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No Infused Grace
Profile
Name
Rev. Ronald R Shea, Esq.
Denomination
Baptist
Home Church
Lindly Avenue Baptist Church
Missions Country
Pakistan
Gender
Male
Marital Status
Single
Address
Kept private by request
Phone
Kept private by request.
Kept private by request.
- Testimony
- Biography
- Stories
- Photos
I was reared in a devout Roman Catholic home. My father was an Irish Catholic from the fifth ward of Newport Rhode Island, which might as well have been County Cork for its population of Irish Catholics. My mother was a Polish Catholic girl from Chicago, which, at one time, had more Poles than any city outside of Warsaw. Given that these are the two most practicing Catholic countries in the world, one might surmise that I was rather steeped in the doctrines of the Roman church. As with so many other sects within Christendom, I was taught that my salvation was not contingent upon the work of the Savior, but dependent upon my obedience to the ten Commandments. Actually, the work of the Savior was unknown to me. Every "good Friday" we would make the "stations of the cross" reflecting on the torture and death of Jesus. But what was the significance of it? Basically, my theology was, "look what those mean people are doing to Jesus. This is just TERRRIBLE!." It was a historical event . . . a tragedy. A tragedy over which my church made a big deal. But my salvation That was based on the Ten Commandments. Like most church goers, the theology of the cross was unknown to me. My church differentiated sins into two categories. A "mortal sin" was sufficiently serious to be worthy of hell. A "venial" sin was less significant. If, upon your death, you had a mortal sin "on your soul" you would go straight to hell. However, if you had no mortal sins "on your soul" when you died, you would go to a place called "Purgatory" to pay for your venial sins. Now Purgatory was every bit as hot as hell. It's only “saving grace” (if you will pardon the pun) is that it was not as permanent as hell. It was only a temporary way-station where you would be punished for your sins. But one day, you would get out. My church had a complex system of salvation. In confession, you told your sins to a priest, and he absolved you of your sins. This was particularly important for mortal sins, as it was the only way one could have a mortal sin removed from their soul and stay out of eternal hell. But the removal of venial sins was much more complex. Confession absolved you of your sins, but you still faced Purgatory. So I never quite understood what advantageous confession held for venial sins. The only real advantage I could see was that, if some sin were “right on the line” between mortal and venial, it was probably best to confess it and get it erased. After all, if you went over the line, and didn’t realize it, you were headed for eternal hell. Beyond that, I couldn’t see much good in confessing venial sins. But I did so nevertheless, hoping that one day I would ferret out this complex matrix of rituals that worked together toward my salvation. The other sacraments were also very important. I knew that communion (the Lord’s Supper) was the most sacred of all, but I really didn't understand why. Receiving communion was supposed to “infuse grace” into me. This mystical substance called "grace" was supposed to empower me to live a good life, so I would sin less, and consequently, spend less time in purgatory (or—God forbid—hell!). But I was a good boy who always tried to obey his parents, and I never really saw much of a difference in my behavior whether or not I went to communion. It was like an over-the-counter multiple vitamin. You heard a lot of advertising about its benefits, but never really saw any actual results. There was also a complex system of different kinds of graces. I can only remember two of them now, "actual grace" and "sanctifying grace." Apart from empowering me to be a better boy (an effect I never really saw), it played one other important function. If I died “in the state of grace,” I was going to heaven eventually. Since grace was a mystical substance infused into your soul, as I understood it, being in a "state of grace" meant that some of this mystical substance remained "in your soul." If I did not die in the state of grace, I would go to hell. So the second function that "grace" seemed to have was to act as a sort of a spiritual marker to distinguish the saved from the damned. If you had any grace whatsoever "within" your soul when you died, this was sufficient to keep you out of hell. When you received church sacraments, grace was infused into you. Much like increasing the air pressure of a neon gas in a glass tube used a neon sign. The more neon, the more brightly it would glow. And when you sinned, grace would "leak out" so to speak. Venial sins reduced the level of grace, but never extinguished the flame entirely. I imagined that, like a neon sign with very little neon left, your "soul" would still glow in the dark--as it were--if it had any "grace" left in it when you died. But a mortal sin? All the "grace" would flow out of your soul, and not the slightest glimmer of divine "grace" would remain. When reviewed by God on