The difference between a Cathedral and a Basilica
Who doesn’t like to laugh? I love to find humor in things because laughing does amazing things for our health and life. One thing I like to tell others is about the day, as a Protestant, I “met Jesus”.
I grew up in a household where my mother went to a small, country, Methodist Church and my father only stepped through the church doors for my brother’s wedding. My mother, on the other hand, seemed to only go to church for an image and because in the “Bible belt” of the south it was expected. If one wanted to succeed in something, then one better be attending church with the individuals that could make that happen.
My mother made me go to church each Sunday because it looked good for her. I thought Jesus was only a story in a book. I went with my grandmother (who was a very devoted Christian) and my mother one day to a revival at that little church. The preacher spent the entire sermon talking about hell, the fire and brimstone and suffering of hell. As a 10-year-old, the thought of spending an hour, much less eternity, burning in hell scared me. I “walked the aisle and said a prayer” when the pastor told us if we wanted to be “saved” and spend eternity in heaven away from the suffering hell then we needed to come forward to the front and pray with him. So, I stepped out of the aisle and went to pray with him.
I didn’t know the significance of it, but my only thought was “so do I get fire insurance?” I believed that the “prayer”, as a kid, gave me some kind of fire insurance from suffering in that eternal fire of damnation. My grandmother came up to me afterward, grabbed me by both shoulders, and was so excited. She kept saying “you’re saved”. “You received Jesus. You’re saved”. I kept thinking “saved from what? Saved from fire?”
So, the “walk an aisle and say a prayer” became my “fire insurance” for most of my life. The only question I still had was “don’t I get some kind of paper that shows the devil I have fire insurance.”