Conversion in a moment of encounter

The journey of the past two years has been a fruitful one as we have engaged in a process of pastoral planning for our archdiocese. As we have focused on building a culture of conversion and discipleship, it has allowed me many opportunities to reflect on my own conversion.
 
I have shared this story a number of times in various settings. Permit me once more to share a few highlights, not to hold myself up as a model or exemplar, but rather to draw you into the exercise of “gratefully remembering” your own moments where the Lord has touched your life, entered your heart and left you changed, transformed.
 
When I was a junior in college at the University of Kansas, I was involved with a group called The Integrated Humanities Program. The IHP conducted a study abroad trip to Ireland for a semester. I was really eager to go with more than 100 of my friends. I imagined it would be a four-month-long pub crawl through 26 counties. However, the first week we were there changed everything. We were spending half of our time on a little island called Inishbofin on the west coast of Ireland. We’d not been there a week when some of our buddies were out exploring late one afternoon.
 
It was February, the sun was setting, and they climbed on rocks to get a better view of the seascape and the island. These young men were from Kansas; they didn’t know anything about the ocean, and certainly didn’t know anything about tides. Later that evening we were in the pub and some others from our group told us that Rick and Ed never came back. They didn’t come back that evening, and the next morning there was still no sign of them. I went off to the local parish church, Saint Colman, to go to morning Mass. Immediately after Mass, I went to the sacristy and told the parish priest that we were worried about our friends.
 
When I relayed to the priest what had happened, he recognized the danger of the situation and called the Coast Guard. They called every fisherman who had a boat, whatever could navigate or float the waters. I spent that whole day with this young priest, Father Martin O’Connor, who was only two or three years ordained. We scoured the rocky coast of the island looking for our friends. By the end of the day, we were coming to the conclusion that they may never be found. A couple of days later, surprisingly, their bodies were recovered. They had fallen into the sea and both drowned, one trying to rescue the other, apparently because one of them had slipped and fallen.
 
This was a profoundly unexpected event for a 20-year-old who had been looking forward to a carefree semester of “pub crawling.” I was 5,000 miles from home, away from my parents; I had nowhere to turn. One evening, I did something I’d never done before. I went and knocked on the rectory door. I grew up around priests; my mother was a parish secretary, but I never sought out priests, other than in a confessional when necessary. But, during that difficult time, I went and spent a couple of evenings talking with Father O’Connor. Those visits led to a general confession and solidifying an ongoing process of conversion.
 
Looking back, it was that encounter with Father O’Connor at such a vulnerable moment, when I was coming to grips with my own mortality because of the death of close friends, that the Lord began to sow the seeds of my vocation. It was at that moment that I began to be inspired by the life of this young priest and began to understand why priests are called “Father.” For the first time, I began to think, “Well, maybe God is calling me to be a priest.” I was nowhere near ready for seminary at that time, but the whole experience was a profoundly significant moment, and ultimately led to my vocation to the priesthood.
 
Over the years, I can recall one situation after another where I was a “Father O’Connor” to someone else whom the Lord brought across my path – not always young men like myself at that time, but also married couples, people struggling with loss and illness, people hurting, needing counsel or ministry. My life has been filled with moments of grace when I had the distinct privilege of doing for another what Father O’Connor did for me, facilitating a moment of encounter with our Lord that leads to conversion and transformation.
 
A good friend was with me on that trip to Ireland, and the whole experience had a similar impact on his life as well. We later both became priests, and then bishops. He is Bishop James Conley from Lincoln, Neb. Years later, the two of us made a pilgrimage back to Ireland. While we were there, we looked up Father O’Connor and invited him out to dinner. He had no idea that both of us had become priests, let alone bishops. Imagine his joy at seeing the impact his actions all those years ago had on the two of us, and how that impact played out over the years.
 
The crux of conversion is this moment of encounter. As I reflect on our archdiocese, and prayerfully discern where God is leading us, I realize that this is the desire of my heart. As I said in my most recent pastoral letter, “The deepest desire of my heart is to see the Church of central and western Oklahoma flourish as a community of faith that nurtures and raises up fervent missionary disciples.” I became a disciple like that because of what I encountered on that trip so many years ago. It is my greatest desire to see that story repeated over and over again throughout our archdiocese in the lives and hearts of our people.
 
This column is the introduction to Archbishop Coakley’s new Vision 2030 Pastoral Plan. Read or download the plan at archokc.org/2030.