judgment day, your soul would be empty. Dark. Without the divine spark called "grace." And you would die without hope. But the sacraments still did not provide the answers I sought. To me, there were two abiding issues. Firstly, I needed to stay out of hell. Secondly, I needed to minimize the time I spent burning in Purgatory. Beyond that, I really didn't care how much "grace" I had "in my soul." Hell? That was fairly straight forward. Avoid "mortal sins," and go to confession regularly and tell all your sins to the priest, just to make sure. If any of your sins were “mortal”, they would be erased, and you would escape the eternal torment of hell. But Purgatory remained much harder to quantify. I wanted “hard answers.” Facts and figures. Not just fluffy platitudes about how important some sacrament was, or how much "grace" it would infuse into my soul. As long as I retained any "grace" to identify me among the saved on the last day, that was enough "grace" for me. Beyond that, my only concern was reducing my stay in the temporary inferno called "purgatory." Finally, one day, in the third grade, I received some "hard facts" I so deeply craved. We were given little "prayer cards." These were about the same size as playing cards from a deck. Each card had picture of some sacred figure on one side and a prayer on the reverse side. At the bottom of the prayer, it said “good for fifteen years indulgence.” (The longer the prayer, the longer the indulgence.) An indulgence was time you would not have to serve in Purgatory. You would get out early. Finally, I had found the hard answers I sought. "Hard facts" and quantifiable figures that would get me out of Purgatory! After all, figures don’t lie! And beneath each prayer was the specific number of years by which the prayer would reduce my time in Purgatory. This was the answer for which I had been seeking! Naturally, the longer prayers provided greater indulgence than the shorter prayers. I received two prayer cards in class. One had a prayer worth fifteen years of indulgences, and the other had a prayer worth forty-five years of indulgences. I can still remember both prayers. The short one was called the “Glory Be.” The words were “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it is now, was in the beginning, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.” This was good for a fifteen year indulgence! The second prayer was a much longer. “Remember oh most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known, that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored they help, or sought they intersession, was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee. Oh virgin of virgins, my mother, to thee I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. Oh mother of the word incarnate, despise not my petition, but in thy mercy, hear, and answer me, Amen.” Naturally, the longer prayer was good for a much longer indulgence. In this case, it was 45 years. However, when one is trying to reduce your time in a burning inferno called Purgatory, questions such as aesthetics pale into insignificance. The only question of any significance in my mind was saving my skin . . . and doing it as efficiently as possible! Being a bright young boy, and not wanting to spend any more time in purgatory than absolutely necessary, the issue seemed rather clear cut to me. Which prayer gave me the most "bang for the buck?" To determine this, I timed how long it took for me to say each prayer. I could recite the shorter of the two in a little less than five seconds. This meant twelve to fourteen prayers per minute. If I earned a fifteen year indulgence with each recitation, this meant that, in one minute, I could knock off about 200 years of Purgatory. Not bad! The longer prayer took closer to 18 or 19 seconds to recite. This meant that for every minute praying, I could knock off 145 years of burning in purgatory. Maybe 150 if I could get fast at it. It was really no contest! When trying to reduce one’s stay in a burning inferno, the shorter prayer was clearly the prayer of choice. By saying the shorter of the two prayers, for every minute of prayer, it would knock off an additional 50 years of purgatory when compared with the longer prayer. I could not understand why others had not gone through this calculation and published their conclusions for the benefit of all mankind. This was a really important discovery! Having formulated the first part of my plan, the second part was to test the limits of human endurance. So with my alarm clock by my side, I knelt down to pray. I recited the "Glory Be" for ten minutes straight. . . keeping a tally, of course, for the number of prayers I recited. I realized God could keep track of such things, and I had full confidence in his omniscience. But I also needed to know where I stood. Recite probably wouldn't be the right word. Mumble would be more like it. But if you have ever been to a ritualistic church, you know what I mean. By mindlessly mumbling the "Glory Be" for ten minutes, I successfully knocked off about 2,000 years of time in purgatory. Not bad! If I did this every day, I could easily knock off 2,000 years of this inferno every day of my life. Taking this logic one step one