Journeys Home (17 page)

My link with the Benedictines continued after I was ordained and
went to serve as an Anglican curate. I made my annual retreat
at Quarr Abbey on the Isle of Wight, just off the south coast
of England. I read about the history of monasticism and felt drawn
to the Benedictine Way. There seemed to be among the Benedictines
a balance, a simplicity, and a profound spirituality that echoed
back to the simple sincerity of my Mennonite ancestors.

Just as I was about to visit Quarr Abbey for my annual retreat,
a friend brought me a rosary from Walsingham. I had never touched
such a Catholic artifact, but F. D. Maurice's wisdom touched me,
and I thought, "If so many Christians pray this way, who am I
to deny it?" So I bought a book about the rosary and learned how
to pray it.

Any ideas of accepting the Marian dogmas were out of the question.
I substituted different glorious mysteries that were more Christ-centered.
My five biblical glorious mysteries were Transfiguration, Resurrection,
Ascension, Pentecost, and Second Coming. Despite my individualism,
another window was opened and something new affirmed, for I found
that the rosary grew in importance to me, and I started to receive
great graces through the prayers of Our Lady.

When my curacy was finished, I had three months free and decided
to hitchhike to Jerusalem. So with backpack and a pair of sturdy
shoes, I headed across France and Italy, staying in various religious
houses along the route. I found my journey went best when I fit
in with the monastic routine. So I would begin a day's journey
with Mass and morning offices in one monastery, say my Anglican
office while traveling, then arrive at the next monastery in time
for Vespers, the evening meal, and Compline.

The pilgrimage to the Holy Land also took me further into Christian
history. Part of the appeal of being ordained into the Church
of England had been to leave the modern, subjective church of
Protestant USA and find deeper roots in the history and faith
of Europe. Suddenly, traveling through France, Italy, and Greece
to Israel, I was immersed in a religion obviously older and deeper
still than Anglicanism.

The Benedictine houses put me in touch with roots of faith that
were deeper and more concrete than I imagined could exist. Although
I realized my views were becoming "more Catholic," I didn't fight
it. I wanted to "be right in what I affirmed."

I had been ordained for about six years when my dream came true,
and I went to be vicar of two beautiful old churches on the Isle
of Wight. By this time, I was not an Anglo-Catholic, but I did
regard my ministry in a very Catholic way. I knew we were separated
from Rome, but I considered my ministry to be part of the whole
Catholic Church. Despite the formal separation, I thought of Anglicanism
as a branch of the Catholic Church and prayed for the time of
our eventual reunion.

My pilgrimage toward the Catholic Church had -- for the most part -- been intuitive. I simply adopted the Catholic practices that
seemed suitable, and when it came time to question certain doctrines,
I looked at them and made every effort to affirm and not deny.
This mindset brought me almost unconsciously to the very doorstep
of the Catholic Church. What I said to some friends who were considering
conversion was true of me as well: I was more Catholic than I
myself realized.

It was the Church of England's decision to ordain women as presbyters
that helped clear my vision. Suddenly, things became crystal clear.
Female priests were not the problem. Instead, it was what the
General Synod's decision-making process revealed about the true
nature of the Church of England.

The key question was this: Is the Anglican Church a Catholic Church
or a Protestant church? If she wishes to be considered Catholic,
then she does not have the authority to ordain women as priests.
But if she is Protestant like all Protestant groups, she may indeed
take the decision to ordain women as ministers.

So when the General Synod made the decision, I was in a quandary.
Everything within me said a Catholic church could not make such
a decision on its own. Yet I hated taking a negative position
about anything. According to my motto, I was rejecting women priests
and was wrong to do so.

Then Father Leo Avery, at that time the abbot of Quarr, gently
pointed out that greater affirmations often include smaller denials.
In other words, you can't have everything. Choices need to be
made. Rejecting women priests was merely the negative side of
affirming something greater: the apostolic ministry. And affirming
the Catholic faith had to include the denial of those things contrary
to the Catholic faith.

The next few years were a terrible time of indecision. By now
I was married, and my wife, Alison, and I had two young children.
I hadn't trained for any other career, and if we left the Anglican
Church there seemed nothing but an uncertain future. One Sunday
evening, I went to Quarr Abbey for Vespers and Benediction. As
the monks chanted, I agonized over the decision to leave the Church
of England.

"But I only wanted to serve you in the ancient Church in England!"
I cried out to the Lord.

As the incense wafted heavenward and the monstrance was lifted,
the still small voice replied: "But
this
is the ancient Church
in England."

Then the struggles ended. My mind was made up, and in the autumn
of 1994, my wife and I began our course of instruction with Father
Joe McNerny at Quarr.

There was grief at losing our home and church, but at the same
time we received a tremendous welcome from our new Catholic friends.
It was during this time that Keith Jarrett -- the secretary of
the St. Barnabas Society -- offered friendship, help, and encouragement
as he has done for so many who have taken the same step. Once
we were received, the St. Barnabas Society continued to be there
with practical advice and financial assistance.

As we went through our instruction, I not only read the documents
of Vatican II but did further reading in the Apostolic Fathers.
Day by day, I discovered that all the things I had come to affirm
intuitively were part of the great unity of the Catholic faith.
When I became an Anglican, I felt my Bible Christian background
was being completed.

As we prepared to be received into the Catholic Church, I realized
that I could still affirm everything my non-Catholic friends and
family affirmed. I simply could no longer deny what they denied.
F. D. Maurice's little snippet of wisdom had brought me across
the Tiber, and in becoming a Catholic I was affirming all things
and denying nothing that was true.

