I wrote that provocative title on purpose.
Please don't let it offend you. I am writing this post mostly because I need to remind myself how much the Lord loved me when I was still a protestant.
And this is the part that MIGHT cause offense: I need to remind myself that God loved me too much to let me stay on the old path, once I received the clue that there was a more true way, a more "real" way.
This is simply a story about a particular encounter I had with the Holy Spirit. It happened when I was still a protestant, although after this experience, I didn't stay protestant much longer.
Spoiler Alert: Those who haven't been on a Walk to Emmaus Retreat - beware, this post contains spoilers. Do not read further if this bothers you.
My brush with the Holy Spirit happened the night of the Emmaus Walk "Candlelight." It is a liturgy when Emmaus Retreat alumni are invited to come to the church the last night of a retreat and sing a song of God's love to the pilgrims. It is a surprise for the pilgrims. They should see faces of people they know, people who have already been through a retreat who are singing to them as they march through the church. The thing about the Candlelight is how long the song lasts, and how many of those familiar faces the pilgrims see as they walk and sing and walk and sing around and around the meeting room or church. Throughout the weekend, we pilgrims had been sent down to the chapel multiple times, singing, to have a communion service. But this time, we were directed to march, singing, to the fellowship hall. We didn't know until we got there that this communion would be much more intense.
As I approached the hall the last night with my fellow pilgrims, I could sense the presence of a crowd. I could see flickers of candlelight, and I could hear singing by many voices as we approached. When we walked into the room, we were beckoned onward by our retreat leaders to walk up one aisle and down another, over and over again. The singing continued. The song was about God's love for us, and every few moments I'd look up into the pews and see yet another person I knew, yet another Emmaus alumnus. It was amazing. I decided I'd let down my guard and let the Holy Spirit love me. In the middle of all this singing and walking, suddenly I began thinking about the circumstances of my birth. My mother was planning to give me up for adoption, and my father really didn't care. There was no one to celebrate my birth. There was no one calling relatives, announcing my birth with joy. Instead, doctors and nurses handed me over to the Lutheran Social Service to place in foster care.
Next, and immediately following that thought, was this one: Even though my biological parents really couldn't get their shit together enough to celebrate my birth, the angels in heaven did celebrate. I believe every human birth, allowed to happen in this world, is celebrated by the angels. Even if no human person ever had or ever would love me the way I wanted, God loved me -- enough to let me be born -- anyway. For that moment, in that fellowship hall, believing in God's belief in me was enough. Of course those humans present did also "love" all the pilgrims that night enough to show up and sing to us. They did that for us, I believe because of a prompting from God.
In any case, God did a work of love in me that night, and in all the other protestant pilgrims. That's how I know God loves protestants. He'll send his Holy Spirit to them to bless them at an Emmaus Walk Retreat Candlelight. I know this, because at the time, I was one of "them."
The wonderful thing is, now I do happen to be Catholic, and I imagine that same love pouring out of God during Mass every weekend. I imagine the angels and saints in heaven worshiping Jesus in the Eucharist, and singing gorgeous songs over the altar about the love of God. And that is a fulfillment of the singing in that room full of people, singing to us pilgrims about the love of God the night of the "Candlelight."
