Heeding the Call, Pt. III
Conversion

Seems like a good time to pick up a thread I alluded to in Part I, my return to the church. I'm not sure exactly how it reflects on whether or not I might be called to the ordained ministry, but it seems appropriate to tell the rest of that story.

Like many Americans (perhaps the majority of my age-group), I did not have a choice in my religion. My parents attended a Methodist church, that was the church in which I was baptized, and the church I attended for most of my early youth. My parents divorced when I was 5, and my father was granted custody, but my maternal grandmother saw to it that I got to the Methodist church most Sundays.

My father re-married when I was eight. The woman he married, Wanda, was a member of the Episcopal church. While they were on their honeymoon, I was left in the care of my Aunt Nelle, who quickly shipped me off to the Episcopal Vacation Bible School. Somehow, I ended up in the youth choir, and I fell in love with the music.

When we returned to OKC, Padre & Wanda started looking for a new church home. The closest Episcopal church to us was St. David's, but it seemed somewhat lack-luster. Next, we visited St. John's, which was a very welcoming congregation with a very charismatic priest. I attended Confirmation classes with Padre, and was offered the chance to be confirmed at the same time he was. However, it felt important to be confirmed with my social group, so that was my choice. However, that adult class taught me that it was ok to question within the church. I quickly came to especially prize the intellectual freedom and honesty which have been hallmarks of the tradition.

When we joined the Episcopal Church, in 1967, congregations were using the 1928 Book of Common Prayer (BCP). The language was very similar to the King James' Bible, with "thee's" and "thou's" and "dost" and so on. As a 12 year-old, I thought this was the required language of prayer, and actually tried to pray in this archaic form. Reading Shakespeare still comes fairly naturally for me.  But, eventually, it occurred to me this was silly — surely God understood modern English as easily as God understood Swahili or Russian!

I was unaware of the fact that the Church itself was asking these same questions. Our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters were already celebrating Mass in modern language (rather than Latin), after all. In the early 1970s, the Church produced a number of experimental services which explored modern ways of describing our relationship with God. By 1979, the Church had ratified the Book of Common Prayer still in use today.

I attended St. John's Day School through 5th and 6th grade. Each day began with mandatory Chapel Service. In liu of a sermon, Fr. Pons would read from C.S. Lewis' Narnia Series; I know I heard all of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. I think I may have heard Prince Caspian as well. In any case, I fell in love with Lewis' work, which was a further introduction to the intellectual inquiry possible in the Episcopal Church.

To flash-forward a bit — in high school, I had my first sense that I was called to the priesthood. I had already had some experience as an acolyte and altar boy, and had a deep respect for the liturgics. I also had a deep sense of prayerful connection with God. Based on all this, I ran for chaplain, as I discussed in Part One. Even though I lost, I was not discouraged.

I suppose I became discouraged when no one could tell me what path to follow to be considered for the priesthood. There were other things going on at home which may have also been distracting. In any case, the summer following graduation I had no clue what to do with my life. I primarily went to college to get out of the house. I majored in English because that was my best subject in high school.

In my senior year of high school, I was introduced to the existentialist philosophers and Joseph Campbell's seminal Hero With a Thousand Faces. Both made a lot of sense to me, and I sought to explore this further in college. I took a philosophy course in existentialism, and began a self-directed study of world religions. At the same time, I didn't know about the Episcopal church's college ministry, so I got out of the church going habit.

It was in this atmosphere that I came to claim to be an atheist. My spiritual explorations did not decrease in the slightest — I was reading all sorts of religious titles by Alan Watts, Thomas Merton, and Andrew Greeley (I read his Bottom-Line Catechism long before I read any of his fiction). I was receiving a sort of spirtual instruction in the fiction I read as well: Henry Miller, Jack Kerouac, and D.H. Lawrence. As I've said, references to the divine in my letters and poetry were almost more prevalent now, when I was a nominal atheist, than they had been during high school, when I called myself a Christian.

As I say, all this was self-paced and self-directed. Aside from existentialism, I did not do any formal studies in the philosophy of religion. Heck, that would have been too logical! So I'm trying to make sense of it all on my own, without a mentor. Understandably, I began fraying at the edges.

At this point, I decided I needed some structure. And I had found out about the Episcopal ministry on campus, called St. Anselm's, which had service every Wednesday and Sunday. Coincidentally, this service was followed by a meal, which was another draw. The first service I attended was on a Wednesday.

It turned out that Fr. Don did dialogue sermons on Wednesday. This evening, the question was "Why do we bother performing this ritual every week?" Every answer offered was shot down as "not good enough". This went on for about 10 minutes, at the end of which the priest said we needed to move on. But he raised the question again over dinner, and still no answer was good enough.

Well, I went home thinking, essentially, if the priest doesn't know why we bother, why should I? And I continued on my self-paced, self-directed, and fraying path for a while longer.

I think it was about 2 or 3 months later that I chose to go to a Sunday evening service, which had a traditional sermon. It felt good to practice the familiar liturgical acts of genuflecting and kneeling. It felt good to be among people who accepted a spiritual reality.

Even though I didn't have the answer to the priest's question, I continued attending services on a regular basis. I joined the Folk Mass choir, and eventually became its leader. I went on retreats with the group. I eventually officially rejoined the church (though, on the books, I had never really left).

Several years later, I was able to talk to Fr. Don about that dialogue sermon. I believed I found the answer that felt right for me. I go to church, and repeat the rituals, for me. Not for some high-minded alturistic reason, or some cooked-up theological reason. But because I needed the structure and I needed the community.

As I recall, Don said that if it worked for me, it was good enough. I've been a part of the Episcopal Church ever since.

Next: Skills Inventory