Our reception took place in a quiet service one February evening
in the crypt of Quarr Abbey Church. That night, all was harvest.
There, as the monks sang their ancient and moving plainsong and
we were finally received into full communion, the simple faith
of my Mennonite forebears, the Bible Christians' love for the
Scriptures, and the ancient beauties of Anglicanism were all gathered
together and fulfilled in a new and dynamic way.

Father Dwight Longenecker was ordained as a Catholic priest for
the Diocese of Charleston, South Carolina, in December of 2006.
He is pastor of Our Lady of the Rosary parish in Greenville, South Carolina,
and chaplain of St. Joseph's Catholic School in the same city.

former Assemblies of God minister

MY WANDERING BEGINS

MY HEART STARTS TO TURN FOR HOME

MY JOURNEY HOME

RETURNING HOME

It is strangely ironic that as I recall the events that led me
back to the Catholic Church, the words "I was raised Catholic"
come to mind. I wonder how many times over the course of twenty
years I have said those words, usually at the beginning of a personal
testimony or even during an introduction. I also wonder how many
times I have been on the receiving end of those words.

In many of the Evangelical Protestant or fundamentalist churches
of today, more than twenty percent of the members or regular worshipers
can say, "I was raised Catholic." At banquets or meetings, I recall
many times sitting around a table, attempting to meet and learn
about the other people sitting with me. Inevitably, someone would
say those words. Heads would start nodding seemingly everywhere,
and the smiles would begin. Additional words weren't required,
because each of us understood.

We had escaped, we believed, from a Church that taught works for
salvation and tradition over Scripture, a Church that had never
told us about having a personal relationship with our Lord. Each
of us would say, "We never heard the Gospel until we began to
attend" such and such church.

Now, after being away for over twenty years, I understand what
the Catholic Church truly teaches about works in relation to salvation.
I understand not only the need for Tradition but also how it acts
as the glue in the foundation of our faith. To my shame, I am
now aware how week after week for twenty-two years, I had heard
the Gospel read and preached at Mass but I never listened to it.
"They hear, but they do not understand" (see Is 6:10). Lord, forgive
me.

For many Protestant denominations, their specific or unique theological
emphases have been formulated only over the past hundred years,
some more, many less. Usually, each group was formed after splitting
away from another group over a particular theological, doctrinal,
biblical, or moral issue that was debated and then either implemented
or rejected. So often, at least it seems to me, each newly formed
denominational group leaves something behind in the process. I
think the Reformers would be shocked to see how the denominations
they founded have evolved in their ever-widening theologies.

Catholic New Testament theology has developed for nearly two thousand
years. The consistency and depth of teaching within the Church
should be something to be marveled at, not criticized. Unfortunately
today, even in the Catholic Church herself, we find priests, religious,
lay teachers, and organizations who do not follow the teaching
of the Church, which only leads to more confusion among lay Catholics
as well as non-Catholics. Can there be any question as to why
many lay Catholics don't know their faith?

To Christians of other traditions, the Catholic Church, especially
the Mass, seems strange or antiquated. It's not until they take
the time to learn and begin to understand what the Church truly
teaches that they see that much of what is practiced, both in
obedience to Sacred Tradition as well as in cultural Catholics'
devotions and customs, is based on what was delivered, taught,
and practiced in the first centuries of apostolic Christianity.
The Jewish roots of the early Christians can be clearly seen in
these traditions.

On the other hand, most Protestant denominations have been established
rather recently, with their own traditions being based on what
their first-generation Protestant leaders and members practiced.

The specific tradition that I recently left, the Assemblies of
God, was formed in 1914. Most of those in the first generation
passed on, leaving the second generation to hold true to what
was then established. The third and later generations, many coming
from other Christian traditions, then questioned why things are
done the way they are. The second-generation people fought to
bring the denomination back to the roots they inherited, while
the later generations pushed to change in ways that seemed important
to them and their families.

All this happened in the twentieth century. When you contrast
the changes made in less than one century in this one new Christian
tradition with the consistency following twenty centuries in the
Catholic Church, it should make you pause.

Who would have thought fifty years ago that some mainline Protestant
traditions would be considering, and in many cases accepting,
abortion, same-sex marriages, and practicing homosexual clergy?

Once again, the Catholic Church, in spite of the attempts of dissident
groups whose motives are often suspect, has remained consistent
in its call to all Christians to remain faithful to the faith
and teaching that have been handed down, from generation to generation,
for nearly two thousand years.

When I was twenty or twenty-one, I began indulging in some heavy
drinking and experimenting with drugs, and I almost entered a
marriage that would have proven disastrous. Why? I don't know.
God, however, was faithful, even though I most certainly wasn't.
A string of circumstances led me to a Southern Baptist church
in Louisiana. Those circumstances became the bulk of my testimony
whenever I would joyfully tell how I "became a Christian." Today,
as I look back, I am very grateful for how God worked in my life
to open my heart to His love and grace. But now my conclusion
is different: He saved me, but He saved me from me.

At this small Southern Baptist church, I found people who cared
for me, loved me, and shared their lives with me. Outside of my
own family, I never realized people acted this way. Many nights
I would be at one of their homes, sitting at the kitchen table
and asking questions about the Bible. They always had time for
me.

There I discovered Jesus in a way that was totally different from
what I had experienced as a Catholic, and I believe this is one
reason why Catholics leave the Church. I don't mean to oversimplify
this, but I think what draws many away is hearing clear, directive,
confrontational preaching for the first time -- not a short homily
demanding little or no response, but a thirty, forty, even sixty-minute
sermon, which fully develops a scriptural text into a practical
application that leads to a climax requiring a "Yes!" or a "No!"