A Reluctant Calling, A Certain Faith

My altar boy years, a priest's question, and the moment Jesus became real to me

Image credit: josh-applegate / unsplash

[I am out of the office this week, so I’m republishing parts 3 & 4 of my original series, “A Deconstruction Observed.” See you next week.]

“I know the one in whom I have put my trust, and I am sure that he is able to guard the deposit I have entrusted to him (2 Timothy 1:12b NRSV).

I never planned to be an altar boy. It just happened.

After I survived catechism and my confirmation service, I was standing around at the reception when a man I’d never met came up to me and congratulated me on my confirmation. Then he said, “Altar server training starts in a couple of weeks. Saturdays at 10 a.m.”

Nonplussed, I paused for a second, then said, “Okay.”

It’s not that I wanted to do it. I just didn’t realize I could have turned him down. For all I knew it was just the next logical part of being an Episcopalian. Get baptized; attend catechism; get confirmed; be an altar boy.

But once I started the classes, I loved it. It was kind of like being on the inside. I learned lots of cool things, such as what all the priest’s vestments meant, and there was something called a tabernacle where the leftover communion elements were kept. I learned that the altar had a gospel and epistle side. (I didn’t even know what gospels and epistles were!)

But most of all, I got to be a part of the service, rather than just someone out in the pew. It felt significant, and it became part of my life. I served at the altar from my confirmation through high school graduation.

Unfortunately, my activities as an altar server didn’t impact my spiritual life at all. It didn’t make me pray more or seek God more. It was just something I did on Sundays. Something that made me feel special.

That all changed the day Father Clarke said, “Jim, have you ever considered going into the ministry?”

Father Clarke’s casual question took me by surprise.

We were standing in the sacristy, minutes before the 8:00 a.m. service was to start.

I was thirteen and had been serving as an altar boy at Trinity Episcopal for a couple of years by this time.

I thought for a second, shook my head, and said “No.”

The idea had never entered my mind. As I recall, at that time my potential career paths were either to be a veterinarian or an FBI agent. It was a toss-up.

But although I didn’t realize it at the time, Father Clarke’s question planted a seed in me that would grow in the coming months. So much so that it began to nag at me.

The problem was, I didn’t want to be a preacher. It was the last thing on the planet I wanted to do.

Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed serving as an altar boy. And I thought our rector, Father Clarke, was the neatest guy on the planet ever since he secretly held up cue cards with the answers to the confirmation questions as I stood trembling before the bishop and congregation at my confirmation service.

But I didn’t want to be a preacher. I thought that was probably the most boring life imaginable.

But in the coming months the idea of going into ministry nagged worse than a toothache. I couldn’t get the idea out of my head.

Finally, one night as I lay on my bed I said, “God, I don’t’ know why you want me to be a preacher. But if that’s what you want, I guess that’s what I’ll do.”

There were no earthquakes following this prayer. No lights from heaven shining through my bedroom window with a chorus of angels going “Aaaaaaaa!” in four-part harmony.

But there were changes.

I had never opened or read a Bible in my life up to this point. But one day I thought, “If I’m going to be a preacher, I guess I’d better read the Bible.” I started at the book of Revelation. (If you’re new to Bible reading, I don’t recommend that!)

Later, I found my way to the Gospel of John (a much better place to start).

Some months later on a hot summer evening I came inside and turned on the TV. There was some guy preaching a sermon on one of the channels. (That was unusual back then!) I thought, “Well, if I’m going to be a preacher I guess I should see how it’s done.” So, I sat down and watched.

That TV preacher was Billy Graham.

For the first time—even though I had grown up in church—I heard that Jesus loved me and died for me.

I knew the part about Jesus dying and rising from the dead. (I was an altar boy after all!)

But for the first time, I understood that he died for me.

I began watching Billy Graham every time he was on TV and sometime over the coming months I trusted Jesus Christ to forgive my sins and give me eternal life. I don’t know exactly when, but I know it happened.

And my life has never been the same.

Why am I sharing this as part of my deconstruction/reconstruction story? Because it’s not only the beginning of the story, it’s the bedrock I kept coming back to at my darkest moments.

I didn’t always know what I believed.

But I knew whom I believed.

And that made all the difference in the world.