The Commitment
A quiet conversion, an experience that altered me.
Outside it’s cold and dark. I came into the protective womb of God, to His half-lit sanctuary. Alone I entered, frightened by the confusion of the world outside. I sat in a front pew and silently stared at Him hanging there in true to life size.
Pinned to that wretched, ugly cross. No red paint accented the wounds. Only a flesh-like tan covered the wooden crucifix of the Savior of the World.
The red lamp stood on the altar and no sunlight streamed through the colored window frames. The statues on either side of the building stood silent witnesses to all that transpired that moment.
In the back of the church were two altars with about twenty candles scenting the air and letting their light flicker across the profile of Christ and His Virgin Mother.
It was winter and dark, as the sun vanished for the day. The church was empty — no other human there. A certain feeling of awe came to me, and fear of the darkness inside of me. I could not sit in silence like those statues. I could not sit and look at Him bleeding on that cross.
I was forced to that altar rail to my knees, and the words had to be spoken aloud, though not for man to hear. I put out my hand, compelled by the hollow emptIness within me that cried out in hunger, wanting to be filled to overflowing!
I stretched out my hand toward the cross, praying His Spirit would ease my unbearable loneliness. And I said, “I believe Lord, let me not walk away alone.”
