Suggested Readings
Isaiah: Chapter 45 Verse 5
2 Corinthians: Chapter 9 Verse 8
A few weeks ago the Editor and writers of this magazine met for the first time as a group. While talking
about various ideas on what we wanted to accomplish at this on-line site, it was suggested that for better understanding
of our various ideas, we should get to know each other by way of brief personal introductions. I had been to many
meetings (mostly in corporate meeting rooms) where after such banter, I still had no idea whom I was surrounded
with. This meeting was quite different!
These brief introductions became spiritual witnesses of varied religious experiences and practices. Some writers
talked briefly; some not at all. Others spoke with such humility and compassion that this introductory session
became the cornerstone of our first meeting. I shared my experiences of the Divine with those present. Although
my witness may not have been as humbling and compassionate as others, my experiences made many laugh. My mannerisms
while telling my spiritual journey were most likely the source of relief rather than the story itself; for my earliest
remembrances of God were terribly frightful. That I still believe in God today could be considered some kind of
Divine Comedy.
One of those present encouraged me to write my personal introduction; and so I shall. This writing is not meant
to discredit or dishonor anyone or any organization; but rather it is a sincere recollection of thoughts and events
that happened to me.
The first philosophical and theological discussion that I can remember occurred during lunch recess on the
playground of my elementary school when I was around eight years old. I was with a group of classmates ( around
five of us as I remember). It was a warm early spring afternoon; the ground that we were laying on was just warm
enough to radiate heat back into the atmosphere, making the school building in the distance ripple with the rising
waves of heat. Large puffy white clouds flew over head as we all lay on our backs looking up at the sky talking
about Santa Claus and God.
The philosophical discussion was on the existence of Santa Claus. Did he really exist? Well most thought Santa
wasn't real, at least one of us thought he was. I unfortunately had found out a year or two before that Santa was
an imaginative way for parents to give gifts to me. My older sister revealed the secret hiding place in my parents
bedroom closet, that concealed the real identity of Santa and so one cherished childhood myth shattered with a
glimpse of wrapped Christmas presents from "Santa."
When pushed by my fellow eight year old's verdict on Santa, I hesitated for a moment, remembering that at least
one of my classmates still believed in Santa. When I spoke I never told them about the incident in my parents closet.
I surely was not going to be the one to vaporize Santa from someone else's dream. I just said I wasn't sure and
said no more about Santa.
Then the little discussion turned theological. Do you believe in God was the topic. There were some present
who quickly refuted the existence of God with the same assurance that they used in denouncing the existence of
Santa Claus. Others weren't sure. When I was pushed to answer I gave an unequivocal "yes God exists".
I was then asked how I could be so sure that "God was real". Ah! that was the hard part because I had
no "proof". I remember stating that all the things in nature including the beautiful clouds that were
passing above us, "Just couldn't have happened by themselves: someone must have created them"! One boy
put God right alongside Santa ; "pure make-believe".
Then the bell that commanded us to return to our classroom rang. So we took our heads out of the clouds and
began to trek across the playground to the brick school building that was shimmering in the warm spring breeze.
This strong belief that I had in God was soon to be put to the test. In less than a year I was introduced to
a rigorous religious instruction that scared the hell out of me. My mother had been raised in the Roman Catholic
Church and she decided that it was due time that her children became more familiar with that tradition. We had
already been going to Sunday Mass but we had not been exposed to any formal training in the Catholic Church Doctrine.
I thought Mass was mysterious with a priest who said the Mass in Latin which I could not understand, but stranger
than that was his constant command to give predetermined amounts of money in the two to three collections during
mass; and of course no one was to forget the poor box on their way out of the church after Mass. My Mom always
gave me 50 cents to give during the collection; this always fell short of what the priest commanded of all present.
Being at Mass was always embarrassing for me when the collection came around, for my fifty cent offering was an
admission of my family's sight financial situation.
As strange as these Sunday visits to church were, they were nothing compared to what lay ahead in the religious
instructions that were required for one to have their First Holy Communion in the Roman Catholic Church. No longer
did I attend Mass in the new church; all of us kids were now crammed into the basement of the Catholic school.
