath our waists is like our physical world. We can see it and feel it; it is very concrete to us. We feel it pressing on us and resisting us as we take one step after another. Yet we must have the air above the water for survival. That air is like our spiritual realm. We don’t see the air, and unless there is wind, we don’t really feel it.
Many people are entirely focused on the water and pay no heed to the air above them unless they slip and fall and find themselves gasping for breath. Conversely, some people are mostly focused on the air above the water and ignore the physical things that impact them, support and buoy them up, and restrict their movement forward.
Then there are people who have an open awareness of both realms. They have some understanding of the qualities of each realm, how one interacts with the other. We were created to be both physical and spiritual. To ignore one aspect or try to excise it is not the way we were created to exist and live. Both are necessary for a truly healthy life.
For as long as I can remember, I have had a keen awareness of the spiritual side as well as the material side. Perhaps it is due to my Native American heritage that I am so sensitive to the hidden spiritual side of life. This sensitivity has allowed me to see prayers answered in amazing ways. For instance, I have felt the Lord directing me away from dangers to which I exposed myself through ignorance or cavalier thinking. Although I have not always understood why something happened to me as it did when it did, looking back on my life, I am grateful for where the Lord led me. In hindsight, I can see His providential hand on me.
For the first half of my life, I was a faithful churchgoer. I had a strong belief that involvement in faith practices through my church congregation was important. That belief carried over into my professional life in how I approached my work and dealt with colleagues. It also carried over into my weekday life. I wasn’t a “Bible thumper,” as we used to call them in college, but I was Bible literate and believed that this was the roadmap that God wanted me to follow in life. I was comfortable with my faith life and content to stay where I was in it. That changed when the Lord decided it was time for me to enter the Catholic Church.
As I look back at the spiritual things that occurred to me in my life, I can see how there were many instances — some major, some minor — that began back in my early childhood. The Lord had started setting the foundation stones in place at an early age for my lifelong spiritual growth. At first, I was too young to see where it was leading, and in later years, I was too focused on my Protestantism to want to see where it was leading. For the most part, I liked where I was, and I liked what I was doing. It might seem like my journey to Catholicism started the year before I converted, but that is not really true—it really started in my childhood.
My Growing Up Years
I was obnoxiously faith-centered as a child. Our family attended the local Congregational church. There were no age requirements about who could take communion, so I always partook of it, even as a young elementary-aged child. We had communion once every three months in that church. I was always excited on those days. The ushers would walk down the aisles passing out trays that contained tiny squares of bread. When the tray came by, you would remove one piece and then hand the tray to the person next to you. All of us held onto our little pieces of bread until everyone had one. Then the minister would say a blessing and say something like, “Let us all eat together.” I thought it “cool” that all of us ate our bread at exactly the same time.
Then came the cups. We passed along trays holding tiny cups partially filled with grape juice. I really liked the way those cups fit into my hand! The same protocol for eating the bread was used for drinking the juice. Everyone drank together at the same time.
Our family usually sat in pews toward the front of the church so we kids could see things better. As a result, we always received our bread and juice relatively early in the communion ritual and had to hold onto them for a “long time” before consuming it. I remember, as I would sit there with my cup of juice, that I would stare down into it, expecting to see Jesus looking back up at me. I never did see that, but it didn’t dampen my thinking that, at some point, I would see Him.
I vividly remember receiving my first Bible. It was a gift from the church to us children as we “came of age” (whatever that meant), around the third grade. I treasured my Bible and read it constantly, using it so much that the binding began to wear out. I would carefully place it on my dresser at home, allowing nothing ever to sit on top of it. My Bible was sacred, and nothing would ever be allowed to violate that sacredness. In a similar way, I never wrote in my Bible. I would write notes and place them inside it, but the pages were never soiled by pen or pencil. I never “dog-eared” any of its pages, either.