step further, if my total sins on an average day were worth less than 2,000 years in Purgatory, and every day that I lived, I was erasing more than 2,000 years in Purgatory, I would not have to spend any time in Purgatory! By praying ten minutes a day, my parole rate would exceed my conviction rate! I would not have to burn at all! Not one second! Praise God for his exceeding grace! (Smile) Of course, I needed to check this out with a qualified theologian. And who was more qualified to answer such matters than Sister Ruth Marie, the Catholic nun who taught my third grade class. Sister Ruth Marie was not only a nice teacher, she was also pretty! I could never understand why, half way through my third grade career, without warning, she never showed up for class again, and a substitute teacher replaced her. We were never told what circumstance forced her sudden departure. We were given no warning. One day, a substitute teacher just appeared in our class room, and Sister Ruth Marie would never be seen again. But at this time, she was still my teacher. And I wanted to check my math, and my theology with a real expert. I raised my hand in class, and said, “Sister Ruth Marie, some people won’t have to go to Purgatory when they die, right?” Without hesitation, she responded, “No, everyone has to go to Purgatory.” She plainly did not understand the lengths I was prepared to go to stay out of purgatory. I pressed the question, “What if someone said prayed for ten minutes every day, and earned 2,000 years of indulgences every day?” Again, the stern reply, ‘No, everybody’s going to have to go to Purgatory.” My mind raced. This was not the answer I sought. I pressed the issue. “What if they prayed for an HOUR a day?” (I would not have a chance to run the math until after school. But it was pretty clear to me you would earn a lot more indulgences praying for an hour than for ten minutes. And I felt pretty certain that, if it meant escaping flames of thousands of years of torment, I could probably muster the focus to pray for an hour a day.) I was also certan she had already done these calculations "frontwards and backwards." Who wouldn't? So I knew her answers would be sound and well thought out. But again, my worst fears were realized, and the answer came down to me: “No, everyone’s going to have to go to purgatory.” Aghast at the raw horror of this thought, I decided to press the question one more time. I was certain the Pope had the mental stamina to pray for three hours a day. And I was also certain that he committed far fewer sins than I. Probably on the scale of at least ten-to-one. After all, he was the Pope!. So I asked for a final time, “What if someone prayed for three hours a day?” And again, the terrifying answer . . . “No, everyone will have to go to Purgatory.” I worked out the math after class. One minute of prayer would knock off about 200 years of time in purgatory. One hour of prayer per day was good for knocking off 12,000 years in purgatory. And three hours of praying per day was good for about 36,000 years of indulgences every day. The reality was sobering. Facts don't lie! Even the Pope was going to Purgatory, and I was certain he prayed for at least three hours per day. After all, this man was no fool. This meant that, even if he was knocking off at least 36,000 years in purgatory every day, his sins were adding up more quickly than they were being absolved. He was earning more than thirty-six thousand years of time in purgatory every day! And who knew what the real numbers were? The up-side could be ten, or even a hundred times that much! And since I was at least ten times as sinful as the Pope, this meant that, for every day I lived, I was accruing an additional THREE HUNDRED SIXTY THOUSAND YEARS IN PURGATORY!! The thought was stupefying! Multiply this figure by 365 days per year, and I was accruing about ONE HUNDRED THIRTY MILLION YEARS in purgatory for every year that I lived. Over a life span of . . . say , , , eighty years, that would come to. . . something like TEN BILLION YEARS IN PURGATORY! And this was if we calculated things on the "low end." If the pope were earning ten, or even one hundred times my "base-line" figure, I could easily be spending one hundred billion years, or even a TRILLION YEARS in purgatory! The thought was stupefying! When you get right down to it, I could not see much difference between purgatory and hell! From that day onward, the math was firmly embedded in my mind. And my entire life was evaluated against this grid of hopelessness. Whenever we would play, "If you could have any one wish, what would it be?" My answer was invariably "A free pass into heaven." I was a young man weighted down by the burden of my sins, and desperately in need of a Savior! But it would be another ten years before feet shod with the gospel of truth would bring the message of salvation to me. Like any religious boy, as I entered adolescence, I struggled between my desire to obey the laws of my church, and my sexual passions. Fortunately, I was rather awkward with girls, and didn’t even get my first kiss until I was in my last year of high school. Still, I recognized that, within me lay the passions that could damn my eternal soul to hell! And