By Greg Griffith
After more than ten years on the front lines of the Anglican wars, I
have made a major change. This past Easter vigil, my family and I were
confirmed in the Roman Catholic Church.
It’s a measure of what a long and strange journey it’s been for me
over this past decade that I’ve even had to entertain the question of
what kind of reaction this might cause among people I’ve never even met,
or the political ripples it might send out through the various quarters
of my allies and opponents.
I was raised in a straight-from-central-casting, large Southern
Baptist church: The building occupying an entire city block, the Sunday
service televised, communion (as it were) once a year, consisting of
saltine crackers and Welch’s grape juice.
After about a decade as a more or less unchurched young adult, I
married a Catholic girl, in the Catholic church, but due to a dismal
experience in pre-marriage counseling classes, we quickly drifted away
from the church. Following her parents - who reconciled a
Catholic/Methodist marriage by joining the Episcopal Church - within a
few years we were also received into the Episcopal Church. Nearly a
decade of quiet, uneventful participation was followed by another decade
of, shall we say, intense participation, beginning with the
fallout from the consecration of Gene Robinson in 2003 : Before that, I
was sitting quietly in the back pews. Soon after, I was one of the most
visible Anglican laymen on Planet Earth.
That is not how I planned it to be, or even how I would have
predicted it would be, but as we all know, God has his own plans for us
and they are rarely what we would have chosen if left to our own