- Jul 12, 2003
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17 Minutes as a Protestant
I was born a cradle Catholic. I went to Mass every Sunday and loved the Church. At age 26 I decided to become a priest. I was heading out to work when I received the letter from the Archdiocese of Milwaukee rejecting me into the seminary. I loved my Kawasaki 650 SR and had always babied it; NOT TODAY! I stomped her down into gear and let the ponies roar! Gravel flew in the driveway. When she hit the pavement the throttle was wide open; four of Japan’s finest carburetors dumping raw gas into the 650cc raging inferno below. I left the throttle wide open as I smashed through the gears, the clutch had to absorb the difference as the rpms soared way into the red zone. Within seconds we were well beyond 100mph.
I was screaming in my helmet. WHAT ON EARTH ARE THEY THINKING! The Church is dying for priests and they reject me, the perfect Catholic! I will just become a Protestant minister, and then I can marry anyway! I was angry! On and on I went with my screams of pain. What usually took 35 minutes to get to work had now only taken about 17 minutes. I screeched to almost a halt and turned off onto the final straightway to work. Within seconds I was back up to 100 mph plus. All of a sudden, for no reason at all, the bike was kicked out from under me. It was a sunny summer day with no water or gravel on the road, just straight smooth blacktop. I had over 100,000 miles of experience on street bikes. As she went down I simply pulled my leg out from under the falling side and sat on the motorcycle as it slid down the road, on its side. Sparks were flying and metal was grinding. Through all of this, I was still screaming in my helmet of the great injustice the Church had inflicted on me and how I was now a Protestant. Suddenly, for no reason at all, the tires caught the pavement and the bike went vertical. You do the physics. 80 mph and you are suddenly pole-vaulted into the air. I was flying through the air like superman.
It still amazes me at just how many prayers of repentance one can say in the seven or eight, or fifteen seconds that you are flying through the air toward your impending death. It seemed like I had prayed a hundred Our Fathers and Hail Mary’s. God and I had a long talk over the beauty of remaining Catholic over leaving for Protestantism, during that seven or eight or fifteen second doomed flight. Turn’s out I was wrong and God was right, Catholicism is where God wants me, and all people, to be. I begged God to catch me on the other end of the tragic situation I was in. Please Heavenly Father, forgive me of my sin. I will serve, You, the Lord my God, with all my heart, with all my mind, with all my strength and with all my soul, with and through, Your Church, the Catholic Church, if you will only spare my life.
When I hit the pavement, my full face helmet transferred the blow to my shoulders rather than neck. I flipped and hit hard on my back. I was wearing my backpack, which in my backpack was my 1970 edition, St. Joseph’s, NAB bible. There I was, sliding down the road, on my back, in the Hand’s of God, praising and thanking God for granting me mercy. In the thirty three years since that time, me and God have never had to have the Protestant vs. Catholic conversation ever again.
Great story, Steve ! All the more so, for being true, of course.
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