My Road to Baptism (Part 4): The Lessons Began Without Warning

Becoming Catholic as an adult usually involves a period of preparation and study.

In Japan, the exact arrangement varies from parish to parish. Some people study in small groups, while others meet individually with a priest or a sister.

At my parish, there were several different possibilities. Some studied with a priest, alone or in a very small group. Others joined a group led by sisters from a religious order.

In my case, the sister I had met at the little shop had already contacted a priest for me.

And so, almost automatically, I was going to study with him.

After spending so many years wanting to enter a church but never quite managing it, I had finally taken my first step.

I felt wonderfully light.

And, to be honest, rather excited.

Meeting the priest

I arranged to visit the priest on a Wednesday evening after work.

As far as I understood, this was simply going to be a first meeting.

I would introduce myself.

We would talk about what came next.

Perhaps we would decide when I should begin studying.

The sister had said, “Why don’t you speak with Father first and decide everything afterwards?”

So that was exactly what I expected.

I arrived at the church feeling slightly nervous.

At the parish office, I was told to go directly to the priest’s room.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

I opened it.

And there stood…

not quite the priest I had imagined.

He’s just a normal bloke

He was wearing ordinary clothes.

And sandals.

He looked like a perfectly ordinary, friendly man.

My immediate thought was something like:

“Wait… he’s just a normal bloke!”

I had only seen him celebrating Mass.

Somehow, I had assumed that priests always wore a Roman collar and dark, formal-looking clothes.

Apparently not.

I know now, of course, that priests are all different.

Some are always very neatly dressed.

Some are rather stylish.

And some are extremely casual.

This priest belonged firmly to the third group.

To me, he looked less like the image of a priest I had carried in my head and more like my dad after working in the vegetable garden.

It was strangely reassuring.

And then it suddenly began

The priest asked me a few questions.

Who I was.

Why I had started coming to church.

What had brought me there.

Then he asked:

“So, you would like to begin preparing to become Catholic?”

“Yes, please,” I replied.

An application form appeared.

I began filling it in while wondering which day of the week might work best for future lessons.

Then the priest said:

“Right. Shall we begin?”

And placed a very thick Bible on the desk.

…

Oh.

We were starting today.

Just like the Sign of Peace at my first Mass, the lessons had arrived without warning.

Apparently, this was becoming a pattern.

Wednesday evenings

From then on, I visited the priest every Wednesday evening after work.

At that point, I still had no idea when I might be baptised.

Perhaps the following Christmas.

Perhaps Easter.

Or perhaps even the year after that.

I did not know.

For the moment, I simply opened the Bible and began.