TRUTH
While pursuing the historical issue as a preliminary step toward the Church, I had to deal with another issue almost as a foundation to any potential conversion. That was the issue of Truth itself. I had gone for many many years either believing that there was no such thing or just not caring. It is not surprising that I held either of those positions; it was almost mandatory to hold them for those of us born on the cusp of the Baby Boom and Generation X. It was and remains the definition of Orthodox Belief for our secular society.
But I had had, for some time, a nagging suspicion that there was such a thing as truth. Part of it came from my years as a fundamentalist, because if there is anything that your average Independent Baptist believes holds and teaches, it is that there is such a thing as Truth. Partly is was just a nagging feeling, an intuition, the closest thing to a purely philosophical thought I’ve ever had; I’ve come to believe we all have that intuition inside us as a part of our God given human nature, but that most of us either consciously drown it out or never are allowed to hear it over the din of modern living.
Anyway, St. Thomas rescued me from all that. I can’t remember why or how, but I came across two books about the teachings of Thomas Aquinas, one by Ralph McInerny and another by Fr. Robert Barron. They were both brief, pithy, accessible little books meant for the inquisitive, semi-intelligent, short-span-of-attention American inquirer. Me, in other words. I can’t quote from either book, nor even give you an outline of what they talked about, but they were the catalyst that allowed me to at least initially conceive of the fact, and care about the possibility, that there was such a thing as truth, and that I needed to get around to finding out about it before it was too late.
Another catalyst was my occasional felt needs to pray. They were few and far between, to be sure, but they were powerful. They can be neatly classified into two categories: Teaching and Sin.
When I became an elementary school teacher in 1993, I had enough of a conscience leftover from my years of self-centeredness (as well as an inborn gift of a tremendous love for children) to realize that I was embarking on a very sacred responsibility. I knew that my words and actions in the classroom could have a tremendous impact on real human lives, and it somehow drove me to prayer. I hadn’t prayed for years and years, really. Maybe a once-in-a-while cry to heaven for help or safety (probably mostly while driving), but as far as appealing to a God I wasn’t sure was listening, well that hadn’t occurred regularly in my life since Bible College, around a decade before.
Sin, on the other hand, led me not only to prayer, but a very clear picture of the reality of God. It was one sin in particular, which I won’t recount here (suffice to say it appears very high on every list of really bad sins), and which caused horrible intense pain to a person who didn’t deserve it. I’d never before felt the presence of God, and now that I was feeling it, I didn’t like it. It wasn't the feeling of the presence of God that caused the saints to wax eloquently about the blissfulness of divine Union, but rather the type that caused St. John the Divine to have nightmares and write the book of Revelation. It was wrath, pure and simple, and I felt it. It was unmistakable and I hope I never feel it again. It sent me to my knees and led directly to my one last search for the Truth that led me to Mother Church.
Coming soon . . . First encounters with Mary and the True Presence.
But I had had, for some time, a nagging suspicion that there was such a thing as truth. Part of it came from my years as a fundamentalist, because if there is anything that your average Independent Baptist believes holds and teaches, it is that there is such a thing as Truth. Partly is was just a nagging feeling, an intuition, the closest thing to a purely philosophical thought I’ve ever had; I’ve come to believe we all have that intuition inside us as a part of our God given human nature, but that most of us either consciously drown it out or never are allowed to hear it over the din of modern living.
Anyway, St. Thomas rescued me from all that. I can’t remember why or how, but I came across two books about the teachings of Thomas Aquinas, one by Ralph McInerny and another by Fr. Robert Barron. They were both brief, pithy, accessible little books meant for the inquisitive, semi-intelligent, short-span-of-attention American inquirer. Me, in other words. I can’t quote from either book, nor even give you an outline of what they talked about, but they were the catalyst that allowed me to at least initially conceive of the fact, and care about the possibility, that there was such a thing as truth, and that I needed to get around to finding out about it before it was too late.
Another catalyst was my occasional felt needs to pray. They were few and far between, to be sure, but they were powerful. They can be neatly classified into two categories: Teaching and Sin.
When I became an elementary school teacher in 1993, I had enough of a conscience leftover from my years of self-centeredness (as well as an inborn gift of a tremendous love for children) to realize that I was embarking on a very sacred responsibility. I knew that my words and actions in the classroom could have a tremendous impact on real human lives, and it somehow drove me to prayer. I hadn’t prayed for years and years, really. Maybe a once-in-a-while cry to heaven for help or safety (probably mostly while driving), but as far as appealing to a God I wasn’t sure was listening, well that hadn’t occurred regularly in my life since Bible College, around a decade before.
Sin, on the other hand, led me not only to prayer, but a very clear picture of the reality of God. It was one sin in particular, which I won’t recount here (suffice to say it appears very high on every list of really bad sins), and which caused horrible intense pain to a person who didn’t deserve it. I’d never before felt the presence of God, and now that I was feeling it, I didn’t like it. It wasn't the feeling of the presence of God that caused the saints to wax eloquently about the blissfulness of divine Union, but rather the type that caused St. John the Divine to have nightmares and write the book of Revelation. It was wrath, pure and simple, and I felt it. It was unmistakable and I hope I never feel it again. It sent me to my knees and led directly to my one last search for the Truth that led me to Mother Church.
Coming soon . . . First encounters with Mary and the True Presence.
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