If you have read the last two posts, you have become aware of the struggle of one little Catholic boy to make some sense of what he was being taught to pray and believe and to do in the forties and fifties. He grew up in this environment and though he never thought to question it, he did have questions with no answers.
Some time went by and the little boy was distracted from his concerns about hell and heaven. He was enjoying being a kid and doing what kids do. Then, one day, without any warning, his questions came flooding back with a vengeance. Everything became a far second to his thoughts of heaven and hell.
He had overheard someone talking about being good enough to get to heaven. That did it! In no time at all the worry started up again. “Am I being good enough to go to heaven? I’m an altar boy, that should do it. What if God don’t think so…what if…?”
The torment was back and would stay with him through the coming years. He would graduate parochial school and go on to public high school. He would begin to drift away from the stoic discipline of his younger days. The world would slowly mire him into the day-to-day struggle of living. He would think about heaven and hell now and then, but it would be many years before his questions would find the answers he was looking for.
In the spring of 1977, in a small white church house, he found the answers. They were not in any particular denomination, but in his heart and in that mysterious black book he opened once so many years ago. He found out that an “all good God” not only loves him, but He died for him on a wooden cross so that he could go to heaven.
God did know his name.“Jesus loves me, this I know; For the Bible tells me so.”