Down below street level, where the sun never shown, we young Catholics were marched to Mass, ushered by the stern
disciplinarian nuns in their long black habits. Like ghosts from the middle ages these strict ghouls kept a sadistic
smirk on their faces every time they ordered us kids to respond correctly to the sayings of the mass. Most of us
knew nothing of the responses that we were to recite back to the priest. Few of us really knew when to kneel or
stand up at the appropriate times. All we knew about the Mass was the priest spoke a dead language, the Host was
really Christ's body and blood and we weren't worthy nor sufficiently indoctrinated in the Roman Catholic Church
yet to receive this great gift; but we were plenty worthy to pay-up when the collection plate made its customary
two trips around the room.
After kneeling and standing in sync with the nun's commands, it was then time to go to our classrooms for our
religious instructions that would in time, permit us to receive our First Holy Communion. The Bible was never spoken
about, but we did hear a lot about the Pope in Rome and how he took the place of Jesus on earth. We also heard
many things about all the saints and learned how to pray to Mary so that our sins would be forgiven. We were told
the Jews killed Christ and that it was a mortal sin to walk into any church but a Roman Catholic Church. We were
given lists of television programs that were forbidden to be watched as well as movies that we were not permitted
to see, but the real scary and mysterious stuff took place back in the basement. That was where the nuns really
drilled us so that we would be perfectly prepared to receive the body and blood of Christ.
Back in those days the priest would administer the sacrament of Communion by placing the Host on one's tongue.
This we were told only the Priest was allowed to do. No one could touch the Host which was also known as the wafer,
except the nuns in Brooklyn. The nuns who lived in some unknown section of New York's borough of Brooklyn, were
the ones we were told, that actually baked the wafers. Therefore they had permission to touch the wafer also. If
anyone else and this was repeated constantly, touched the wafer, they would die.
The nuns explained to us that the reason the alter boy would follow the priest around when the priest was putting
the Host on people's tongues during communion, was so that if the Host should slip out of the priest's hands, the
alter boy could catch the Host in the little plate he held so that the Host would not hit the floor; for if that
was to happen the Host would burst into flames and burn a hole right through the earth. Of course if any ordinary
person tried to catch the Host they would immediately burst into flames and die.
To prevent such calamity and embarrassment to the Church we little ones were vigorously drilled in the art
of sticking out our tongues as far as was humanly possible. Most of us had lost that childhood skill after many
years of parent's and elementary school teacher's remonstrance's against such behavior. The nuns though in an extreme
reversal of acceptable behavior were determined to have our tongues stretched to the limit. Some what like a frog
snatching a bug off a distant Lilly pad. I thought for sure my tongue would snap off from that little piece of
skin that seems to hold it in place during these exercises and that it would slide down my throat and choke me
half to death. The nuns had their handy little carpenter's ruler ready to measure how far one was able to stick
out their tongue. If you were unable to reach your tongue out far enough a little help from the carpenter's ruler
across one's knuckles might be the added help one needed. If this didn't work the threat of the dreaded Cat'n'Nine
Tails pushed our anatomy beyond its intended limits.
Well after weeks of mental and physical exertion we were prepared to recite all the Catholic doctrine they
had taught us; while simultaneously snapping our tongues out like huge frogs.
We were ready for the big day, our First Holy Communion to be celebrated in the new church with all the parents
and family present. This was it the big show, " don't screw up!"
It was a sunny warm spring morning that day. The Mass was scheduled to begin at 10 A.M. Hunger pains began
to set in around 9:30 A.M. for I hadn't eaten since approximately 6:30 the night before. The final torture was
that we would fast until after receiving our First Holy Communion. I would be lucky to have something to eat by
noon. This may not seem like a big deal now but to a little kid it was.
I remember marching single file down the long aisle that lead to the alter. Boys on one side of the aisle girls
on the other. Boys and girls were never allowed to be together in the Roman Catholic Church. There was music playing
and parents beaming. The priest stood at the alter. We all shuffled along on our slow march to the front of the
church. I remember how pretty the girls looked all dressed up for the big day. Of course all of us guys were dressed
up also. I remember thinking to myself, " this is what its gonna be like when we get married."
