Isaiah 55:8-9New International Version
8 “For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
9 “As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
In very much the same way, my walk with God is not the same as yours. Mine began rather humbly several decades ago. I was raised Catholic - most of my family was. There were probably a few protestants mixed in there as well. Honestly, I don't know much about that side of the family - this is about the Catholic side.
We went to church every Sunday. What does a child know about such things? Very little as it turns out. That was the odd thing. We went, but no one told us why. No one explained what was going on... Sit, stand, kneel. There are those reading this that know exactly what that phrase means. If you know, you know. If you don't, well... I could try explaining it, but I am not sure you'd ever really appreciate it.
As I grew up in the church, I went through the appropriate steps. Baptism, CCD classes (what that stands for has been lost to the ages for me), First Holy Communion, and, as a teen, Confirmation. To this day, I'm not sure I knew what any of it meant. It was just what we did. Our family did it, so we in turn did it as well. I always felt the priest was talking at me and not to me. Like I had to be there but wasn't allowed to ever question any of it. Towards the end of my teen years, any luster the church had was already mostly faded and dulled. No offense meant to any current Catholics. I had already been questioning a lot of their practices and policies. So, I faked it. What do I mean? Well, somewhere along the way, my dad started attending Saturday evening services, something that I don't get even now. As a teen, I didn't want to go on Saturdays. So, we were expected to walk to church on Sundays. I'm sure it feels longer than it actually was.
So no one questions the veracity of the story:
The weather had no bearing; it was Sunday and you just went. Lest you think this only happened at home... no, no, nay, nay. Even when we would visit either one of my grandparents. On one side, they were good Catholics. On the other side, not so much. Still, we had to go. That also meant walking, also about a mile each way.
This lasted for many years. Probably til I was about 17 ish? By then I was pretty much done with the whole thing.
I was an adult before I knew some churches had bibles and also actively encouraged reading them. I never once saw one in a Catholic church pew. It was always a priest reading to us. Sorry, no independent thinking, please. We don't want any of that around here. Do what the priest says. Go to confession on Saturday afternoon. The answer always seemed to be a variation on a theme. Say this many hail marys that many our fathers. Looking back, I often wondered if there was a chart they used to convert from sins to how many of each.
Please don't think I am mocking, I'm not. As I said, this is based on my experience, my walk. Although I am sure if you scratched the surface of a recovering Catholic such as myself, you will find surprisingly similar experiences.
I joined the navy shortly after this period and pretty much left anything resembling church behind. This is where things began to turn for me. I met Baptists, Protestants, and others. They believed differently than I did. The last nail in the coffin for me came when I wanted to get married. My old home church said I had to come back to them for the ceremony. If I didn't, our marriage would not be recognized by the church. How does that happen and, even more so, how does that work exactly? Does the Vatican really keep score? Why does it matter which building I got married in as long as it was one of theirs? That pretty much did it for me. I "officially" left the church.
After that, I didn't think about the church or religion for that matter much at all. While I was on the submarine, I met quite a few Christians. One of them would become a lifetime friend. We had several late night chats about God in the torpedo room. At that time, I didn't know he had planted the seeds that would bloom much later. We had services on board, somehow I always avoided them. Looking back now, I can only speculate as to why. Maybe it was the traditions and practices they had that were so foreign to me? Well, for whatever reason, I never went to any services for a long time.
Fast forward several years. It's funny how God works. He is the master and undefeated champion of the long game. The bible is full of so many stories of His unparalleled patience. I was a very similar story. I'm not saying that I never thought about Him or church. But, it was pretty well down the list. I was working at Radio Shack. We were in a dying strip mall after Walmart moved down the road. I can no longer tell the day of the week nor the date.
What I do remember is the guy in the nice clothes coming into my store. We talked a little about stuff in the store. At one point he asked me if I knew Jesus. I said, yea, sort of. I mean, I knew what my grandmother and the church told me and not much more. I had no real personal relationship with him. He asked if I would let him pray for me. I said sure, not really giving much thought to it. I said the words back to him and accepted Christ into my life and my heart. There were no rainbows or the sun bursting through the clouds, sorry, but there was a change in me. It was a good feeling - I think euphoria is a good way to describe it. I felt really happy and warm all over.
I still didn't go back to church yet. That would have to wait a while longer. Eventually, my wife at the time found a church in the town we lived in. I said sure why not and we went. It was weird, people were greeting us as we came in and for the first time, I believed they were genuinely happy to see us. That had never happened when I was a kid. Back then, no one ever talked to me, Sure, at the end, the priest stood at the doors and said "Go in peace". At this church though, people were nice and friendly and helpful and so much more.
Even with all that, I still wasn't committed to return to First Baptist of Broken Arrow. That would be a little while later. See, on that first trip, I filled out a visitor card, dropped it in the collection plate, and promptly forgot about it. We didn't go that following Sunday for some reason. A few days later, I got a postcard in the mailbox. Someone from the outreach team took the time to fill out a card and say they noticed I wasn't there. To say I was floored is an understatement. Someone sent me a card asking me to come back. In all my upbringing, that had never happened.
That was the turning point for me. I started going every week. I even joined that outreach team and I was the guy inviting and encouraging people. Eventually, I would be at the church every time the doors were opened. Monday: outreach, Tuesday: Divorce Care (a program for newly single or soon-to-be single people), Wednesday: Just me and the kids I volunteered for a lot of things there.
Even after I moved to Tulsa, someone made sure to come and pick me up every Sunday for service. Through the divorce care program, I met others like me and we all became fast friends.
A few years later, I wound up moving out of state. I tried many different churches, none of them were "that" church. That wouldn't happen for many years and a couple of moves from state to state. In Texas, we went for the Christmas Service, which was nice. It never really stuck though. Then we moved to Pennsylvania. God was there as well. The house we moved into was attached to a church parking lot. What a funny guy He is. It was an old Primitive Methodist Church. I didn't really know what that was but I knew it wasn't for me, or so I thought. My kids played with the grandkids of the pastor that summer while we became friends with him and his wife. I did things for them, like spraying weeds in the parking lot and whatever else I could help with.
Eventually, we joined the church. I was there for services only, that's what I thought...Neal was the one doing the weekly bulletin and had grown tired of doing it. This is where our fair-haired boy steps in. He taught me and I took over. Every Saturday morning, the notes and whatnot would be in my mailbox and I would go type up, print, and fold 30 or so bulletins. I did that for over a year until Neal retired. The new guy and I never really clicked and I stepped down and even left the church.
I've attended a few since then and am back to feeling adrift again. Every Pastor is different, every congregation is different. I never felt bad for not liking whatever church it was. I now have an amazing relationship with God and His son. He is changing and working on me and in my heart all the time. I just need to shut up, quit fighting, and let Him do his work. For the most part, I do that. As I mentioned in my latest podcast, I talk about all the changes He has made in me.
I fully believe He wants a relationship with you.
Romans 8:39
“Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
So, no matter what you do or have done, He is there waiting for you. Like I said, He is the king of the long game. He will wait for you - you just have to ask.
Thank you for reading this, I'm sure this will also become a podcast as well soon. I want every soul on earth to have a relationship with Jesus before it's too late. While I cannot reach every person, I will use this and other platforms to do so.
As always, just my .02¢ worth. YMMV
Craig.
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