I had always been a reluctant scholar. Even my first day in Kindergarten is still clearly etched in my mind. Our teacher Mrs. Kennedy, a kindly, grandmotherly figure, talked soothingly to me as she unsuccessfully tried  to  pry my grip from my mother's skirt. Little did I know this day was to be the beginning of a long and undistinguished academic career in elementary school, junior high school, and high school, which culminated in the droning voice of Mr. Cox my senior class guidance counselor. 

But, I am ahead of the story.

I grew up in a small New England town called Greenfield that lies nestled between the Connecticut River and the Berkshire Mountains of Western Massachusetts.  Greenfield in the 1940's, 50's, and early 60's, exemplified the values illustrated in a Norman Rockwell painting of small town America that graced many covers of the Saturday Evening Post.  In fact, he had a studio in Old Deerfield which is about five miles from Greenfield.

Some of my earliest memories are going to parades with marching bands and antique automobiles, Fourth of July picnics and the fireworks that followed, and a Native American we called "Warhorse" who on hot summer days gave us chips off the huge chunks of ice  he carried on his back when many people's refrigerators were still ice boxes.

By the time I entered elementary school, my father was teaching me to hunt and fish. We spent hours playing catch and he taught me how to hit a baseball. When I was seven, I was ready for Little League. Although I could hit quite well, I couldn't field with a bushel basket and quickly became my team's catcher. 

High school years passed all too quickly. I was a jock for all seasons: football, baseball, basketball, tennis, golf, and wrestling. High school was a combination of extra curricular activities, sports, and the Order of De Molay, which is a Masonic organization for high school aged boys. Unfortunately, it was my lack of interest in academics that had led me to Mr. Cox's office.

Mr. Cox droned on finally ending our meeting with the fateful words, "You were always a reluctant scholar.  Look at your SAT scores.  No college will accept you.  Maybe you can work in a gas station or join the Army.  You are not smart enough to go to college."

Mr. Cox was right. Well, almost right. I was admitted to the University of Tampa on probation and spent the next nine years being a reluctant scholar at three different colleges in Florida before earning my B.A. in social science at the University of Baltimore.

To my surprise, graduate school became redemption for the reluctant scholar. My interests have always been eclectic including education, criminal justice, linguistics, philosophy, and theology. I also approached my courses in graduate school with the same intensity I had invested in athletics. 

As a consequence, I found far from being the reluctant scholar, I enjoyed a good argument in the Greek sense and that somewhere along the way I had developed a facility with language, research, and writing others had not.

I also discovered my shotgun approach of taking classes scattered among many disciplines in undergraduate school was not a sign of being unfocused but rather of being truly interested in many different fields. This gave me the opportunity to approach problems from an interdisciplinary perspective.  Therefore, I could link seemingly unrelated aspects of one field to the issues of another resulting in a more comprehensive synthesis that enhanced my assessment of strategies applied to problem solving.

The reluctant scholar has come full circle. I have been a teacher in elementary school, middle school, and high school. I was also a professor and department head at Baltimore City Community College. I am the author of critically acclaimed books. I am  a member of  the faculty of two seminaries and also mentor to seminarians.

Spiritual Path

Among my earliest memories is going to church with my parents. According to the Anglo-Catholic  Catechism of the Episcopal Church, it was our "bounden duty" to attend church every Sunday. To my mother, this was not a suggestion but a mandate from God. So, we attended St. James Episcopal Church every Sunday unless we couldn't get our head off the pillow.

But my parents weren't just "Sunday Christians." My love of incense was nurtured by three hour Good Friday services and by early elementary school I knew the "Seven Last Words" as well as my own name. My  mother was active in the Women's Circle and my father was a canvasser for the Every Member Canvas. Before we went on vacation, we first made a visit to the St. James Chapel for a family Mass and blessing.

As soon as I was old enough, I joined the Children’s Choir and became an acolyte. As an acolyte I was a candle bearer, server, thurifer, and crucifer. My senior year in high school I was given the honor of Master Acolyte which meant I trained and supervised the boys who were just becoming acolyte. 

During elementary and junior high school, I played the roles of angel, shepherd, Magi, and Joseph in the Epiphany play. I was a member of the Junior- Senior High School Episcopal Youth Fellowship and was elected president my senior year.

During my freshman year at the University of Tampa, I was elected Vice President of the Canterbury Association and its representative to the college's Religious Council. Our chaplain encouraged me to apply for the National Council of Churches summer work-study program in Ghana, West Africa. Much to my surprise, I was one of 17 college students accepted as a participant.

That summer had a profound effect on my spiritual development. The first week was an orientation in New York City. One of our group had a friend who invited the three of us to go to Harlem one night. When we arrived, I discovered we were at a mosque. After being frisked and removing our shoes, we were escorted to our seats. By the time I realized I was the only white person in the room, a man slightly older than me took the podium and began to speak.

I was shocked! For the next hour and a half I was more than uncomfortable as he preached about slavery, slave names, White Devils, Negro empowerment, and the demand the United States cede three Southern states to “Negroes” as reparation for slavery, segregation, and all the injustices suffered by his people. 

However, his most shocking declaration was Christianity is the white man’s religion imposed on “Negroes” to keep them in their place. In its place, he preached Islam is the one true religion of liberation that would meet the spiritual as well as the temporal needs of “Negroes.”

After the crowd left, the three of us were brought to a back room to meet this man. I learned his name was Malcolm X. When he looked at me, I felt he could see to the very depths of my soul. For the next hour he spoke of many things and answered all of our questions. By the time we left, I knew I had been in the presence of a man truly touched by God.

