Musings of a Catholic Convert

A friend of mine shared this testimony with me and, after receiving his permssion, I decided to share it with you.I know that not many can remember the first time in their life when they heard the name of Jesus. I am privileged to not only remember that time but also to remember the special grace that came with that hearing.

In 1944 I was five years old and at that time our family lived in Chicago. My mother had a friend that she said that she liked “even though she was Catholic” and even at that age, from the way that she said it, I knew that being a Catholic was not good. When I ask her what a Catholic was I did not get any answer. This of course made me very curious as I saw this lady as being quite beautiful not only in her appearance but also in a quietness and a gracefulness that seemed to always be about her. At the time, her husband was away at war and she was pregnant with their first child.

In the spring of that year for some reason, my mother allowed this lady to take me to church. This was the first time that I could remember ever being in any church and I was very impressed with the grandeur. Years later, after becoming Catholic, I visited all the churches in the area that we lived at that time to find out which one it was. I found that it was the Cathedral of the Chicago Diocese. We were seated on the left towards the rear of the church but we could see the altar very clearly and to this day it remains my favorite place to pray in any church. I remember the rich wood of the pews and the fine woodwork that was on the walls and the actions of the people led me to feel that this was a very special place. Not knowing what to do or how to act I just followed along observing a very reverent gentleman seated in front of us. As I became aware of the priest and everyone’s attention towards him, I of course wondered what was going on. I was very impressed with his vestments, as I had never seen anything like them before. It was probably Easter Sunday as the vestments were all white and gold. As time went on everyone began to kneel and I was about to do the same when this lady stopped me and told me that it was OK for me to stand so that could see. About this time, she whispered to me “Jesus is coming”. I had never heard of this Jesus but I was looking forward to seeing him and hear what he would have to say, as I knew that he had to be very special because of the way everyone was acting. I also wondered if he would be dressed in regular clothes and wear a hat or would he have on finer clothes than the man at the altar, although I couldn’t imagine anyone being dressed any finer than this. About this time the lady told me that “Jesus is very near” and so I was watching the altar very closely. She then pointed to the altar and whispered to me “Jesus is here do you see Him”… Looking at the altar at first I saw no one except the priest but then a sudden awareness took hold and I knew that the Host held high in the priests hands was Jesus and with that realization I also became aware of His great love for me. And then, with that realization, there came a wave much like a heat wave or a water wave but transparent up from the altar and over near the ceiling and I knew it was going to come crashing down on me. I was afraid so I ducked back into the pew to try and avoid it. But as I fled I felt a wave of love, what I now believe was the Holy Spirit, pass over and thru me and I felt this love completely envelope me. In the presence of this love there was Jesus. I was able to feel his love within my soul and to see my soul as it was, pure except for one black spot and I wanted to conceal this flaw from Jesus but I was unable to. I knew nothing of the soul or its existence and I certainly didn’t know anything about original sin and I hadn’t been baptized so I had no idea why there was this black mark but I sure wished that it wasn’t there. Not in words but just in a knowing Jesus assured me that it was OK and with that assurance, I just wanted to rest in His love. Then I felt that he wanted even somehow in a special way needed a gift from me, so I looked to my soul for something to give but there was nothing and again He assured me that this was OK and I was again able to rest in His love. There was no time as we know it involved in any of this, unable to describe, spoken and yet unspoken love and need and yet complete fulfillment. Then Jesus started to leave and I begged Him to stay but in an amused but loving very gentle way He assurance me that He would return and with that assurance I was able to let Him leave. As I said there was no conversation as we know it only an absolute complete and unmistakable understanding of the soul and of love. It is the greatest peace, joy and love that I shall ever feel in this life. To be honest it is enough. If I should cease to exist at my death, I would still owe God a debt for His love that I felt in just those few moments.

As we left the church, I was surprised at how casual everyone was as I assumed that everyone had the same experience. And riding home I wondered how long it would be until Jesus would return, I could hardly wait. When we arrived home my mother ask if I had been good and the lady said that I had been “a very good boy” and I was very pleased with having been so in her eyes as I loved her for taking me to this place and showing me Jesus. I still love and pray for her. After a few days, I became anxious and told my mother that I wanted to go back to church. As you might imagine she became very upset and of course told me that I couldn’t go. I remember sitting in the middle of my bed and crying. After all Jesus said that He would return and I knew that he couldn’t lie to me. I just didn’t understand why he wouldn’t return. This is when I said my first prayer “Jesus I don’t understand this, where are you, when and how will you return” and with that prayer I was lad to know that even though I didn’t understand that it was OK and that it was also true … Jesus would return. I wasn’t happy but it was enough.

