By Jimmy Patterson
Editor
West Texas Angelus
May 11, 1969.
The date has stayed with me now for over 40 years. Birthday? I wish. No, May 11, 1969 was the date that, as a 9-year-old, I was baptized at First Baptist Church in Irving. It is a rite of passage as a Baptist kid, something most all of us look to with great anticipation and excitement.
Almost as common, I remember from those kid days, was the act of rededicating yourself to the faith, needed after an almost certain downfall, and emotional return to the flock with the promise to yourself that you will do better this time.
At least that’s my recollection. There’s certainly nothing wrong with this practice for those who grow up in this tradition.
Yet I remember thinking then, and now, “OK ... so, what’s next?”
We are told as youngsters that in order to make it from this life to the next, we accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. When you’re a kid going through those steps and the entire conversion, you can think: OK, I did it, where’s the big explosion? The bright shining lights? The fireworks? Is there not supposed to be trumpets and choirs of angels today and every day hereafter -- until the hereafter?
That line of thinking doesn’t necessarily stop with age. I remember thinking on a number of occasions through my adult formation: So, where’s the beef?
And then along moseyed January 25, 2011. The Conversion of St. Paul. Paul had one of those big firework moments when he was converted. A blinding light on the road to Damascus. Christ came to him in a vision, reproached him for his persecutions and converted him to the faith. Right there on the spot.
Lucky St. Paul. There was no doubt for him. One day he hated Christians. The next day he was one. I guess if Jesus Christ came to me in a vision I’d hurry on over to the believing side no questions asked myself.
But for 99 percent of us, I dare say, it doesn’t happen that way. The conversion process does not come complete with a playing of Handel’s Messiah or Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture or a Sousa march. At least not externally. You may hear those things inside, but probably not.
As the reading in the “Word Among Us” said on the Conversion of St. Paul, the spiritual transformation process does not just occur with the blaring of trumpets. Life, the devotion said, “is made up of a series of small conversions.” A little one here, one over there, another one that you might not have seen coming.
Aha.
Now I get it.
We spend our entire life getting it. Conversion may start as a 9-year-old boy being immersed in baptismal waters, but it does not end there. In fact it likely never ends.
Small conversions could be anything. A nugget of wisdom shared by someone at a small Christian group meeting. A kiss by your wife on a day you’re not feeling well. A man who lets you go first in traffic or offers you his place in line at the grocery store.
Aha moments, I think they’ve been called.
My wife was ill recently with a bad flu that lasted almost a week. One night when she was at her worst, I was sitting out on the driveway grilling burgers for my son and me. It was dark. A car pulled up. Odd, I thought. Wonder what this person is going to do? The person got out of the car. The first thing I noticed was she was wearing a full habit. Meekly, almost apologetically, the Filipino sister from Our Lady of Guadalupe approached me and asked me for directions. I told her I would go inside to get my neighborhood directory and that I would welcome her in but my wife was very sick.
I came out and gave her the directions to the house she needed. Sister Isabelita thanked me, and told me she and the other sisters would pray for my wife.
Aha.
Life is a series of small conversions. Little ahas.
Recognize them. They just may be part of your own personal roadmap to salvation.
Jimmy Patterson is editor of the West Texas Angelus.
Editor
West Texas Angelus
May 11, 1969.
The date has stayed with me now for over 40 years. Birthday? I wish. No, May 11, 1969 was the date that, as a 9-year-old, I was baptized at First Baptist Church in Irving. It is a rite of passage as a Baptist kid, something most all of us look to with great anticipation and excitement.
Almost as common, I remember from those kid days, was the act of rededicating yourself to the faith, needed after an almost certain downfall, and emotional return to the flock with the promise to yourself that you will do better this time.
At least that’s my recollection. There’s certainly nothing wrong with this practice for those who grow up in this tradition.
Yet I remember thinking then, and now, “OK ... so, what’s next?”
We are told as youngsters that in order to make it from this life to the next, we accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. When you’re a kid going through those steps and the entire conversion, you can think: OK, I did it, where’s the big explosion? The bright shining lights? The fireworks? Is there not supposed to be trumpets and choirs of angels today and every day hereafter -- until the hereafter?
That line of thinking doesn’t necessarily stop with age. I remember thinking on a number of occasions through my adult formation: So, where’s the beef?
And then along moseyed January 25, 2011. The Conversion of St. Paul. Paul had one of those big firework moments when he was converted. A blinding light on the road to Damascus. Christ came to him in a vision, reproached him for his persecutions and converted him to the faith. Right there on the spot.
Lucky St. Paul. There was no doubt for him. One day he hated Christians. The next day he was one. I guess if Jesus Christ came to me in a vision I’d hurry on over to the believing side no questions asked myself.
But for 99 percent of us, I dare say, it doesn’t happen that way. The conversion process does not come complete with a playing of Handel’s Messiah or Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture or a Sousa march. At least not externally. You may hear those things inside, but probably not.
As the reading in the “Word Among Us” said on the Conversion of St. Paul, the spiritual transformation process does not just occur with the blaring of trumpets. Life, the devotion said, “is made up of a series of small conversions.” A little one here, one over there, another one that you might not have seen coming.
Aha.
Now I get it.
We spend our entire life getting it. Conversion may start as a 9-year-old boy being immersed in baptismal waters, but it does not end there. In fact it likely never ends.
Small conversions could be anything. A nugget of wisdom shared by someone at a small Christian group meeting. A kiss by your wife on a day you’re not feeling well. A man who lets you go first in traffic or offers you his place in line at the grocery store.
Aha moments, I think they’ve been called.
My wife was ill recently with a bad flu that lasted almost a week. One night when she was at her worst, I was sitting out on the driveway grilling burgers for my son and me. It was dark. A car pulled up. Odd, I thought. Wonder what this person is going to do? The person got out of the car. The first thing I noticed was she was wearing a full habit. Meekly, almost apologetically, the Filipino sister from Our Lady of Guadalupe approached me and asked me for directions. I told her I would go inside to get my neighborhood directory and that I would welcome her in but my wife was very sick.
I came out and gave her the directions to the house she needed. Sister Isabelita thanked me, and told me she and the other sisters would pray for my wife.
Aha.
Life is a series of small conversions. Little ahas.
Recognize them. They just may be part of your own personal roadmap to salvation.
Jimmy Patterson is editor of the West Texas Angelus.
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