The Road to Damascus....

It has been about 6 months since I had my own "Road to Damascus" encounter. I am now a Christian. This is quite a change for me. I used to persecute Christians, not unlike Saul of the New Testament. Oh, I didn't take them to prison or behead them or anything, but I certainly tried to persecute them in my own way for their "intolerant" beliefs and ways. My "conversion" is a story, not a particularly long story, but one for later.

A little background:

I was born and raised Roman Catholic. That's Catholic, not Christian. I attended 2 years of Catechism classes (CCD) followed by 10 years of Catholic school and that's only because, at that time, the Catholic elementary school was so hard to get in to that I couldn't start until third grade. Otherwise it would have been the full twelve years of primary education. My parents were Roman Catholic, although the only time I remember seeing my dad in church was...actually, I don't ever remember seeing my dad in church, but I'm sure he must have been there when my brother and sister were married in the church (not to each other, mind you), and at other weddings and funerals. Mom went (and took me) on a somewhat regular basis, although I often had the impression that it was as much because it was "expected" that she go by her older more religious sister, or that she felt a duty to take me, more than because of any real church-going desire on her part. We often left church at what I came to call "half Mass", but is really more like 90% of the service, after the completion of the Rite of the Eucharist.

I was baptised (to remove my original sin), gave my first confession (and nearly my last), received my first communion, was confirmed and married all at the same church.

[Aside]
Five out of seven sacraments wasn't bad I suppose, and as long as I kept mortal sin off my soul, I was destined for heaven. Well, I may have had to set out a few innings in Purgatory, but I'd get there eventually. Heck, that only left the Sacrament of the Sick (formerly known as Extreme Unction or Last Rites) and Holy Orders (the priesthood). Taking the last first, I was never going to be a priest, so Holy Orders was out of the question, and as for the Sacrament of the Sick, one needs to be a little closer to death than simply that tired feeling that I sometimes experience for it to be administered. I was a good Catholic boy.

My sister and brother were married (again, not to each other) in that same church. Some of my cousins were married in that church. I went to Mass every Friday from third through eighth grade in that church. I had a short-lived run as an altar boy in that church. My own daughter was baptised in that church. I guess I'm trying to say that I spent a lot of time in that church.

To be continued...