My mom and dad both left their home and family in
Norway and came to America as teenagers. Some years later they met each other
in New York City and married in 1927. My father’s heart’s desire was always to
return permanently to Norway with his wife and daughter. It was not until 1937
(after I was born) that we moved to Norway.
In 1939, the German army invaded Austria,
Czechoslovakia and Poland. Everyone suspected that Hitler would soon invade
Norway because of its strategic location and deep water fjords. My mom loved
America and convinced my father to come home to the USA. Five months later,
Germany did indeed invade Norway. During the next five years, many Norwegians,
especially those in the Resistance were killed by the Gestapo, including some
of my relatives.
We settled in the Connecticut Berkshires. It was so
rural that my elementary school had all eight grades in one classroom. Our
family attended a small Lutheran church of mostly Norwegian immigrants.
Many Protestants are anti-Catholic and my own family
was no exception. When I was twelve, I asked my older sister “why we don’t like
Catholics.” She repeated the usual distortions and misapprehensions – that
Catholics think the pope is always right, they worship Mary, pray to idols,
confess their sins to a man and not God and their Bible is different. It was
years later that I learned that the only difference was that Protestants
removed seven Old Testament books after the Reformation.
We
got our first TV set about 1950 and watched whatever was on the one channel we
received. On Tuesday night was Bishop Fulton J. Sheen. My dad was attentive to
him and after one program, he paused a few moments and said, “Even though he is
a Catholic priest, he makes a lot of sense.” Dad speaking positively about a
Catholic priest impressed me.
I attended a Jesuit College and learned a lot there.
One of my courses was Marriage and one time, the instructor said, “Make sure
when you find a girl you want to marry, be sure you like her – love, of course
– but really, really like her, because that girl will be your best friend for
the rest of your life.”
Mom and dad’s problem with Myrna was that she was a
Catholic and very devout, at that. I knew she was a “keeper” and we made plans
to marry. We were scheduled to attend a pre-Cana conference… and I didn’t show
up. The next time we met I acted like nothing happened, but of course Myrna
begged to differ. She forgave me and we married on February 23, 1963 at St.
Anthony’s Catholic Church in New York. After some resistance, my parents
attended the wedding.
We lived about 130 miles from my parents and Myrna
made sure we visited them at least one weekend a month for the rest of their
lives. On Sundays we always attended the Lutheran service with them. This was
all Myrna’s doing, not mine. She melted their hearts and they came to love this
Catholic woman.
After
Mass one Sunday, I was grumbling about sitting – standing – kneeling over and
over. A lady sitting behind us tapped Myrna on the shoulder and told her, “Keep
bringing the body; the heart and head will soon follow.” That lady was right, I
started my lessons in the Faith soon thereafter. Fr. Duffy at St. Patrick’s dispelled
the distortions I grew up with explaining what we really believe as Catholics.
The most difficult hurdle for me was confession, but Fr. Duffy had a great
method to prepare for the sacrament of Confession. He suggested using 1 Corinthians
13:4-6 as an examination of conscience. These are the famous verses about love,
but he suggested substituting the pronoun “I” or my name for the word “love.”
After
we relocated to Texas, coming to CRHP was initially intended as just another
activity. But it proved to be much more, both spiritually and emotionally.
We’ve been to so many retreats over the years and were enriched by them all,
but CRHP is unique and has been a blessing for me and Myrna.
— Parishioner
Teddy
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