Actually, it found me.
I was baptized Catholic, but not raised in the Church. The only time I went to a Catholic Church was for weddings, though I attended Sunday School off and on when I was a kid, usually wherever one of my friends went, or whatever was closest, so no particular denomination.
When I was in Jr. High, my parents took it into their head that I was a bad kid and needed to be straightened out, so they sent me to a hardcore fundamentalist Baptist school. I believed their line for a while. During that time, my stepdad befriended some Mormon Missionaries, the family got the teachings, I believed and wanted to be baptized. Didn’t happen, Mom wouldn’t allow it.
Somewhere around the age of 18 or so, I started reflecting on what I had been taught about God in the Baptist school basically, you’re born damned, and no matter how good a person you are, if you’re not “saved”, you go to Hell, but if you’re “saved”, no matter how bad a person you are, you go to Heaven. I basically had this idea that God really wants to roast the whole of humanity in everlasting fire, and that Jesus basically struck a bargain with His Dad that he would take the punishment for our sins, if He would allow the people who “accepted Jesus as their Savior” into Heaven. Thus I thought God was a capricious evil being.
I read a lot of books on a lot of other religions, including Islam, Bhuddism, the Tao, Wicca. I considered converting to Islam for a while. I tried an experiment- for three weeks, I behaved as though I were a Muslim. I wore a head scarf, and five times a day, I would point myself in the general direction of Mecca and sort of meditate about God. At the end of three weeks, I had an intense craving for pork. I ended up as a sort of self-styled Hindo-Shamanistic Bhuddist, with a twist of pagan.
But eventually, I started feeling a tug back toward the Catholic Church. But somehow it didn’t fit, my personal beliefs were more Eastern. A friend suggested Greek Orthodox, which I found appealing, but never got around to checking into it.
That lasted until I moved to Vegas, and promptly got a job on a psychic hotline. Yep, I was a live psychic. About the same time, I started having a lot of conversations with a neighbor who was a believing, but not practicing Catholic. Still trying to figure that one out. He gave me a seven day candle with the prayer to St. Michael, and every night for the next few nights, I would light it and say the prayer before I logged on to the network. My readings got longer, and more accurate (not that I was bad to start with, but I hadn’t had the Tarot cards out in a while before I started the job, so I was a bit, um, rusty). Which of course meant I was making more money. I had told my neighbor that I was considering checking out the Greek Orthodox Church, and he told me I should check out the Byzantine Rite of the Catholic Church first.
Then one night, as I was logging on, I suddenly felt this raw terror. I started shaking, crying, and I just couldn’t bring my self to punch in those last few numbers to get onto the network. I was actually in fear for my immortal soul. So I hung up the phone, and got down on my knees and renounced Satan and all his works. The next day, I opened the yellow pages and found a Byzantine Catholic Church, St. Gabriel’s, but it was clear on the other side of town. The pastor there told me about a Byzantie Catholic community that was closer to where I lived, using the hall of a Latin Rite church for their liturgies. The following Saturday evening, I went. There was this wedding… I found out later that the bride’s mother was Greek Orthodox, so she wanted to be married in the Byzantine Rite. Neither she nor the goom were part of the congregation. So, yeah, I crashed a complete stranger’s wedding. I kind of took it as an omen.
Also, the people in the congregation were so warm and welcoming, and once I’d been to the liturgy a couple of times, I was hooked. I felt that this was the way Christian worship was meant to be done. I entered the catechism program, was in and out of the Church, frequently having to go to Latin Rite churches because we didn’t have our own building, and liturgy was frequently in some far flung region of the universe, and that combined with my work schedule made it difficult to make it to what, by then, I considered “my” church. But we finally got settled into our own building a little over a year ago. I was confirmed last Easter, at the age of thirty-two.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.