We finally made it to the front of the church and the ceremony began with some speech to the parents, some
prayers to Mary and even one to God, through Jesus Christ and the Pope for good measure. All of us kids were kneeling
throughout all this preliminary stuff wondering when the priest would finally get to administering the Host. I
remember hoping like hell that I would be able to stick my tongue out far enough so that the priest would not yell
at me when he was about to stick the Host on my tongue.
The moment finally arrived. The priest started the Mass and next thing I knew he was at the end of the alter
beginning to place the Host on the first kid's tongue. It seemed like the first kid was a half a mile away but
before I knew it the priest was only three kids away from me. I could hear the priest mumbling something as he
placed the Host on each tongue. Then all of a sudden the priest was in front of the kid next to me. I could now
clearly hear the priest mumbling; he was speaking in Latin. I had no idea what he was saying, but I was thinking,
well you're next. Then all of a sudden the kid next to me starts screaming, " Sister, sister what do I do
now!!!" There he was taking the Host out of his mouth, holding it in his hands; screaming in tremendous fear,
"Sister, sister what do I do now, his face turning purple and red while his eyes were bulging out of his head.
Nothing but intense fear could give anybody a face like that. The priest stopped what he was doing. I moved as
far over as I could from the kid but a long line of kneeling kids to my left kept me from getting as far away as
I wanted to. I looked at this kid with the Host in his hands and I was terrified. I was waiting for the kid to
burst into flames. The nuns quickly came and dragged him away while he was screaming uncontrollably. His voice
echoing throughout the carvernous sanctuary, "Sister help me". Then there was silence. He was gone. I
watched as the nuns took him out of the sanctuary, to an unknown place. I never saw that kid again. I wonder what
happened to him.
All heads were turned, watching the nuns scurrying this embarassement out of the church. When I turned again
to face the alter, there was the priest standing right in front of me; I was next. I remember looking right into
the face of the priest. He had a blank look on his face. It was time for me to stick out my tongue; to stretch
it beyond its intended limits. I looked at that priest and said to myself, "This is all a lie!! The kid who
took the Host out of his mouth and held it in his hand didn't explode into flames like we were told would happen.
I've been lied to !! This is all a lie!!"
I looked that priest right in the eye and then stuck my tongue out at him; but instead of a frogs tongue, I barely
let my tongue leave my mouth. The priest sternly commanded me to sick my tongue out farther. I barely complied
with his order as he roughly slapped the host on the tip of my tongue while mumbling something under his breath.
It must have been something in Latin for I couldn't understand it. We were finally marched out of the dark sanctuary
and into the daylight out on the street. The ceremony was over and so was my belief in the Roman Catholic Church.
It wasn't long after that eventful day that I declared to my mother that I would no longer be attending The
Roman Church. What precipitated this brave proclamation was a visit to my uncles house. My family went for a Sunday
drive that ended up at my uncle Bill's house. There was not much that day for me to do over at my uncles house;
so I put the television on. There was this guy on the tube talking about the Bible. I had never really heard much
about the Bible. In the Roman Catholic Church we were taught about church doctrine but the Bible was not brought
to life. So here was this guy talking about the Bible and Jesus and God as though they were alive and with us right
then and there. There was beautiful singing and melodious music accompanying this mans sermon. Everyone on the
television seemed quite happy to be listening to what he had to say, and so was I. I wondered who this guy was.
What kind of church was he from and what was his name? He turned out to be Billy Graham. I learned that he would
be on television for the next three nights. I watched and listened to him preach every one of those nights. Until
those nights I never knew that it was possible to speak to God without the aide of the Pope. This was aradically
new approach for me. It was exciting and liberating.
When I was told that Billy Graham would be preaching near my home, I informed my parents that I wanted to go
and see him, even though the nuns had told us that watching Billy Graham was not permissible because he was not
a Catholic.
Fortunately for me, my father was not fond of the Roman Catholic Church. He was a Protestant of an unknown
persuasion. The only time I had remembered seeing him in Church was the day the nuns took away the hysterical kid.
He watched Billy Graham on television with me and said it would be a good thing to go see him in person. I couldn't
wait. I was going to be among the first to come forward at the end of Billy Grahams service, to give my life to
Christ.
