Welcome home, son

At the age of seventy- six, I have seen and lived through much of the ebb and flow of Catholic renewal that came and went in the 20th and now the twenty-first century. Candidly, I was anaesthetised to any Church change and continued practicing a rather lifeless faith.

I left the Catholic church in early 2020 and only returned in 2023.  I was curious to know if anyone had noticed that I had left and returned. Some believed I was dead. 

​Imagine my reaction when I held a door open for a lady with a walker. I didn't know her but imagined her to be in her early eighties. I assumed she'd pass me, enter the church and I would probably never see her again. She stopped, looked me straight in the eye, fixed her gaze on me, put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Gerald, you've been away too long."

I was thunderstruck, speechless. This was something I wanted and needed to hear since I never really felt at home in Catholicism. I thought that was all she wanted to say. It would have been enough.  Still, she continued to meet me eye to eye, her right hand on my left shoulder. Since I thought her ready to enter the church, I moved accordingly, but she said,  "Stop. There's more." "Welcome home," she said. I tell you I felt my knees buckling.  She very carefully, very clearly articulated "son," and was gone, leaving me to wonder about the implications of this meeting.

​Way: A Personal Reflection on Renewal 

​by Gerald Morton

The old man in me of unbent knee,
a renegade in the past, gone at last with all its cast,
been overtaken by a journey within me. A call of change.
No scheme envision’d or dream, found it in my inner attic space.
Doesn’t emanate from my head, man’s intent, my invent.
Or least by worth, works, purse, or shallow re-arrange,
nor promise of reserved seat in that future place.

It’s a choice, an ache, a fire in the belly, a life to live, not see by sight.
It’s a dying. No easy way to pray or say on any given day.
Not for the feint plaster caste saint, would be in vain.
This commission for the plain, this desert walk of light and dark,
never the favour’d, fashion’d flavour of the day.

When He takes, breaks, and remakes for in’nard way,
look’in in, up and out, for those that will not seek.
Cheapest grace in market place, sold for earthly prospers sake.
Listen those that chose broad highway, brings only earthly fame.
When ground around falls in abound, won’t stand your ground.
Can’t hitch a ride, no place to abide when flame burns out.

This narrow road, the one to take for His sake,
its path clearly mark’d, no easy way, no exit lane or turnaround.
It’s uphill inn’ard ground, mountain climb ‘gainst the grain in rough terrain.
Concedes no rest, admits no peace, only done in pain, darken’d fears,
sweat and tears, dust, sackcloth and ashes.
Just to Follow in His steps to Calvary’s narrow gate, once again.
All of this not in vain.

Not work of a day or free, being stretched to this degree
for this pearl, an inheritance greatly prized.
More, a hundred hundred graces more, of course.
Can’t be counted, borrowed, bought, lent or leased, not for rent,
made or changed in trade by the day, not lock’t away for sunny days.
Only sought, shared, unspared, spent for community and beyond.

Time is now. Follow in His Way.
Repent, Renew, be Reconciled, be Aflame in His name.
​It’s His Mandate, mission, and commission.

Written by Gerald Morton, All Saints Parish, Lethbridge.