I was born in 1957, one of nine children in a large Roman Catholic family in Sainte-Anne-des-Monts, Quebec, Canada, on the northern shore of the Gaspé Peninsula along the St. Lawrence River estuary. This was just before major changes began to take place in the Roman Catholic Church. As a child, I experienced the old ways, including street processions during various festivals. In May, the month of Mary, there would be a procession through the streets with a large statue of Mary carried at the front. It would then go from house to house, staying in someone’s home for several days. There was also a festival called Corpus Christi, during which the host was held up in a monstrance with rays all around it, resembling the sun. These events were impressive and solemn to me as a young child. Many of my teachers were nuns, and the director of my school was also a nun. We said the Rosary every night. Everyone in the town went to church, and the priests ruled with an iron fist. Anyone who opposed the priests was ostracized.
With the Second Vatican Council, held from 1962 to 1965, many changes were introduced in the Roman Catholic Church. Services began to be held in languages other than Latin, and modern music was brought in. Previously, the altar was farther away, and the priest had his back to the congregation. Now the altar was brought forward, and the priest faced the people. We were taught to sing, “We are the builders of a new world,” and other new songs where love would unite everyone.
During the same period, the Quiet Revolution was taking place in Quebec. From 1944 to 1960, Quebec was governed by the conservative Union Nationale under Premier Maurice Duplessis. This period is often referred to in Quebec history as La Grande Noirceur, or “The Great Darkness,” because of its deeply conservative, rural, and religiously focused policies. The priests would say, “Heaven is blue; hell is red,” with red referring to the Liberal Party. The election of the Liberal Party in 1960 sparked the modernization and secularization of the Quiet Revolution, which threw off the shackles of the Catholic Church.
In first grade, we began learning the Roman Catholic catechism, and then, in second or third grade, it was time for First Communion. We had to practice receiving the host using pretend ones, being careful not to touch it with our teeth because we were told it was God. A little later, around fifth grade, it was time for Confirmation. Someone else made the decision for you at your baptism as an infant. Now, at Confirmation, the bishop ceremonially and gently slapped you on the cheek1 and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” In this moment, you were embracing the faith of your own volition. In seventh grade came your solemn profession of faith.
These were sacraments that made you part of the Catholic Church and were intended to help you work toward your own salvation through good works, in the hope that when you stood before God, your good works would be weighed in the balance and outweigh your sins. If you still fell short, there was always Purgatory to complete the purification over an unknown number of years, and then, finally, you would make it to heaven. Before you took your First Communion, you were also introduced to sacramental confession, where you would tell the priest your sins, hoping you had not forgotten any of them. He had the authority to give you absolution and assign a penance that you were required to complete after confession, so that you could then receive God in the host.
Because of this upbringing, I was taught to fear God and given a desire to be with Him in heaven for eternity. The adults showed reverence for these things when they were in church or in the presence of the priest, but in everyday life they seemed to forget all about them. We were told that if we swore, we would go to hell, yet the adults I loved were swearing, and even my dad, who usually did not swear, would do it when he was angry. This broke my heart. I began to wonder, “Will I do the same when I grow up?” As a child, I found it too hard to live that way. I decided to wait until I was older, thinking it would be easier, only to discover that it became harder as I grew up in a world full of sin.
In addition, the Catholic Church was changing with the Second Vatican Council. This was the beginning of the ecumenical movement within the Roman Catholic Church, with its emphasis on uniting all religions on the basis of love and acceptance. Though not stated openly, the Second Vatican Council seemed to desire bringing other religions under the umbrella of the Roman Catholic Church. This did not help me much in my struggle to live a good life. There was no assurance of salvation.
My brother Philippe had been reading the Bible with his religious girlfriend. She invited him to a Catholic retreat, where he met a cloistered monk who was 73 years old. My brother asked him, “Sir, are you sure of heaven?” The monk replied, “I will only find out when I get there.” Philippe concluded that if this man was not sure of heaven after a life of self-denial, then he would never make it. So he gave up all hope, and his thoughts turned to, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die,” which became our way of thinking. Philippe told me, “We cannot read the Bible because all we do is sin.” We gave up on the church but not on God. My four brothers and I thought about God all the time. As we grew older, we became increasingly discouraged, thinking we would never be able to live a good enough life.
My pregnant girlfriend Denise, our child, and I were living a transient life, traveling from place to place and spending ten months in the United States. I worked in drywall installation and construction. Later, we spent time in western Canada, living in different towns and cities in Alberta. Through the influence of a childhood friend’s brother-in-law, I began attending a home Bible study in Sainte-Anne-des-Monts in the fall of 1980, led by a full-time worker named Jean Lepine. I had been reading the book of Revelation. Jean encouraged me to read the Gospel of Matthew instead, asking the Lord for His help.
One time, as I read Matthew 13, I prayed, “Lord, I want to be the good ground.” Romans 3:23, 6:23, and John 3:16 helped me understand that salvation is a gift. To have true eternal life, we must repent and trust in a work that is complete and accepted by God. That work was fully accomplished by the Lord Jesus Christ on the cross on our behalf. I was saved on March 31, 1981. Denise was saved three days later, and three weeks after that, we were married. My four brothers and I were very close, and I went to Edmonton, Alberta, to share the Gospel with them. In a very short time, they were all saved.
Eventually, our family settled in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. For eight years, I led a home Bible study for construction workers and military personnel, and we were blessed to see some come to Christ. In 1999, my home assembly, Bethany Gospel Chapel in Dartmouth, commended me to full-time work. I now spend half of my time with the assembly in Sainte-Anne-des-Monts.
I believe my mother received Christ just before she passed into eternity in 2020 at the age of 90. Shortly after that, my father had a very clear conversion, and four years later, in 2024, he went to be with the Lord at the age of 100.
“Therefore it is also contained in the Scripture, ‘Behold, I lay in Zion a Chief Cornerstone, elect, precious, and he who believes on Him will by no means be put to shame’” (1 Pet. 2:6).
Endnotes
- The symbolic facial tap or “slap” during Catholic confirmation was officially removed worldwide in 1971–1972 following the reforms of the Second Vatican Council.