During a visit this week to my precious mother at the St. Francis nursing home in Buffalo, New York, I had an unexpected reunion with Beryl Kinney, the first person to clearly share the Gospel of Jesus Christ with my twin brother, Paul, and me, when we were teenagers. She had come to visit Mom, too. Beryl was also the one to lead my mother to the stage at a conference center where the famed Dale Evans Rogers had just shared her testimony of faith in Christ. That night, in 1977, Mom gave her heart to the Lord.

Beryl is as vivacious in early 80’s as she was when Paul and I first met her 37 years ago. A devout Catholic, she is also one of the most multi-denominational Christians I’ve ever known. She’s as comfortable with Baptists as she is with Pentecostals, Presbyterians or Methodists. To Beryl, if you confess Jesus as Lord, you’re a member of the same family.

This generosity of spirit–that is, accepting and affirming all of God’s people–is what the word “ecumenical” means. I know it’s a bad word in some circles, but it never has been to me. As Beryl introduced my brother and me to Jesus, she also introduced us to His household–Christians of every label, tradition and style.

After making our public professions of faith in Christ at Emmanuel United Methodist Church, we learned quickly how to enjoy everything “the church” had to offer. We went to Sunday morning service with these original “Holy Rollers” and learned about John Wesley and his circuit riding preachers. We went to midnight mass at the local Jesuit university where we came to appreciate the majesty of God through liturgy, incense and Gregorian chants. On Sunday nights we learned the importance of Bible study at a little independent Baptist church–and we felt the power of the Holy Spirit at midweek service with an Assembly of God congregation.

All of this came together, though, at “Monday Night Prayer Group.” This gathering was an eclectic blend of Christians from nearly enough denominations to represent the whole alphabet. Along with the Catholics that hosted us, there were . . .

Adventists, Baptists, Congregationalists, Disciples, Episcopalians, Free Methodists, Holiness, Independents, Jews (Paul and I were two of them!), Lutherans, Mennonites, Orthodox, Presbyterians, Quakers, Reformed, Salvationists (of the Army brand, that is) and Wesleyans.

This is what the word “ecumenical” means. It comes from the Greek, oikoumenikós, the same word from which we get “economy.” It referred to the “household,” meaning everything that revolved around the functioning of a family within their domicile. Through Beryl’s role modeling, this is how we came to know the Body of Christ, as our brothers and sisters regardless of what label they wore.

Paul and I would later come to appreciate the importance of every member of God’s family through the most intense years of the pro-life movement. We were often in jail with Christians of every variety. When you’re in prison clothes, all you have is your love for the Lord and each other–no denominational membership cards allowed!

It’s this history that led my brother “back to Bethel” this weekend. After 33 years of being a Protestant Evangelical minister, Paul was ordained on Saturday as one of the few married priests in the Catholic church. It was a beautiful service, and the message preached by the visiting bishop, Victor Galeone of St. Augustine, Florida, would have been just as well received in any of the churches I routinely preach in as it was at St. Joseph’s in York, Pennsylvania, where the service took place.

“Fr. Paul” will continue the work he has always done through our sister organization, the National Pro-Life Center, as well as take up part-time pastoral duties at a largely Vietnamese parish in downtown Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Oh, and of course, he remains happily married to his wife of 33 years, Becky, and continues to be “the other kind of father” to his eight children.

God often takes us back to where we started our spiritual journeys. I’m very happy that my brother has found his Bethel in this new–well, make that old–place.

Rob +

Paul Schenck kneels to be ordained a priest.

What? you’re asking.

Yes, Sunday night, December 20, during the annual “Christmas in Washington” concert at the National Building Museum, President Obama and the First Lady took to the stage to join entertainers in singing “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”

Before I go further, let’s recall the first verse of this powerful and all-time classic carol by the musical “prophet” Charles Wesley (1707 – 1788):

Hark! the herald angels sing, “Glory to the new-born king; Peace on Earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled!”

Joyful all ye nations rise, Join the triumph of the skies; With th’ angelic hosts proclaim, “Christ is born in Bethlehem!”

Now, I ask you, how can someone sing these great words and not be affected in their soul? This is the plain Gospel, “the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth”. (Romans 1:16 b) I call these carols, “Musical Gospel Tracts.”

Of course, the key is that last part, “to every one that believeth.” That’s the difference between “affect” and “effect,” but whether one “believes” or not, you must feel the “affect” of such a magnificent message.

Time will tell whether the President bears the “effect,” but the optimist in me says he definitely felt the “affect.”

This is why I love the CHRISTmas season. No one—not even an isolated, insulated, hyper-protected, inordinately shielded President of the United States, can escape hearing and being touched by the echo of that glorious angelic pronouncement heralded from the Heavens 2000 years ago,

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.”

It’s enough to make even a president cry.

Rob +