Well the night finally arrived. There I was sitting on a folding chair outdoors on a damp chilly autumn night,
amongst a large gathering of others who had come to hear Billy Graham preach. The service was so exciting; I just
couldn't wait to come forward to change my life for Christ. And then the time came. The choir began to sing the
hymn " Just As I Am " just like on T.V. It was just then that something happened that I never even thought
of. My father got out of his chair and walked forward to accept the invitation to change his life. I was stunned!!
Now what was I to do? If I went up at that moment it would look like I was just following my father; so I sat there
glued to my seat fighting the impulse to leap forward. I wasn't going to ba accused of going forward just because
my father did. I would patiently give a sufficient amount of time to pass, then go forward so it would look like
I gave it a lot of thought. Then something amazing happened again. While I was sitting bidding my time, my sister
jumped out of her seat and followed where my father had gone. I was doomed. No way was I gonna go up there now.
Everyone would think I was a copycat following my older sister. So there I was the one who couldn't wait to go
to this service; who was going to be one of the first to go forward, now in quite a dilemma. If I went forward
now I would surely be teased as just being a follower of my sister. I would rather die than be accused of that,
and besides who would watch after my mother? I just couldn't leave her all alone in the huge crowd that had gathered
that night. Could I?
Well it turned out that I could and I did. At the last possible moment I left to go forward to proclaim my
belief in Christ, I darted into the crowd. I heard my mothers admonitions not to go, fade into the hum of the crowd
that had gathered at the front of the speakers platform. That night standing amongst others yet standing all alone
I "gave my life to Christ." When the last prayer was said and the crowd began to clear. I found my father
and sister first. Then we all found my mother. She had also joined the crowd gathered at the front but she did
so not to proclaim her religious fervor; but to find her family. She had apparently chased after me when I got
out of my seat. I guess she thought her young son would get lost or kidnapped in such a large crowd; such can be
the worries of mothers.
As I stated before it was a chilly damp autumn evening that night and in my mother's flight to find her family
in the crowd, she left behind on her seat an old baby blanket that had been in the family for many years. When
she realized her unmindful act she quickly ran to where we had been sitting, only to find empty seats. Sitting
directly behind where we had been sitting sat an old lady dressed in dark clothes. She had a dark hat and a scarf
on. She looked to me as though she was dressed to go to a wake. As we approached her a wonderful smile came across
her face and in a gentle soothing voice she told my mother that she had seen her hurry away from her seat and leave
the baby blanket behind. There on the old lady's lap lay the family heirloom; all neatly folded and safe. She handed
the blanket to my mom and introduced herself. It turned out that she lived close by to us, just over in the neighboring
town from where we lived. She attended Sunday service in the Baptist Church and invited us all to come join in
the Sunday worship when ever we felt as though we wanted. My mother was still firmly Roman Catholic and this offer
was quickly dismissed by her; but my father said he might give it a try.
And give it a try he did. Consequently my sister and I started to attend Sunday service there. After a while
my mother began to join all of us on Sundays. She saw how much her children enjoyed this new church and she was
encouraged by the effect it had on my father, for after going to the Baptist church, my father began to temper
his penchant for alcohol.
I have some fond memories of that church and the little pastor from Texas that preached some mighty fine Old
Testament sermons from the pulpit. Although no one in the family became a member of the congregation; we were treated
like family. That church stood by us during some very difficult times that my family was experiencing. More than
one night's dinner served at my house was made possible by the loving hands of that congregation.
I had just turned eighteen when my father died. Not long after his death I started to go to church less frequently
until I just stopped going altogether. Even though I stopped going to church, I still carried that early childhood
belief in God; but I soon was not living the way that the Baptist church had shown. Eighteen year old boys with
no father have a tendency to go astray and I was no exception. Although I always respected others and their property,
I sure didn't pay much attention to my own welfare. Those are stories for other times and possibly other venues;
but the only thing I was well aware of was that God was not going to let me go whether I liked it or not.
One day while hitchhiking across Canada a little old lady picked me up to give me a ride. Boy did I feeel lucky.