In my senior year of high school, our family moved to a small town a couple of hours away from where I grew up. I hated that move, but did find some fulfillment in attending and leading some Bible studies with other high schoolers. We almost managed to establish a “coffee house,” where we could have more Bible studies and faith gatherings, but high schoolers are not known for having a lot of cash.
Eventually, I went off to college, intending to major in Paleontology, having always had a keen interest in fossils. However, after my first year, a friend told me about a major called Earth Science Education. The more I learned about it, the more I was attracted to it. It seemed to me that God was opening a door for me that would allow me to study not only fossils, but many other aspects about the physical world as well. There was also the additional bonus of providing an avenue to share my learning and enthusiasm with children. It was a very comfortable fit for me, so that was the road I took.
During this time, I usually made it a point to take our house mother to church on Sundays. Any guy in our house going to church was a novelty, but I persisted, and soon several others were dragging themselves out of bed early Sunday morning to go with us. I would also travel home on Saturdays to serve as our church’s youth group leader.
While continuing my studies, I met my wife, Chris. A buddy and I had both just broken up with our girlfriends and were in the student union one day, washing away our sorrows over a couple of sodas. It was then that a woman friend of ours arrived at our table, bringing along with her several of her friends. We all sat around the table, and when I looked into Chris’s eyes, a voice in my head shouted, “She is the one!” Unbeknownst to me, Chris had that same exact voice in her head at the very same moment. Later, when I found out about it, I was certain it was providence. I sought her out by first combing through the student directory because I couldn’t remember her last name, but knew who her roommate was. Fortunately, her last name started with the letter “C,” so my search didn’t last long. We began dating, and the more we were together, the more obvious it was that the Lord intended for us to be with each other. We were finding amazing ways to support each other and grow in our faith. After we graduated, we married and soon started our family.
My Adult Protestant Years
Shortly after our children were born, we began attending our local Presbyterian church in Auburn, Kansas. Our town was very small, as was the church. That made it very easy to get to know the minister well. We became friends and conversed frequently about science and faith issues. He was interested in my perspective about faith since I was a science educator, and I was interested in his perspective about faith in science. It wasn’t long before I found myself serving on the board (called the Session) of that church. The Session made most of the decisions regarding the direction of the local church and oversaw its finances. Each of us was provided a “Book of Order” from the national denomination office so we could be sure to follow the rules when we made our local decisions. I was evidently good at it, and before long was elected as an elder in the church. Church elders had the responsibility of leading the congregation in faith matters and consulting regularly with the minister.
We eventually departed Auburn, Kansas for North Dakota, where I taught college for a couple of years. That was not a very active faith time for me or my family. Folks there were polite, but we felt like outsiders. We were never included in gatherings outside of church services. We then moved to Illinois, where I took a position at the local university in Macomb. There, we joined the First Christian Church / Disciples of Christ. Within the year, I was elected to serve as an elder in the church. The role of elders in that church were much the same as they were in the Auburn Presbyterian Church years earlier, but they were even more involved with faith and worship matters. Elders were also responsible for serving communion to the congregation each Sunday and taking communion out into the neighborhoods to church members who were shut-ins. Twelve elders were active at one time; when one decided to step down due to age, health, or some other reason, the congregation would elect someone to fill his or her place. After a year, I was elected by the elders to chair the group, conducting all the meetings. Elders also served as part of the church board, which consisted of about fifty people, and it was not long until the board elected me to chair the board. Most people only chaired the board for one year; I served three.
Within the congregation were several subgroups that all seemed to compete for authority, control, and power. I never understood how they kept re-electing me to chair the board when any one of them could have run for the office themselves. I guess they did not really want the work involved, but just wanted to have control. Somehow, I managed to keep them all in check and working in some form of unity.
Each year, the elders would conduct evaluations of the church staff, including the minister. The task was rather perfunctory, and the elders would meet with each staff member individually to review the results. In my last year and a half there, the subgroups began stirring up others with the idea that the evaluation results should be shared with the entire congregation. I resisted, due to “personnel privacy” concerns, but was overridden by the majority of the church board.
