Although
I grew up in a catholic family, I became more casual in the practice
of my faith in my teenage tears and left the Church altogether when
I was twenty. I disagreed with much of the Church's moral teaching
and could not reconcile the idea of a merciful God with eternal damnation.
So I became an agnostic. I retained a kind of personal spirituality,
and observed, loosely, a more or less humanistic moral code of my
own design. This brought me (and others) a great deal of grief in
different ways but I did not attribute that to any serious shortcomings
in my philosophy. Successes and failures alike were all part of the
learning process on the road to wisdom. So each mistake was an opportunity
to grow (I suppose I was rather "new-age" in my outlook
but without the hippie beard and sandals). I stayed on that road for
the next thirty-odd years.
Then, in 1999, both of my parents died. This led to a discussion
about the afterlife one evening over supper with my sister Chris.
Chris is very devout and she had been praying for me constantly
throughout my agnostic decades. So she got really tearful when
I told her I didn't know whether or not there was an afterlife.Then
she asked me to promise her something. Without knowing what it
was that she wanted me to do, I found myself saying "Okay,
I will". "If I make the arrangements for you, will
you go and see a priest?" she asked. "Okay" I
said, again. I enjoyed a good argument and thought it might be
fun to argue religion and morals with a priest. I did not for
a minute think I would change my views though. I was pretty well
set in my ways and felt no need re-examine my reasons for leaving
the Church.
So, about two weeks later, I found myself in a Hampstead sitting
room with a fully cassocked Opus Dei priest, Fr. Robert. I told
him my story and outlined all my "conscientious" objections
to catholic teaching and morality. He made a few short remarks
and offered some brief explanations in passing, but mostly, he
listened. I admitted that I had done many things which I sincerely
regretted, but that some things I had done contrary to catholic
teaching, I did not regret because I did not think they were
wrong. This led on to a discussion of the nature of sin and in
particular of the need for sinful intent before anything could
be called a sin. Fr. Robert seemed to be saying that if I was
truly clear in my conscience that something was not wrong, then
it could not properly be called a sin. This surprised me. My
youthful understanding of some forty years earlier was rather
different.
We continued our talk for some two hours at the end of which
Fr. Robert said, in the sort of voice one might use to invite
someone for a cup of tea "Would you like to go to confession
before you leave?" I was astounded. I said "How many
hours have you got to spare?" This was not what I had come
for. I didn't even remember the words you were supposed to use
in confession. Fr. Robert smiled and told me that we could proceed
using a question and answer approach which would take no more
than ten minutes and that I only needed to mention those things
for which I was truly repentant, the rest being a matter for
my own conscience. I hesitated. This was not going the way I
had imagined it at all. Then, inexplicably, I began to feel rather
emotional (the Holy Spirit?), and without really knowing what
I was doing I said "Okay - if you like, let's do it."
I got onto my knees, recited words to Fr. Robert's dictation
and answered his questions truthfully. Before long, I was weeping
and when we had done, I made my act of contrition in a voice
that was cracked and broken. Then Fr. Robert pronounced the words
of absolution, and made the sign of the cross over my head. I
realised at that moment that even when I had said "Yes"
to confession, I had not really thought I would be considered
worthy of absolution. And so I could hardly believe that the
sacrament had been granted to me, that I had been sacramentally
reconciled with a God I hardly knew or believed in. Then I felt
the forgiveness welling up inside me like a gigantic spiritual
embrace. Some might say that it was just a very emotional thing
- to be reminded of my many errors and failings. But I have
since come to understand that the Holy Spirit was moving me at
a very deep level. That was the turning point in my life.
I said my penance of three Hail Marys on the tube going home
(Only three! after forty years!), and I received the Eucharist
at mass the following Sunday. Since then, little by little, my
faith has grown anew, only not as it had been before when I was
just a schoolboy. Then it was a matter of habit, and guilt, and
a fear of damnation. Now it is a source of great joy and strength.
Not that I am perfect yet - not by a long way. But the change
God has made in me is so great that I am daily in awe of it.
I was a lump of dead wood which He grafted onto the healthy vine
and by and by, I have come back to life and I have even sprouted
some new green leaves. The fruit is yet to come.