We had been told we would experience culture shock in Ghana, but I was still not prepared. Although the people spoke English, by the time we arrived at the small village of Agbosome where we were to help build a church and teach in the Anglican school, I realized just how different the next months would be. 

Nothing was the same: food, shelter, using an outhouse if available or simply disappearing into the bush, mixed gender bathing in public using a bucket of hot and a bucket of cold, living with malaria, and that most of the time women were naked above the waist.

My first reaction was how primitive and atavistic this country and these people were. However, as I learned over the next weeks and months, nothing could be farther from the truth.

I gradually became aware of the deep spirituality of the Ghanaian people. Despite crushing poverty and a totalitarian government ruled by a despot, there was no question the light of Christ burned brightly in their soul.

I also learned the true meaning of hospitality. It was a hospitality not born of obligation or duty, but rather the kind practiced when each person is regarded as being the image of Christ. I discovered the material markers of success, happiness, and joy, are measured by love of family, neighbor, and God. This type of love is manifested by a generous spirit without regard to self. 

By the time I returned home, I realized these “primitive” and “atavistic” people had taught me more about what it means to be a Christian and member of the human race than all the efforts of my parents and church.

I wasn't aware of it at the time, but my freshman year in college had been the beginning of a ten year, on again-- off again, quest to obtain my bachelor’s degree.  Although I remained active in the Episcopal Church, my thought of becoming a priest was pushed aside by poor grades, work, marriage, and relocation. 

Within a year of earning my bachelors degree, I had earned my first graduate degree and was appointed to the faculty of Baltimore City Community College. I enjoyed teaching, but soon became restless. My mind kept returning to thoughts of priesthood. 

I approached the bishop, went through the evaluation process, was accepted as a Postulant, and applied to General Theological Seminary in New York City. After a visit over Christmas vacation, I was accepted. However, shortly thereafter, the bishop told me he could only offer financial assistance if I went to seminary at Virginia Theological Seminary. As my  belief system was Anglo Catholic (high church), I did not feel that in conscience I could attend a Protestant Episcopal (low church) seminary and declined the bishop's offer.  He told me the door would always be open.

Two years later there was a new bishop. He sent me for an updated psychological evaluation and agreed to send me to General Theological Seminary. I resigned my faculty position and put my house on the market.  Shortly thereafter, I received a letter from the bishop stating he had withdrawn his support but no reason was given. The letter said I could go to seminary, but their was no guarantee of ordination when I returned. 

When the bishop finally agreed to meet with me, he told me the reason he had withdrawn his support was I had told the psychologist I had been in an adversarial relationship with my mother since I was seven years old. He then told me he could not have a priest who did not love his mother. 

I told him the issue had nothing to do with my not loving her. I reminded him I was adopted and the fact was there could not be two more mismatched people in terms of emotion and world-view, and consequently more antagonistic to one another, than us. 

I asked the bishop if he was saying I was to be denied priesthood for being honest. His response was, "yes." He then told me if my mother and I reconciled, and she sent him a letter to that effect, that would remove my impediment and he would ordain me when I returned from seminary.

I was bitter and angry. I felt the bishop was unfair. I was devastated and felt betrayed by the church I loved so dearly. In my heart I  knew God had called me, and continued to call me, to the priesthood. My feelings of anger and betrayal were so great, I stopped going to church for several years.

During the middle 1970's, my wife was a member of a music ministry in a Roman Catholic Church. I volunteered to play guitar and a couple of years later my wife decided she wanted to become a Roman Catholic. With no hope of becoming a priest in the Episcopal Church, I joined her.

I spent the next 25 years as a practicing Roman Catholic performing in several different parishes. However, my interest in theology soon returned. As soon as I could, I took a sabbatical leave from teaching and attended St. Mary's Roman Catholic Seminary as a student in the School of Theology through St. Mary's Ecumenical Institute. When that year ended,  I stayed at St. Mary's where I earned a graduate degree in theology. 

My experience at St. Mary's again confirmed to me God was still called me to be a priest. But, how could this be? I was settled in the Roman Catholic Church, married, and had children. I investigated the Permanent Deaconate but discerned it was not for me.  Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I could not put priesthood out of my mind. In my soul, I knew God was still calling me to priesthood.

I had always enjoyed writing and in 1995 decided I would put my seminary years to benefit by writing a book. However, to be credible I knew I needed a doctorate. The closest school that offered a doctorate in theology was Catholic University of America. However, it was an hour's drive away and would require attending classes 3-4 nights per week for three or four years.

I did not feel that would be fair to my family, so I began to search the Internet for a seminary where I could earn a doctorate by distance learning. I soon discovered there were many, but they were all Evangelical.Then one night, my wife called me to her computer. On the web site was the question, Do you want to become a Catholic priest? 

My wife had found the website for the Catholic Apostolic Church of Antioch–Malabar Rite. The page had a link to Sophia Divinity School which is the seminary of the Church of Antioch and it offered a Doctor of Theology Degree by distance learning.

As I look back over my life at the roadblocks that prevented me from becoming a priest in the Episcopal Church as well as my years in the Roman Catholic Church, I see them as a blessing. I didn't understand at the time, but all of my frustrations and disappointments were God's crucible for tempering and preparing me for priesthood. 

God had a plan for me and it was to lead me to where he wanted me to be: first, a priest in the Church of Antioch and now a priest in the Ascension Alliance for Spiritual Renewal.