During this time, I was feeling extreme pressure from church members and from circumstances at work. The education program at the university was being decimated, placing my employment in jeopardy.
I was also president of our local school board, and some of us had been doing battle with the superintendent over several significant issues, including teacher negotiations and expenditures of district funds. In addition, there was a “good old boys” network in the school board that resisted any change or accountability.
I was powerless to head off any of these situations and felt I needed some additional spiritual support to get through it all. I mentioned that need to our minister one day, and he suggested I get a spiritual advisor. It had to be someone other than him. I had never had one, so I began thinking about whom I might ask. It would be a few more months before I made a decision about that.
When it came time to conduct the church staff evaluations, the subgroups’ claws came out, and I knew we would have to modify the evaluation protocols to include the entire congregation. I had exhausted all my options to deal with it as I thought best. Once the evaluations were completed, the elders compiled the ratings and comments and prepared for them to be shared with the congregation at its annual meeting. It was my duty to speak before the entire congregation to share the results of the evaluations. Before that, I had several lengthy meetings with our minister regarding his evaluation and obtained his permission to share the results with everyone. I resisted the idea of baring everything in this way, but he thought it best and told me I should follow through with it. That, we thought, would appease the power-hungry subgroups.
In hindsight, it was a mistake. Some saw what they perceived as cracks in the defensive wall around the minister and attacked. It was anything but faith-based and loving. I was feeling more in need of a spiritual advisor than ever before.
As I thought and prayed about a spiritual advisor, a voice in my mind told me to go across the street from our church and speak with the priest at the Catholic parish. On a sunny spring day, I knocked on the rectory door. The priest answered the door, and I introduced myself, telling him that I was looking for a spiritual advisor and wondered if he would be willing to be mine? He pursed his lips, slightly puffed out one cheek, and after a moment said, “Sure. Come back this same time next week and we’ll start.” I was so relieved! I didn’t know what lay ahead, but this encounter changed my life.
I had been meeting with the priest for about two months when the time came for me to present our church staff evaluation results to the congregation. The presentation seemed to go well, but at the end, when questions were taken, I could sense things had gone awry. It seemed as though we were going to have to allow the problematic subgroups more control and more say about the minister. The coup had come to a head, and the situation was deteriorating quickly. Some were now advocating for the removal of the minister from his pastorate. There was enough support in the congregation for such ideas to override the church board and acquiesce to many of the subgroups’ demands.
A few months later, the minister was thinking about leaving for better pastures, and I was thinking the same. I was longing for a church where there was unity among its membership about its minister (or priest), where such coups would not be allowed. I was now wanting to be someplace where faith meant more than lip service and where there was true spiritual strength based on Biblical principles. I decided that the Catholic Church was that place. Shortly thereafter, I resigned my offices at our church and made preparations to leave the congregation for the pastures offered across the street at the Catholic parish.
Conversion
Before I made the decision to join the Catholic Church, I needed to know more about it. To begin, I went to a bookstore and purchased a copy of the Catechism of the Catholic Church. I read it cover to cover, making copious notes and highlighting passages in it. When I told the priest what I had done, he was amazed. He said he had not known of anyone doing that before. Typically, people only read designated parts of it as they progressed through the preparation for entry into the Church. I told him that, with each part I read, I would say to myself, “Yes, that makes clear sense. Yes, I agree with that.”
He also directed me to several good books to read. I remember one was Thomas Merton’s Seven Storey Mountain, one was The Story of a Soul about St. Thèrése of Liseux, and another was The Confessions of St. Augustine. He told me that I should be careful, because I might decide to convert. I told him I was willing to take that chance. As it turned out, he was right. Within two months, after much prayer and much time kneeling before the tabernacle in the church, I felt I had no choice but to convert. God was pulling me in.
