ROAD TO CONVERSION
Baptist Born and Bred
In some ways my journey began in March of 1999, the day my father died. That event brought to mind age-old questions: Why am I here? What is my purpose? What is the meaning of life? But I also began to wonder why I should want to continue living. Someday everyone I love will die and I will be alone, so why continue to live in this world of pain, sadness and suffering? Be assured those were in no manner suicidal thoughts, but simply feelings of loss, of emptiness. Ever since 1992, when I had been raised to the degree of Master Mason, the third generation of my family to do so in this particular lodge, my father and I were inseparable. We attended lodge meetings at least three times a month. We talked constantly about lodge business and activities. Freemasonry had allowed me to get to know my father in a way I had not known him before.
Before I became a Mason we didn’t have too much to say to each other. I am grateful that our parents taught my older brother and sister and me to say, “I love you.” My father had no problem expressing his love for us, but still he was distant, at least from me. I never saw my father cry, except later in life when his sister died, or express any emotion other than happiness, or of course occasionally disappointment at my failure to spell a word correctly or figure out the correct answer to a math problem. In fact the only time I saw him angry was when I refused to study with my math tutor during a full hour for which he had to pay, and even then each slap of his belt on my body was painless. He didn’t seem to know how to whip me. Whippings were not the way my father commanded respect and obedience from his children; he simply gave us a certain look.
But after I became a Mason that all changed. We traveled to conventions together sharing ideas about how to help the lodge improve. Together we complained about this or that member of the lodge who didn’t fulfill his duties. We became friends and brothers. But as our friendship grew my father’s health weakened. His youthful walk turned into a shuffling struggle due to lower back pain. He suffered a stroke, heart attack and bypass surgery, but still he attended every lodge meeting and went to church on Sunday.

Growing up Baptist we three kids learned to dress appropriately to worship the Lord. Every Easter we received a new suit or dress, in my sister’s case, which we would wear to church, our Sunday best. I remember sitting between my mother and father, Momma occasionally raising her voice as the Holy Spirit moved her. I learned to lean away toward Daddy to avoid her flailing arms. And then at the end of the service Daddy would sing along with the choir: “God bless you and guide you wherever you go, to tell of a savior whom sinners may know. Keep working for Jesus ‘till the close of the day. God bless you and keep you always.” The rumbling of his voice made me feel safe and close to God.

Our entire family was Baptist as far as I knew. My grandfather, on my mother’s side, was pastor of New Era Baptist Church for many years. Church was a big part of our family life. Mom and Dad both made it clear, not so much with words but actions, how important church, God and Jesus were. After getting married Momma left Grandpa’s church to join Daddy’s church, Mt. Zion Baptist. Although Mt. Zion was not a foot stompin’, tambourine shaking kind of church, we had our share of good old gospel music. Our pastor would often ask, “Do you know you’re saved?” It seemed everyone held up their hand. I often wondered if everyone with their hand in the air really knew they were saved or if they just did it because everyone else did. I didn’t hold up my hand. I didn’t know if I was saved. I didn’t understand how Jesus would save me in spite of myself. There had to be more to salvation; otherwise when Jesus returned, would he judge only by who believes and who does not believe? What about the actions of my life? What had I done for Jesus? Did I feed the hungry? Did I cloth the naked? Did I give drink to the thirsty? Did I visit the sick? And if I didn’t, did it matter? Jesus said it did, but should I raise my hand anyway?

At a crucial point in my journey as I considered leaving Mt. Zion, I sought the guidance of the new pastor of the Baptist church my grandfather had helped establish some fifty years before. He related a story to me about an Asian monk he and his young daughter had met. The little girl later asked if the man would go to heaven to be with God. The pastor explained that because the monk had not accepted Jesus he could not be saved. The pastor hated to say this to his daughter because he knew the monk was a very kind and good man. The pastor went on to explain to me that if one accepts Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior will be saved. “Even someone who lives a terribly sinful life will be saved?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied, asking “Do you believe the scripture?” “Yes, I do,” I said to the pastor. But how will we be saved? This I asked of God.

“Once saved always saved” was the idea I couldn’t get out of my mind. After “shopping around” for a church-home I decided to join a Community Christian Church. The Church was essentially a non-denominational Christian Church. There I met people of various denominational backgrounds. I worshiped with Methodists, Baptists, Presbyterians, Catholics, and at least one Lutheran. This had to be what Jesus meant when he prayed for the unity of all those who believe. For about one year I served as an usher before finally agreeing to join the choir. I enjoyed singing praises to the Lord, and Rev. Shields, our pastor, preached the Word of God with such love and devotion. Three years later I began to question the purpose of our Church. We had no creed or declaration of belief. We believed in Jesus Christ. Yes, we believed in loving and helping our neighbor, but something was missing. We seemed to embrace a formless, general kind of Christianity with little room for discussion of doctrine and very little structure. I soon realized that there could be no talk of doctrine because this would cause division among the various backgrounds making up our congregation. Our Christianity was a feel good Christianity that needed to be so politically correct and needed to be so inclusive that any talk, which could mean one might have to think beyond the “surface” of Christianity, could disrupt the harmony of the congregation. The surface wasn’t enough; I needed to know what I believed.

