The Wonder Years
I did not grow up in a particularly religious family. You could say we identified as Christians, but there was no reading the bible or praying in our household. My grandmother had a few pictures of the classic Praying Hands around her house, and a shadowbox full of Hubble angels, but no one in my family (as far as I knew) went to church on a regular basis. My Dad would say grace at the holidays, but that was about it. For the first 10 yrs. of my life that was my religion. Praying Hands, Hubble angels, and grace at Thanksgiving and Christmas. That was, until we moved.
My Dad took a new job that moved us from Ohio to Michigan. I was leaving a lot of friends behind and for the first time that I can remember, I would be the new kid in school. Not fun. The other change we made was we started going to church. The story at the time, or at least my understanding of it, was my Mom thought it would be a good idea for us to go to church, and Dad begrudgingly went along. The church they chose was the First United Methodist Church. It was a large church on the edge of a college campus and it became our home for the next few years. I liked going, or at least I liked the activities and crafts we did in Sunday school. Like a lot of kids, I found the services boring, especially the sermon, but what kid doesn’t? The activities made up for it though, and Mom was happy we were going.
When I was around 12, they announced a Confirmation class, and as a soon to be teenager, I was expected to attend. I can’t say I totally understood what it meant to be “confirmed,” but everyone my age was going to the class, so I went along. There was no deep theology taught during Confirmation. We were told that the United Methodist church believed in having you learn as you go. So we were given a cursory introduction to Christianity, and then it was on to Confirmation. One problem though. I had never been baptized. So prior to the ceremony, I had to be baptized, along with one of my friends. As it turns out, my friend’s grandmother had been to Israel and brought back some water from the river Jordan and she wanted her granddaughter to be baptized with it. So, my friend and I were baptized with water from the same river as Jesus. I have to admit, I thought that was pretty cool.
A year or two later, my Dad changed jobs again and we found ourselves moving to a small town of around 1500. There was no United Methodist church around, so we started attending the United Church of Christ. It wasn’t a big adjustment, at least not for me. They did a few things differently, but nothing glaring. I got involved in the youth group that met after church, and the pastor seemed to take an interest in me. I remember he loaned me some books (which I never read) and we spent time talking after church. This ultimately led to me assisting during the service. I would sit up front in my robe, and when the time came I would read the scripture passage for the day. It wasn’t much, but it seemed important at the time. Then strangely, our family stopped going to church. I don’t remember why, but we just quit attending. Not long after that, rumors began to circulate about the pastor and some sexual misconduct with a young man. Needless to say, it freaked me out. I didn’t personally know the kid, but I remember wondering, could that have been me?
A few years ago I was telling the story to a friend of mine and it dawned on me that I never really what happened. The rumor mill in a small town can be vicious. So, I decided to see if I could find anything. Given the fact that it was the 70s, there wasn’t a lot to go on. Google was able to find an obituary for the pastor, but nothing related to a scandal. However, one thing I found was interesting. The website for that little United Church of Christ had a history page that went all the way back to its founding in 1844. It listed the various pastors and the years they served, along with other events. Interestingly, the 70s were missing. There was mention of the congregation becoming a United Church of Christ in 1968, followed by an entry that mentioned: “a bequest from ***** allowed extensive repair work to be initiated at the church.”. This entry was followed by the name of the pastor that came in 1986. They had completely glossed over the years between 1968 and 1986. It was as if the church was closed for renovations. Today, the website has been completely revamped, and the historical timeline is gone, but you can still find a 2015 version on the Internet Archive if you know what you’re looking for.
To this day, I still wonder if the story was true. Obviously, someone wanted to keep his name off the website. It made me wonder if I was being groomed when he took such an interest in me. Did I narrowly escape a pedophile? And if so, why was I spared? What about the other kid? Why did God allow him to be molested and not me? In church no less. I’m sure a lot of Catholics have wondered the same thing. These questions would fuel my doubt for years. Why would God let that happen?