The obvious next step was to begin the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA). The next class at the parish was starting in the fall, but it met on the same night I taught a class at the university. The priest then suggested I try the Newman Center, across the street from my campus building. Their focus was mainly on college students, but it could still work for me. Unfortunately, their RCIA sessions met on the same night that I had to lead school board meetings. I thought I was at a standstill. When the priest heard of the situation, he decided to arrange for me to do a “private” RCIA with a couple of RCIA team members. The three of us met weekly during the day and again each Saturday morning.
I knew my decision to convert would be a shock to my family. To lessen that, I began going alone to the earliest Mass on Sunday mornings, then attending First Christian Church with my family at its regular mid-morning worship service. That seemed to be a workable solution to our church-going. It was, however, not without its issues.
I remember a time when our regular minister was out of town, and we had a substitute minister come to lead the worship service. My wife practically had to hold me down when I heard the words he used at the beginning of communion. I remember him holding up the bread, then the grape juice, saying each time, “This is a symbol of Christ,” rather than “This is my body” and “This is my blood.” From what I had grown up with, I had always believed it was Christ, not just a symbol.
In RCIA, we had yet to fully discuss the Catholic understanding of the Body and Blood of Christ in communion and His Real Presence in the sacrament. Nevertheless, I felt the substitute minister’s words were disrespectful of Jesus. They were clearly not the words in the Bible or theologically accurate. I was going to correct him on our way out the front door, but my wife grabbed my arm and quickly ushered me out before I could say anything.
During my months in RCIA, I frequently went to the Catholic parish during the day. I would find a time when the church was empty of other people and would kneel before the tabernacle, praying and listening for long periods of time in silence. A group from the parish met at a local coffee house every Saturday morning, where we would discuss Scripture, a reading from what I later found out was the Divine Office (or Liturgy of the Hours), and pray.
Throughout RCIA, I was gaining significant knowledge about the Catholic Church. I was learning facts about doctrine, practices, Church structure and governance, and many other things. It all seemed to be very logical, making it difficult to justify any group’s separation from it. It was what one would experience by walking in a swimming pool while keeping his eyes fixed on that dual concreteness, as I described earlier in my story.
That was not the limit of what the Lord had in store for me, though. He wanted my conversion to be fuller and more robust, so He provided me powerful spiritual experiences in the form of mystical dreams. The dreams presented me views of something holy, of answers to possible worries in my heart. Some dreams spoke to me of the spiritual threats I would encounter, which were plentiful, while others spoke of the protections the Lord offered me. Still others were about the grandeur of the Church and how welcoming it was to me as an individual.
Easter finally arrived, and I was enthralled with the Easter Vigil. I invited my wife and one daughter to attend with me. Even afterwards, they were still in disbelief that I had carried through with my decision to convert to Catholicism.
The news was also taken hard by some of our friends at First Christian Church. Some cried, some gasped, others just turned away in silence.
It was a time of joy for me, but a time of grieving for many others. Once I entered the Church, my family was, in a very real sense, in grief. Some who had been friends no longer remained as such. In their eyes, I was now forever lost to them. Nevertheless, my wife and two daughters decided to follow and entered RCIA in 2005.
The Holy Spirit guided us for several years, until the time seemed right to share our conversion with our parents. When we finally told them, they all accepted it lovingly. More amazingly, my father-in-law, who had always seemed very anti-Catholic, started sharing email messages and posts that were definitely apologetics for the Church, although I doubt he would have admitted it.
Since my conversion, I have served as an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion (EMHC) as well as a team member for our parish’s RCIA program. I chaired the EMHCs of one parish and was responsible for training new ones, as well as providing annual refreshers for the rest. I began preparations for entering the diaconate, but there were roadblocks that convinced me that the Lord wanted me to go in a different direction. Now that I am retired, I have been writing books for my grandchildren. The books vary in their focus, but most teach something about Catholic morality, the importance of seeking Christ in all things, and of giving oneself selflessly to others who are in need.