I was pretty sure that looking at a picture of a naked lady was a mortal sin. Since someone in school always had a picture of a naked lady, I knew that I needed to make it to confession on a regular basis, and hope that I died shortly thereafter. Perhaps in a car accident on the way home from confession! It seemed that dying within fifteen minutes of confession was perhaps the only "sure thing" that would keep me out of hell. I attended Villanova University as an engineering major. It was a Roman Catholic University of the Order of Saint Augustine. As most healthy young men in a Roman Catholic college , I was torn between my unbridled passions sexual passions, and my desire to preserve my eternal soul. I made an appointment with a priest. I asked him exactly “how far” I could go with a girl before it became a mortal sin. I had half a mind to hand him a sheet of paper with the figure of a woman, and ask him to draw a dotted line at the boundary between where things went from a venial sin to a mortal sin. But I felt that my motives would seem too transparent if I put my question so bluntly. I needed to cloak my question in some measure of piety. To my disappointment, I received no clear answer. The priest simply equivocated on trying to life a holy life, and I came away knowing what I already knew . . . that having sex was a mortal sin, and that a good-night kiss was probably not. Between that, I had no idea how far I could go with a girl before sinking into the abyss of eternal damnation. This conflict was excruciating. Not that I had much opportunity to damn my eternal soul to hell. My ineptitude with women was of truly mythological proportions. But still, my potential to damn my eternal soul in a moment of opportunity hung over my head like a sword of Damocles. During the first week of class each year, the Student Union Center (which housed the cafeteria, and some recreational facilities) was packed by various organizations recruiting students. They were recruiting for the rowing team, fraternities, ROTC drill team, the Villanova Singers, college republicans, college democrats, theater, the model rocketry club, and about a hundred other student organizations. As I made my way through this labyrinth of student programs on my way to lunch one day, a young man named Dennis Becker introduced himself to me. I could tell he was with some religious organization, and I had the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was about to get sucked into something. But I have always had trouble asserting myself and saying "no". From my youth, if I ever challenged my parents on any single point, I would receive a slap in the mouth . . . oftentimes out of nowhere. Sometimes I lived in such dread of being slapped by my parents that I turned my face away and lowered my shoulders as I walked past them, not knowing if I had performed some act worthy of punishment. Of course, we may think of such things as trauma or abuse, but God causes all things to work together for the good, for them that love God and are called according to His purpose. And so, when this religious person approached me, although I wanted to get away, I did not have the fortitude to say “no.” Dennis made an appointment to meet with me later in the week. He showed up on schedule with another man named Tom Rice. Dennis and Tom shared the gospel message with me. Or, at least, something closer to the gospel than I had ever heard before. The tract he used was the Four Spiritual Laws. It was theologically weak, having its focus, not on the atonement of Jesus Christ, nor the grace of Christ, but on the importance of saying a sinner’s prayer to invite Jesus into your life. This seemed a little absurd to me. As a devout Roman Catholic, Jesus Christ was clearly a very important part of my life, and clearly not “outside” my life. It was my first lesson in making the gospel clear. And, after I was saved, my memory of this experience would have a lasting influence on my perception of the need to make the gospel clear, and the need to have some affirmative content in the gospel rather than simply invoking the words "Jesus Christ" apart from a clear explanation of His work at the cross. But these theological conclusions came later. For now, all I knew is that Jesus was an important part of my life, and Dennis seemed insistent that I needed to "invite him into my life." Although the tract did little to explain the significance of the work at the cross, Dennis did a pretty good job of explaining to me that my religious works were not able to save me. To be told that my religion and reasonably faithful adherence to the ten commandments was not sufficient to save me was like learning that I had been investing all of my life’s savings into a mutual fund, and then, one day, being told that the mutual fund was a “Ponzi scheme,” and that my money is gone, and they guy managing the fund was living in the Carribian somewhere. The fund was bankrupt . . . my life's savings--GONE! It is a sickening feeling of betrayal. Although I understood with reasonable clarity that my works had no benefit toward my salvation, the entire question of the effect of Christ's death was still not clear to me. I said the "sinner's prayer" that day, more