There I was smack damn in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Saskatchewan. To see a car much less to have one
stop in response to your plea, surely was a blessing. Well my joy quickly turned to horror as the little old lady,
with me in the front seat, roared into the East. Driving at high speed doesn't bother me but when someone gets
right on the tail of a double hitched tractor trailer; I mean so close that all you see is the tail door of the
trailer; and all you feel is the truck in front of you wanting to suck your car right under its back wheels; well
thats bad enough; but then the driver of the car switches into the oncoming lane without being able to see if anything
is approaching or already occupying the space your gonna be in within two seconds; I gotta say thats pushing it.
I could have asked her to stop the car and let me out; but you just didn't do that. Rides were next to impossible
to get; so you took your chances. The way I saw it this lady was well into her eighties and probably had been driving
as reckless as that all her life. Chances were that she would continue to do so for some time to come. I don't
remember what we talked about. I was her passenger for a long time and we passed many a tractor trailer in the
fashion I just told you about. Even though I thought that could have been the last conversation I was ever gonna
have before I became a permanent fixture on the back end of some Canadian truck, I can"t remember what we
talked about; but I do remember that this little old lady had the back of her station wagon loaded with chickens.
They seem to have been use to her driving skills; for they rarely made a peep. When she finally dropped me off
I just exclaimed, "There must be someone watching over you." She said."Why yes there is and handed
me a religious tract. So there I stood out on the lonely highway once again. I watched her turn down a dusty road.
I could see the dust her car was kicking up for miles. I looked at the tract that she handed me, tucked it in my
pocket, shook my head and said,"I'll be damned." It was just another reminder that God was not going
to let me off the hook.
It was many years later that I even walked into a church. When asked during conversations whether I believed
in God, I would respond that I believe in some sort of energy source; call it what you will. I was definately against
any kind organized religion. I guess I was too much of a rebel to belong to anything and to be honest with you
even though the Baptist church had been so good to me, for some reason when I thought of organized religion, I
thought of my experiences with the Roman Catholic Church.
It was to organized religion that I finally turned to in an attempt to save a rotten marriage. My former wife
and I decided that maybe going to church would help us save the disaster that our marriage had become. So we went
church shopping, hitting all the Protestant churches we could possibly find in and around where we lived. One of
the churches we went to I enjoyed very much but my wife didn't. I began to go to this church while still looking
with my wife for one that she liked. I found myself attending two services on any given Sunday at two different
churchs. Not bad for someone who hadn't stepped into a church in fifteen years. Our marriage never got better but
that was long lost before going to church; I'm not sure taht anything would have helped.
After our marriage fell apart, I continued to attend Sunday service in the little church I had liked. In subsequent
years I joined that congregation when I became a member in the reform tradition. That was approximately fourteen
years ago and I'm happy to tell you that I am still a member in that church. I've learned much about my Christian
tradition and watched and felt my spirituality grow. There were times I thought that I could never go back to a
Christian setting after my early experiences with the church; but as I learned more about Christian Tradition and
its strong Jewish roots; my early experiences in the Christian Tradition became easier to understand. I realize
now that the church has made many mistakes in its long history. That the Church itself has been led astray by forces
outsidfe its community. There have been many times when the church has been co-opted by political and economic
forces. There is no excuse for some of the things that the Church has done during these times but somehow the true
message of love and community that the creator has given all of us overcomes these failures. I've learned that
a church "is not a house filled with saints; but that it is a home for sinners."
I guess there were many times I could have cast this tradition to the wayside but I was born into this particular
faith and so it is part of me; and it has transformed me through the years. God has mysteriously held on to me.
I've been chased and admonished by the Creator in crowds as well as lonely dusty back roads. There seems as though
ther is no escape. God seems to give us choices in our life; to follow the Divine or not. It seems that God is
subtle with some of us and the rest of us are stuck on Gods' hook. Our choice is to listen to God's subtle whisper,
or turn a deaf ear. To remain on the hook or wiggle off. The choice is ours. With the grace of God may we all choose
wisely.
P.S. In the recent past I have been fortunate to have had many a wonderful conversation with the clergy of
the Roman Catholic Church. During these conversations I shared the early experiences I had within that tradition.
I'm glad to say things are not now as they once were. The Roman Catholic Church stationed in America has and is
going through a reformation of its own. I was very aware of the sincerity, compassion and understanding that was
given to me during these conversations. Remember my friends it is people who diappoint us and fall short of what
we seek; not the Eternal One.
AMEN!
Robert Kennedy March 1999
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