Catholic? No way.
In the meantime my wife, Rebecca, a Catholic convert since her teens, had returned to the Catholic Church. I never really knew her reasons for leaving the Church, but after a trip to Turkey, with me cat-sitting at home, she came back a changed person. Every Sunday she went to church. Occasionally she even went to church during the week. She started going to church on Friday nights for what I later found out was Eucharist Adoration. Thankfully she didn’t try to explain that one to me at the time. Now that she had returned to the Catholic Church I learned that we needed to be married in the Church so that she could receive Holy Communion. This of course was all very strange to me, but being the dutiful husband I agreed to take the steps necessary to dissolve my previous marriage while Rebecca sought an annulment of hers.

Question after question from the Metropolitan Tribunal about the most embarrassing failure of my life had to be painstakingly answered. Strangers were going to read this and judge my failed marriage as being valid or not. How dare they decide whether or not I was married! I hated it and I hated my wife for making me do it. After several weeks I received word that the Vatican had declared my marriage dissolved, but it took some months longer for my wife’s to be annulled. Then we were married at the chapel of the Bishop’s Cathedral. The wedding was in Latin. Although most of the wedding was in English much of it I didn’t understand and neither did my family and friends, but we were married, again, and Rebecca could now receive Holy Communion.

Although the process of dissolution of my first marriage had been hard, it had a profound impression on me. What was marriage? When asked by the Pharisees, in the Gospel of Mark, if it is lawful for a man to divorce his wife, Jesus says, “…a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. So they are no longer two but one flesh.” Jesus says that no one can separate such a joining, and he goes on to say, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” I had to ask myself what was the meaning of this statement. I had been divorced and remarried, but nothing had ever been said to me about this declaration on marriage made by Jesus himself. As a Protestant I thought it proper to be married by a minister, to be married before the eyes of God and man, and yet all I needed for the divorce was civil acknowledgement. Somehow in light of Jesus’ statement something felt wrong here. The church was concerned about performing the marriage ceremony, but ignored the consequences of remarriage. The Catholic Church on the other hand said differently. The question became whether or not the first marriage was valid, not whether or not I had been married. Marriage was more than just a contract between partners. This thought stayed at the back of my mind as my journey continued.

Having been raised to go to church I believed strongly in a family worshipping together. I realized my wife preferred to attend her church, but hoped we could alternate occasionally and visit each other’s church. Now when I say my wife preferred to attend her church I should clarify what I mean by that. Rebecca would not even walk into a Protestant church unless it was for a funeral or wedding. In fact she would not attend a Mass in English if one in Latin were being celebrated. You see my wife was a religious snob. Once we had a very heated discussion over her refusal to visit my church. This was no small barrier to my attempts at worshipping together.
Feeling frustrated and unsure what to do to bring us together I decided to take an introduction to religion class at a nearby university. During the class we touched on all the major religions, Islam, Judaism, Jainism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Confucianism, and, of course, Christianity. While studying I slowly came to the realization that all religions have the same purpose. Since the beginning of time, when man first began to think beyond himself he started asking questions like: Who am I? Why am I here? What is the meaning of life? These questions, I found, were similar to my own. Questions that all lead to the ultimate question of man’s desire to seek, find and dwell with God.

While reflecting on my Christian faith I realized that I didn’t really know what I believed or more importantly why I believed it. On the next stop along my journey I decided to learn about the Reformation and do a general study of Protestantism. I learned that the Reformation started long before Martin Luther, and that those who wanted reform were not originally desirous of dividing the Church, but rather “reforming” the Church. After deciding it would be appropriate to study the Reformation from the other side, I was surprised to learn that there were people who remained within the Church while at the same time calling and working for reform.
As for Protestantism I soon began to realize how many different Christian denominations there are in the world. It boggled my mind that upwards of 25,000 to 30,000 had come into existence since Martin Luther was excommunicated. With that many denominations, that many differences of opinion, how could anyone choose the right one to join? Ever since the Reformation churches have split off to start other churches and over a period of 500 years that’s a lot of churches.

I learned that the Catholic Church claimed to be the Church founded by Jesus, but so did the Eastern Orthodox Church. I also discovered that several Protestant churches made the same claim, but that was too far fetched for me. Because my wife was Catholic I chose to start there and find out why she was so devoted to the Catholic Church. My first step was to attend a series of talks given at my wife’s church. The theme of the series was “How the Catholic Church and other churches are similar, and how they are different.” Most of the talks were lead by the Pastor, Monsignor Joseph Schaedel. At that time I refused to call priests father. I would either avoid addressing them by name or refer to them as Reverend. I wasn’t sure I liked Rev. Schaedel. It was hard to give him a chance because two of the three other priests I had previously met came across to me as arrogant snobs, just as I believed all Catholics to be.
Thankfully I was not raised within a family or church with an anti-Catholic attitude. However, in grade school I recall one of my best friends saying that all Jews were going to go to hell and so were Catholics because they weren’t Christians. Now I couldn’t believe that my friend, Paul, who happened to be Jewish, was going to hell because all religions have some of God’s truth. Certainly not all Jews would go to hell. I wasn’t so sure about Catholics, so I asked my father. As I said before my father didn’t talk much, so when I asked him if Catholics were Christians he simply said, “Yes.” After “Rev.” Thomas covered how the Catholic Church and other churches are alike then came the differences: Mary, the Real Presence, praying to saints, and the toughest one of all, confession to a priest. What I really needed to know was what, as a Christian, I would have to give up to become Catholic. Not that I had any intention to become Catholic, but the answer was…nothing. I would not have to give up anything, but I would need to pick up so much more.