out of complicity than conviction. And looking back, I doubt I was saved on that day. The concept of grace had been made much clearer. But the work of the cross had not. Nevertheless, my reflection on this experience would, along with my upbringing in the Catholic church, drive me over the next ten years to think through what was the essence of saving faith. It would be the impetus behind the Gospel Booklet. Dennis met with me almost weekly over the next year, and I got involved in a Bible Study. Dennis gave me a New Testament, and challenged me to read it. Although engineering is a profoundly demanding course of study, and the time demands of Naval ROTC only added to the stress and took time away from my college studies, I somehow found the time to read the entire New Testament during my "freshman" year. Since engineering students hardly have spare time, my study of the New Testament no doubt impacted my grades somewhat, as did my commitment to a weekly Bible study. But it was the best decision I have ever made. Between my reading of the New Testament, my weekly meetings with Dennis, and my participation in a weekly Bible Study, somewhere along the way, I came to clearly understand and appreciate that my salvation was accomplished through the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ, who died in my place, as a perfect, complete and final payment for my sins. I still attended the Roman Catholic church. It was, after all, a “mortal sin” to miss mass on a Sunday. In short, I would burn in hell for eternity if I missed Mass. This is not to say that my faith in Christ was not authentic. In retrospect, I believe I had truly trusted in Christ alone. But the beginning of my Christian life was like the experience of the new believers at the church of Galatia. I had trusted in Christ alone as my Savior. But an elastic band around my waist kept bringing me back under the bondage of the law, and I kept returning to works for the security of my salvation. I was a man with one foot in grace and one foot in salvation by works, shuffling between the two. I began attending evening services at a protestant Bible church. The pastor, Bill Hogan, was preaching through Galatians at the evening service. The message I took home was stark. If you are trusting in Christ plus ANYTHING else, you are not trusting Christ as your Savior. As Bill put it, “If you put a plus-sign after Jesus name, you might as well put a minus-sign before his name.” I became deeply alarmed. I realized that I still attended weekly mass out of fear of committing a “mortal sin.” So it seemed possible in my mind that I had never yet trusted on Christ alone as my Savior! Now, I stood astride the horns of a dilemma. If I kept attending mass every week to avoid committing a mortal sin, then perhaps I had never really trusted on Christ alone. But if I skipped mass, and the Catholic church was correct about it being a mortal sin, I would be in danger of eternal damnation. Of course, I could still go to confession afterwards, but that would just postpone any resolution to my dilemma. I would still be relying on a work--either going to church, or going to confession--to keep me out of hell. I was at a cross roads in my life, and realized that my eternal life might weigh in the balance. I needed to make a decision one way or the other. And in choosing Christ, I needed to “prove” to myself that I had trusted Christ alone, and not "Christ plus works." And this is consistent with Matthew 3:5-9. I not only needed to repent of my dead works, I needed to "bring forth fruit of my repentance.” I needed to live my life in a way that confirmed I was trusting Christ alone. Fortunately, I did not need to kill someone or commit fornication to confirm in my mind that I was relying on Christ alone. Missing mass was a mortal sin. This would be a "benign" way to commit a "mortal sin" without doing something truly harmful! By skipping mass, I could confirm to myself that I was truly trusting Christ alone. I determined that day that I would not attend mass the following Sunday. I would commit a mortal sin in the eyes of the Catholic Church. And I would know from that moment on that I had trusted Christ alone, and not Christ plus works. My dormitory room overlooked St. Thomas, a beautiful two-spire church on the edge of the Villanova Campus. Sunday mass was at 6:00 p.m., and from my dormitory window, I could see my fellow students streaming in to attend mass. I remained steadfast in my dormitory room. I watched the clock as the hour dragged by. . . knowing that I was betting my eternal life once and for all upon Jesus Christ. At 7:00 p.m., as the students poured out of the chapel, there was a profound sense of liberation. I had done it! I was not going to confession to have this "mortal sin" removed. I was trusting in Christ alone for my salvation. And from that day, I never looked back to my works for salvation. I had cast my lot with the living God, and his eternal Son, who died to pay for my sins at Calvary. And as my testimony comes to a close, the words of one of my favorite hymns come to my mind: "I need no other argument. I need no other plea. It is ENOUGH that Jesus died, and that he died for me." Ron Shea, January 4, 2011
