Bringing oneness to the Oneness'
Last summer, I did some door-to-door evangelization work with a missionary group called Youth for the Third Millennium. We were in a remote Native American reservation on the shore of Lake Winnipeg in Canada. The town, Beren's River, had once been almost entirely Catholic. Now, however, the Catholic community lay in shambles, overrun by a mixture of Pentecostalism and apathy.
One afternoon while going door-to-door, my partner and I came across a small group of Oneness Pentecostals sitting on their porch. Shortly after our arrival, their minister showed up with his Bible. "The Holy Spirit told me to come here," he said, waving his arms about. We later found out that the Holy Spirit came in the form of one of his friends, who had called to tell him there were Catholic missionaries "causing trouble."
Our conversation began quickly, with the man throwing out every objection to the Faith that he had within arm's reach (concentrating, of course, on the really emotional ones, like "Why has the Catholic Church killed so many Native Americans?"). After answering each charge, we posed our own queries to him. He wanted no part of this, dodging each question with the agility of a question-dodger half his age. This tactic, however, began to backfire on him. His followers, who had originally been cheering him on, began to grow silent. Soon, they were looking downright uncomfortable.
After about an hour and a half of dancing the apologetics rhumba with the Pentecostal, we decided to go. Getting into doorstep debates is not generally the way we go about sharing the Good News. Before we left, we offered the people on the porch a number of tracts explaining various Catholic beliefs. They were gratefully accepted. However, with a stern command from the minister, his flock quickly handed them back to us. As we walked away from what seemed like an evangelistic failure, I reflected on the example that we gave. The folks who were there witnessed a vivid (and on our part, charitable) clash between truth and error. The looks on their faces as we departed told us they were no longer entirely confident which side they were on.
Brian Paul, Laurel, MD

Ellen, be generous to yourself
At a conservative political rally I attended not long ago, an active, vocal lesbian came up to me and denounced me for being there.
Rather than getting hostile in return, I calmly asked her a little about her background. It turned out she was a lapsed Catholic who was living in a lesbian relationship. When she asked why I was so bigoted, narrow-minded and hostile (by attending this rally), I said that I was not; I believed that the love of Christ extends to all people, including lesbians and male homosexuals, but we need to distinguish between God's love for us and His disapproval of things we do that are harmful to ourselves.
I said that the homosexual lifestyle was harmful to people, which she asked me to explain. We talked, and I explained why the Church teaches that homosexual actions are immoral. After about 15 minutes of discussion, she said that she had never heard this type of reasoning before, and that, in fact, she had no basis for justifying what she did. Further, she decided to "leave her (lover) right now, not knowing what I'm going to do with my life or how I'm going to live." It was at that moment that I became aware of how powerfully the Holy Spirit can work to move somebody's conscience, independent of my argumentation.
Obviously something was troubling the woman if she would go out of her way to come to a political rally that had nothing to do with gay or lesbian rights. Something was pricking her conscience. I happened to be at the right place at the right time, and was used by the Holy Spirit to move her. I don't know what ultimately happened to her. For all I know, she went back to continuing her lifestyle, but at the very least, she heard the call of God on her life. That's really what we are called to do. We can't guarantee the success of any discussion or opportunity we have. We're just called to be faithful. It's amazing how God can use us in those instances.
Mark Brumley, Napa, CA

