The call I did not expect

St Andrew's Church, Westland Row, Dublin

On this day, Saturday 23 August 1980, I made the following entry in my diary:

It was a sunny, warm day. By mid-afternoon I left the meeting feeling very fed up and incapable of continuing on with this way of life. On my way home, by bicycle, I stopped in Westland Row to pray in Saint Andrew's RC Church. I simply went in, genuflected and knelt down and started to pray as I looked towards the tabernacle. I did not stay very long.

The entry is significant because for 7 years prior to that date I had lived as a self-proclaimed atheist.  I had stopped religious practice in the Autumn of 1973. This was a rather unusual step in so far as most people of my age-group maintained some degree of outward religious practice even if not that frequent. 

There is, perhaps, a germ of personal hope in recounting this personal story because it seems to me that the widely adopted option of disowning belief (or simply declaring ‘I am not religious’) which seems to more or less the norm nowadays among millennials or Gen Z persons may not be sustainable in the very long-run. What I am trying to say here, in plain English is that:

My experience taught me that atheism was not sustainable for me in the long run.

That is my personal experience. And, I have reason to think that the experience applies to many others who, today, struggle with despair, ill-health or emptiness. I would even go a step further and claim that atheism is not a sustainable option for whole societies.  History will tell.

While my journey back to Christ was not according to a straight line and was not without setbacks and diversions along the way, 1980 was a turning point and I have never regretted or looked back on the decisive moments of that time in my life.

The significant point in this little story – for me - is this: the decisive moment that triggered the transition was a visit to the Blessed Sacrament – something that I had not done in 7 years. I had not planned to do that when I got up that morning. I did not think through the significance of what I was doing – entering a church, genuflecting and looking towards the Tabernacle. Clearly, Catholic beliefs, practices and habits of my early years disposed me to this unusual action. But, something moved me that day. It was not the last such visit in the months following during which I eventually crossed the line into a more complete acceptance of the faith. As of August 1980, I was beginning to test the waters. There I was at the bottom of the church just to the left (or the right as you look down from the altar in the picture, above)

Was it you, Lord Jesus, who called me that sunny summer afternoon nearly half a century ago to put my bicycle against the railings of St Andrew’s and go in? Were you looking out for me in that moment of doubt, anguish and emptiness? Call me again. Call others. Make me an instrument of your loving presence especially in the Blessed Sacrament.

A Sacrament most holy, o Sacrament Divine, all praise and all thanksgiving be every moment yours.

Postscript

St Andrews happened to be the church where my parents were married in February 1955.  My father lived in the parish for a few years before marrying.