My Ongoing Slow Motion Conversion to Catholicism

I have always had a soft spot for the Catholic Church.

Well, not always, but anyway ever since I became interested in Christian things. My first serious interest is Christian things of any kind arose from a desire to refute my second wife's new found convictions (which I did not like at the time because they did not seem very much fun). As it happened, however, the harder I tried at this, the more I failed.

It seemed, in short, ridiculously enough, that she was right--not about everything, of course, but at least about Christ. I could not refute him. Moreover, far from being refuted, or even chipped, or even dinged, Christ took hold of me--and he had no intention (though I did not know it then) of ever letting go.

It was my mind then, my thought processes that had suddenly been commandeered by the truth, but not my spirit, which yet lay dead, quite immune to the musings in my head. My wife would drag me along--me and my thoughts--to various Charismatic churches, and I found quite instantly that the better part of my brain would need to be checked at the door in order for the remainder of my person to endure service within the sanctuary.

It's all about worship, she would say, we are here to worship the Lord.

But didn't you hear? He just now said to burn my copy of Catcher in the Rye!

Catcher in the who?

And here comes the collection plate again? How many times has it come around now? Three? Four? I've lost count.

May the Lord forgive your greediness.

And so on.

It was the strangest sort of feeling. I came to feel by and by that the church was the loneliest place in the world. He who had so captured my attention was somehow absent from these proceedings which declared his name.

What did this mean? Why did I care.

I missed him.

(to be continued)