I didn’t start out as a spiritual explorer. I began as a Roman Catholic altar boy, deeply immersed in incense, Latin mass, and the solemn rituals of the Church. God, as I first understood Him, resided somewhere between the stained glass windows and the priest’s homily—remote yet majestic, holy yet slightly out of reach.
But as the years passed and life stretched out in unpredictable ways, I began to look beyond the ritual and question the certainty I once clung to. My soul grew hungry for something more expansive. Something that could hold the mystery of suffering, the beauty of grace, and the complexity of human experience—all at once.
That’s when I began wandering.
Not away from faith, but deeper into it.
I’ve prayed with the Baptists, sung with the Methodists, clapped and cried with the Pentecostals, and studied with the Christian Scientists. Somewhere along the way, I laughed and gave myself a label: CathoBaptiMethoCostalScientist. It’s a mouthful, yes, but also a testament to how wide the search became. A spiritual traveler’s badge of honor. It’s funny—but also true.
Eventually, I became an ordained minister through Open Ministries—yes, one of those internet ordinations some people chuckle about. But let me be clear: there is nothing casual about my commitment. That certificate might have arrived digitally, but the calling came from someplace far older and deeper. My ordination is no less serious to me than those handed out in marble seminaries. It reflects not just belief, but a lifetime of searching, finding, and remembering.
If you’ve read more than a few of my essays, you’ve probably noticed something: I find the thread of oneness in almost every religion, sect, or spiritual document I touch. It’s not an intellectual exercise—it’s a lived reality. Whether I’m reflecting on A Course in Miracles or Science and Health, quoting the Bible or sitting with the Tao Te Ching, that same thread keeps showing up: there is only One. One Life. One Source. One Love.
It’s no accident that the people I met who were most devoted to Christian Science or A Course in Miracles were often older. At the time, I thought it curious. Why weren’t the young diving in with equal intensity?
Now, at 82, I understand.
When you’re young, the world pulls you in a thousand directions. Beauty, ambition, excitement, novelty—it’s all part of the ride. And you should enjoy it. But eventually, the outer world begins to lose its grip. Bodies slow down. Achievements lose their glitter. You begin to ask quieter questions with greater urgency.
And if you’re lucky, wisdom answers.
That’s when things like “infinity equals one” stop sounding like poetic nonsense and start feeling like solid ground. You begin to see the pattern. That every leaf belongs to a tree. That every person, every soul, is part of something whole. You begin to live as though the equation is not just true—but essential.
As I shared in that earlier essay: next time you pass by a tree, stop and look at a single leaf. That leaf is you. Now step back and see the whole tree. That too, is you.
The young chase purpose. The old discover essence.
And so I say: enjoy your youth. Dance in it, play in it, get gloriously lost in it. But do not fear age. For with age, if your heart stays open, comes the kind of wisdom no book can teach and no sermon can capture.
You’ll find, as I did, that you don’t need to pick a single path or cling to a single label. You’re not wrong for wandering. You’re remembering.
And if, like me, you find yourself smiling one day at the trail you’ve left behind—with a spiritual résumé that reads like a multi-faith potluck—know that you’re in good company.
Perhaps, you too are a CathoBaptiMethoCostalScientist.
And perhaps, you too have found that the destination was never “out there.”
It was always oneness.
It was always home.
