Reconnecting with the Church

It was February, 1984. I had just arrived late on a Friday evening to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas to begin the six weeks that would change my life. I had a pretty good idea what to expect at Air Force basic training going in, but those first few days were a whirlwind of running, getting shouted at, stripping down my individualism, and all around chaos, courtesy of our three training instructors, whom I learned to fear those first few weeks at Lackland.

The next day, we were given the opportunity to make a brief telephone call home to let our families know we arrived safely and that they wouldn’t be hearing from us for a while. My mother asked how I was doing, and I broke down a little, telling her that maybe I had made a mistake signing up. My father just said, “Buck up!” He was right. I signed the papers, I was there, and I had to make the best of it.

My decision to join the Air Force was based on several factors. First, I was a college drop out. I had no direction in my life, and I wandered aimlessly for several months after leaving college. I had stopped attending Mass regularly while in school, and I was not involved with the Catholic student center at all. Add to that the death of my favorite “brother-cousin” in October of 1983, and I was on a downward spiral. I had to get some direction in my life.

While attending school, I became involved in Air Force ROTC. Being a part of that group peaked my interest in possibly becoming a missile officer upon graduation. Unfortunately, I had started college a few years late and was ineligible for an Air Force scholarship or commission, so I lost all interest in obtaining my degree.

Fast-forward to January 1984. I drove by an Air Force recruiting station near my home and enlisted. My father said it was the best decision I had made so far in my young life, but my mother thought I was throwing away six good years of my life. After the first two days of basic training, I was thinking maybe she was right.

The first Sunday of basic training, my flight gathered in the day room after morning chow, and the training instructor told us we were going to clean the barracks that Sunday and every Sunday for the next six weeks. But then came the caveat. “We’re all going to make this place spit-shine, unless some of you sissy-boys want to go to church this morning instead. I have to offer you the chance to go.” Well, that was my opportunity to get out of some cleaning that day, so I took up the offer and marched with some others from my flight to the base chapel. Mind you, I hadn’t attended Mass for quite some time, but this was an excuse to get out of cleaning duty. Not exactly the right frame of mind or heart to have to attend Mass. However, an amazing thing happened!

While sitting in the chapel during the Eucharistic prayer, I felt a strange feeling coming over me. The best way I can describe it is the sense of a soft blanket crossing my shoulders. I felt warm, accepted, welcomed. It was as if God was pulling my close, saying, “Where have you been, my son?” My emotions took over, and I was pretty emotional through the rest of the Mass.    

After Mass, I asked the training instructor if I could stay after for a little while and talk to the Catholic chaplain. He reluctantly agreed, and I went into the chaplain’s office and told him my story of where I had come from, where I was in life, why I had decided to attend church, and the feelings I had experienced at Mass. He said, “Let me hear your confession, and we’ll go from there.” So I made what was probably the most heart-felt confession I had ever made in my young life. The chaplain admonished me a bit for neglecting my Sunday obligations and for coming to Mass only to get out of cleaning duties, pardoned me for my past sins, welcomed me back to the fold, and encouraged me to come to Mass each Sunday during training and to talk to him afterwards. Maybe he just wanted to make sure I was actually coming to Mass, but those talks were very instructive and eye-opening.

I can’t remember the young priest’s name, but I am forever grateful for his encouragement, guidance and understanding. He helped me get through the rest of basic training, and most importantly put me back on the path of living my Catholic faith again. With the help of my dear faith-filled wife, I have stayed on that path to this day, marveling as to how a cynical motive to get out of barracks duty turned my faith life around, and fondly recalling the wonderful feeling of God’s presence and forgiveness on that Sunday so long ago.