Completion
This gift of Grace, my conversion, can best be summed up like this:
At one time I stood in a lighted room seeing what I believed to be all there was to see around me, yet realizing that something was missing. Studying the history and teaching of the Catholic Church opened the door that began my journey. The more I learned the further down the hallway I walked until I noticed another light. At this point I had only been inquiring, hoping to gain some insight as to my wife’s deep devotion to the Catholic Church. Shouldn’t one be devoted to Jesus rather than to an organization? The Catholic Church taught about authority, this was the key. Don’t all Christians believe that Christ set up his Church and chose the apostles to continue his ministry after his return to the Father? What were his intentions after those he had chosen died? In the Gospel according to Matthew, Jesus said to Peter, “I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." What did this mean? In the Gospel according to John, Jesus breathed on the apostles and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained." Authority! Jesus had not only passed on his ministry to his apostles, but his authority as well! His authority to forgive sins! Was this right? Was I reading this scripture correctly? Jesus couldn’t lie, and if my understanding was right, could it be that Jesus meant for this authority to die out with the apostles? No, of course not. Why give such authority to men and have it exist only during the first century of the Church he founded? With this revelation the light at the other end of the hallway began to outshine the old light. This brighter light was clearer and I could see things I had never see before, but still I was afraid. I had no intention of becoming Catholic. My God, not one of those arrogant, know-it-alls. Even though I had joined a non-denominational Christian church I was Baptist to the bone. Catholic? No, never. I stood in the darkness of the hallway afraid to go forward, afraid to go back.

I knew I couldn’t remain in the hallway. I had to make a decision. Going back I would feel like a hypocrite. Pretending to profess something I didn’t believe was out of the question. I had to face the obstacles, those things that were alien to the experience of my life. The first was the notion that the Catholic Church was “the white man’s church.” I learned about St. Moses the Black from Ethiopia, St. Anthony the Great of Thebes, St. Augustine of Hippo (present day Algeria) and his mother St. Monica. There was Pope St. Victor I, Pope St. Gelasius I, Pope St. Miliades I, all popes from the region of North Africa. I learned about St. Martin de Porres, the first Black American Saint, SS. Felicitas and Perpetua, and Pierre Toussaint. These were only some of the people of African descent I met along my journey who contributed to Christianity and the Roman Catholic Church.

The second obstacle was the Eucharist. I had never considered whether or not I really received the body and blood of Christ at communion. To eat the body and blood of Christ was impossible. Communion is a symbol of our unity with each other and with Christ, nothing more and nothing less. I was familiar with the Gospel verses of Jesus saying, “This is my body… this is my Blood… Do this in remembrance of me.” Symbol? Well…, what about John 6 where Jesus said, “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day.” Six times Jesus makes reference to the need of those who believe in him to consume his flesh and his blood. Jesus said the bread from heaven was his flesh and that, “...my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.” Again I wondered if I was reading this correctly? Am I missing a word? Nowhere did I read the word “symbol,” and Jesus offered no explanation as most of his disciples walked away. Jesus can’t lie. God can do anything. Jesus is God. Jesus said “This is my Body.”

This was it. God, in his mercy had touched my heart and opened my mind. I no longer had a choice when God, through his Grace had shown me his Truth. With no more fear, no more trepidation, I walked toward the brighter light, the clearer light and gave myself to the Lord, to his Church. Now I realized what I had interpreted as arrogance on the part of some Catholics I had met was really an assurance of God’s revelation to his people.

Farewell
It would be wrong to leave out a very important part of my conversion. Freemasonry was a big part of my life, a part of me. There are many negative things said about Masonry, although in my experience I can’t say I ever found anything negative about it in relation to its moral teachings. A Mason is to be an honest man, a believer in God, (the god of his choice), a good citizen obeying the laws of the land and helping his fellow man. Freemasonry taught me how to be a responsible man. The Catholic Church, long an adversary of Freemasonry, has taught that Masonry teaches religious indifferentism, that is to say, that it makes no difference what religion one professes as long as one is a believer in God. I realized that this idea that one religion is as good as another, or as true as another, conflicted with my belief as a Christian. As a Christian one must believe that the truth of Jesus Christ is the full and complete revelation of God, the Word of God. Although I believed Freemasonry to be an honorable and worthwhile organization I could not reconcile what I knew as a Christian with what Masonry professed. Leaving my Masonic lodge was one of the most difficult decisions of my life. When I told one of my closest friends, a member of the lodge, that I intended to become Catholic and leave the lodge he accused me of turning my back on my heritage. But in truth, I knew I had found my heritage.