So, what was I to do? As soon as I could, I started to go to church, Sunday school, and Bible study and it was great. My first denomination was The Salvation Army as that is where our neighbors went and my brother and I would tag along as we were on our own when it came to “church”. Then there was the Baptist and the Church of God and Bible summer camp where I was “Born Again” at about the age of 12 and then onto the Methodist where at a communion service the pastor went to great lengths to assure us that this was just a symbol and that it was only grape juice and not wine. Even at my young and uneducated age I wondered, “why not wine” hadn’t Jesus’ first and last miracles in scripture involved the changing of wine. First water to wine then wine to blood. Every Christen would believe the first miracle but not all will believe the second. Then there was the scandal of the cross. When the pastor had a cross placed over the communion rail many in the church were upset because it was too “Catholic”. That was it, although I had great times and learned much about Jesus and His love there was something missing… it was time to move on.

One of the best things to happen to me in my childhood was that we moved into a Polish neighborhood when I was about 10. Almost all of my friends were Polish; they were tough, stubborn and religious. There was a Polish parish at the other end of our block just 5 houses away. There was an Italian parish 2 blocks from our house and the Irish parish was 5 blocks and all 3 had schools K thru 6. The Polish church and school at the end of our block was by far the largest and had more students than the 2 public K thru 6 schools… A very Catholic neighborhood. How I loved the sound of the bells, the Church calling the faithful to prayer three times a day every day. I wondered why other Churches didn’t have or didn’t ring their bells. Anyway, when I got into high school I would go to the Public Library to do my homework and after that just read… I was finally able to study the Catholic Church. I read everything that I could get my hands on about the Church. It made so much since but even then, due to my Protestant background, there were things to overcome, especially about Mary… But I felt a real longing to belong to this Church. At 16 I quietly started going to Mass with my school friends. It was easy to follow, as the Mass’ were so crowded that the young guys had to stand at the side isles or at the back and sometimes even outside in the snow or rain. The only time that we had to kneel was for the consecration. If you did take a seat the ushers would have you move and give it to the families. The Mass was in Latin and many of the sermons in Polish but I loved it. Everyone, even the priests, knew that I wasn’t Catholic or Polish but they always made me feel really at home, more so than any Protestant church that I had belonged to. My high school football coach was an usher at the church that I was attending and if he didn’t see me at Mass he would ask which one I had gone to and if I hadn’t gone it was no joke, you went to Mass or you ran wind sprints, talk about penance and I didn’t even have to go to confession. But I loved it… a real community of faith… they cared.

After my 18th birthday, I knew that it was time to do something about joining the Church. My mother knew that I was going to Mass and in an unspoken compromise pushed me into the DeMolay hoping that I would find in the Mason Lodge the answer. She comes from a long line of Masons. So coward that I am I did nothing until one day walking down the street in front of the Irish parish stood the old Irish pastor of St Mary’s. Now this guy had a reputation of not being, shall we say, easygoing… but somehow I found myself asking him about joining the Church. His reply in a gruff voice was “The Church or the parish?” I said the Church. His reply was “Does this involve a girl?” “No just the church.” A stern look then “OK follow me” and he goes into the rectory looks at his assistant’s calendar and tells me to come back Tuesday evening at 7… Now what? I’ve never even been inside this parish church. But Tuesday at 7 I was there, I think that they were both a little surprised that I showed up. The assistant was newly ordained and I was his first convert. After a couple of hours of getting to know each other and my reasons for wanting to join the Church he gave me a Baltimore Catechism told me to study the first chapter memorize several prayers and come back next Tuesday. I was on my way… The next few months were great, the assistant and I made a real connection and I found the Pastor to be a stern but loving soul and later a great confessor. I entered the Church by Baptism on Christmas Eve 1958 with just my mother and father and my chosen godparents (my coach and his wife) present, my two brothers were not allowed to attend. Later that night I was finally able to receive Jesus at Christmas Midnight Mass. I think that only the priests and Jesus were aware that this was my first Holy Communion… It was all worth it, finally having Jesus in the sacrament of the Eucharist was then and is today my greatest joy…

And the gift? What greater gift can I give to God than the care and prayers for all of my brothers and sisters throughout time and thru His Catholic Church? But there are also special souls. People whose names I may not even know but with whom somehow I feel a special connection. You are one of these souls. May God bless you and your family and your work.

Thanks for sharing your story with us, my brother. It is a wonderful testimony to God’s grace and to our great Faith.