I graduated from St. Eugene’s in 1966, when the
liturgical changes after the close of the council promulgated in Sacrosanctum
Concilium to the best of my memory had not yet been thoroughly implemented.
I journeyed off to Detroit Cathedral High School downtown, where my experience
of the presence of Christ in the Eucharist began to fade, as I no longer was
required (sadly, in retrospect) to attend daily Mass, and cannot to save my
life remember one thing taught to me in high school religion class by my teacher,
who was also the Business Ed. and Typing teacher and track coach. A rumination
of the yearbooks for these years reveals photo captions such as “DC Sodality
Men Reach Out,” and “Fr. Trainor Celebrates Mass Facing the Seniors as he
Closes the Senior Retreat.” To be sure, in my adolescent years I hadn’t the
foggiest idea of what was happening in the Church in the United States after
the Council, and, after seeing a pretty, red-headed Sophomore on the bus on her
way to Immaculata High one day (in the end I proved too shy to sit next to her
on the DSR bus...), I confess I really never paid it much attention.
In the ensuing years I drifted further and further
away from the Church, the Body of Christ, in true “prodigal son” fashion, often
arguing with my mother over matters of faith. In college, I was approached by
evangelicals asking, “Are you saved, brother?,” something they did not believe of
me as long as I was Catholic. The norm would have been for this now-lukewarm
Catholic to have been lured away from the Church, but baptismal grace proved me
an exception. Though I was not all that
holy, I wasn’t about to become a Pentecostal! How Our Lord led me home is
outside the scope of this endeavor; suffice it to say that there are rough
parallels with St. Augustine.
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