How Christian Came Back: His Story

We had already been married seven years and had three gorgeous daughters. We had bought a beautiful farmhouse in the countryside, close to my wife’s parents, in the heart of Burgundy and its famous vineyards.

Our home in Burgundy, France

We had great friends with children the same age as ours. We were healthy, the children were great, business was very good, and money was not a problem.

Christine had started going back to Church after a deep conversion, and I went too, once in a while. More often, I stayed home with the children while she was at Mass. I felt a little jealous of her relationship with God and the Church. I sometimes resented babysitting instead of spending time with her, doing something fun. I felt as if God were stealing her away from me. It’s also true that I did not much like spiritual conversations; they made me uncomfortable.

My Franciscan Aunt

When I saw that Christine was going back to Church, praying, and enjoying it, I realized I was not fully happy, even though everything was going so well. I looked back at times when I had felt more fulfilled. I had loved the beautiful Masses, the full churches, the processions of the Blessed Sacrament and for Mary’s feast days, and the bells and the smells. I also loved going with my Mom to prepare food boxes and visit poor people, mainly elderly, at a time when there was no social security and no retirement plan.

But now I was a grown man, a businessman, traveling all over the world and meeting important people.

The Business Man (on the far left) in Italy!

I started to think: “I understand my Protestant brothers who talk directly to God. They don’t have to go through a priest for Confession. They don’t have to worry about the ritual of the Mass, when to kneel, sit, or stand. They don’t have to worry about the Saints or the Virgin Mary. They talk to God like equals, so they can have adult conversations.” (When I was an altar boy, I was always afraid I would forget what I had to do, so I was a “flower pot,” just there for decoration.)

I knew very little about the Protestant way. I thought Catholicism was too complicated, and I did not understand why we should learn about the Saints. What was their role? What about the Virgin Mary? That was too complicated. I just wanted to talk to God directly, one on one, and everything would be fine.

I was thirty-two when Christine and her sister trapped their husbands into a pilgrimage to Yugoslavia, via Club Med. We were the only pilgrims at the Club Med.

The Church in Medjugorje, June 1984

As if that were not enough, they dragged us, the same summer, to a one-week retreat in Ars, France, with 5,000 people. Ars is the village of St. Jean Vianney, the good Curé of Ars.

A one-week retreat was fine with me. It was a good way to reconnect. I did not feel like going to a priest and talking. Talking about what? Why should I talk to anybody about my interior questions and my spiritual life when I could talk to God directly? I did not need a third person.

Ars 1984

The retreat turned out to be a charismatic gathering, and all these smiling, joyful, exuberant people were really getting on my nerves. But I had given one week to the Lord. I was going to talk to Him, so I did not care much about the surroundings or the people. Most of them were camping, but we stayed in a hotel.

The second evening was an evening of Reconciliation. I had my eyes closed and was trying to pray when I started to shake. I felt as if I were holding 460 volts of bare wires in my hands, and it went through my whole body in several waves. I thought: “Not me, not me, I didn’t ask for anything, I just came to look. I don’t want to do anything.” I felt like Zacchaeus: I wanted to see and not be seen. I wanted to be a spectator, not an actor. I knew something was happening!

Then somebody came to me in what I would call a vision. It was not God. It was the Virgin Mary.

Mary as depicted in Medjugorje

She was very young, very petite, and beautiful. She was about five feet above the ground, as though floating, in a very green pasture sloping down, surrounded by short stone walls. She did not say a word. I could see her blue eyes, her dark hair, her lips. Her long dress was a very dark color, almost black, yet bright and full of light at the same time. It made me think of black storm clouds hit by the setting sun in summer. She had a very sad smile, and she just looked at me.

Since I did not know what to do or say, I felt I had to present all my family and friends to her. That is what I did, as though I were presenting a long line of people to my Queen. This is when she really smiled; she even seemed to hold back joyful laughter. I do not know why she laughed at that moment. Since she did not say a word, I felt it could mean, “I know you and all your relatives and friends,” or “I came for you and you only,” or even “You are nice, it’s cute what you are doing.” I felt comfortable, but shy and awkward. It lasted a while, and I felt it could have lasted longer. She welcomed everyone with this gentle smile; I could see her teeth and her hair moving. There was just one of my friends she was not happy to meet; I had the feeling that she was repulsed by him.

Without noticing any change in where we were, I sensed that she was leading me to a spot on my right, up. There I was, in front of a great light, nothing I had ever seen, nothing I can describe.

Pope Benedict XVI said in his Angelus of March 12, 2006, that “when one has the grace to live a strong experience of God, it is as if one is living an experience similar to that of the disciples during the Transfiguration,” and that “these are usually brief experiences that are sometimes granted by God, especially prior to difficult trials.” In the Gospel of Matthew: “While he was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud cast a shadow over them, then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him’” (Matthew 17:5).

Yes, it was beautiful! Only years later could I compare it to what I read about people who have had near-death experiences: the tunnel of light, and then this huge, magnificent, powerful light. I knew I was in the Presence of the source of Light and Love. I was in the presence of God. It felt so good. No words can describe it. This was where I belonged; this was where I wanted to spend the rest of my life, my eternity. I stayed there in awe and did not want to move, not knowing what was happening. Everything of this world around me had disappeared. I did not feel anyone’s presence, and I did not hear the music or the prayer. I was crying with happiness, and then I had to go back!

I did not know what had happened, and I could not talk about it. It took me a full year before I could talk about this experience with my wife, and many more years before I could talk about it with close friends. Then I could give my testimony whenever I felt it was good to share it, no matter who was listening. The only thing I decided on the spot was that I wanted to come back to this gathering the following year.