Thanks, Mom
It was near the end of the Vietnam war. My husband, a civilian technician, had just taken a new job, and I was feeling sad, lonely and remarkably sorry for myself.
Leaving behind family and friends, we moved cross-country to a tiny, close-knit military town on the achingly beautiful Pacific Northwest coast. I knew few people. Now, soon afterwards, my husband left to accompany a naval squadron to sea for only God knew how many months.
Then I thought of my Mom's consoling remark that you are never really alone. "To share the wonderful gift of our Faith, it's not good enough to believe as a Catholic, one has to behave as a Catholic," this tiny, gray-haired daughter of immigrants had often firmly admonished. "Actions speak louder than words." So, sadly, my little son and I would slip out of the house several times a week, walking down the hills of our quiet neighborhood to early Mass. Only God's presence could fill such emptiness. I wanted to get closer.
At Mass, I would pray fervently for the safety of my husband and the conversion of a number of our distant loved ones who realized nothing of the truth and comforts of the Church. "Please God, let not one be lost," I would pray urgently. Long ago, there had been many discussions, some heated, with next to no results. But as Mom would say, "Oh, there's all kinds of misunderstandings and misperceptions. You never really know about people. Don't ever give up."
As Spring arrived, it was time for the customary Wednesday garage sales to begin. On the first such day, as we came back up the hill, we noticed the hefty steps of a large, older woman in a housecoat and thick sweater. She seemed irritated about something as she eyed us from a distance. She was lugging a card table, some boxes and a folding chair from her open garage door to the middle of her driveway. As we approached, she plumped herself down strongly on her wooden chair, adjusted her glasses, and coldly stared at us. She pulled her sweater tightly around her. Although we'd never met, I knew her to be the wife of one of the older military men on board the carrier.
Hesitating, I smiled a good morning as we drew near. Setting down her coffee cup carelessly, she suddenly pulled herself up sternly. "Where have you been?" she inquired rudely. "You really think nobody sees you? I've seen you trotting off early every morning! And you have the nerve to bring your little boy with you!" My son stood silently sucking his thumb, looking solemnly up at us both. Coming to an abrupt halt, we stopped a few feet away from her. Astonished, I blurted out, "We've been to Mass!"
Equally astonished, she responded, "Mass? You're Catholic? You mean you go to church? At 6:30 in the morning? On a weekday? I thought you were . . . " Smiling a little embarrassedly now, she said slowly, "Why? What kind of people go to church at 6:30 in the morning on a weekday? You want a cup of coffee? I had a Catholic relative once that used to go to Mass. I always wondered about her."
She hurried to get another cup of coffee and we sat on our two rickety folding chairs, smiling together. She handed a stale breadstick to my son. Explanations were begun. She'd always kind of wondered about Catholics, she said. Our hurried discussion revolved around a brief explanation of what Mass is. What goes on in a Catholic church that would "bring anybody out to Mass" on a darkened morning. Other questions were posed: Why would you want to go to church "when nobody that's anybody" (meaning anybody socially prominent) could possibly be there? If you really have to pray, why not do that at home, in your own warm bed?
From her own past experience, church was primarily a social gathering of like-minded folks. Apparently, she had gone to church only on rare occasions, mostly for weddings and funerals, and had found that all the socializing of the military "was quite enough to keep her busy." She was quite surprised to find that there might be somebody else there, gathering with us, at that hour. It had never occurred to her that God Himself might "go to church." I tried to explain the presence of Christ in the tabernacle but the conversation soon floundered. I had to back up. It was obvious I wasn't getting across.
So from God's actual presence in a Catholic church, the conversation soon drifted toward discussion of the Real Presence in the Eucharist. The possibility of that simply boggled her mind. It was something she had apparently never thought about at all.
Nowadays, I might have referred her to biblical references. However, at the time, since I honestly didn't know myself, I simply mentioned that has always been the belief of the Catholic Church. She just looked at me silently. At that time we both spotted a car, its inhabitants scrutinizing house numbers painted on the curb, and so hurried goodbyes were said. My son and I walked on home. After that, I saw her only rarely, usually as she dashed by in her car. But I always got a warm smile and a friendly wave.
Within months, we were transferred back East. I heard she and her family had sought further, more complete, explanations from the kindly local pastor. The explanations must have been thorough and convincing. Eventually we heard from mutual neighbors that these folks "surprisingly were now full-fledged members" of our Holy Mother Church.
Mom was right.
Tricia Gardener, Columbia, MD

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