By Robert R. Schwarz
Though he's been sitting in that front pew for more than 10 years, chances are many worshippers in the back have never met him nor know his name. He's known by some as that broad-shoulder man—six-foot-two tall—who sits almost motionless, his attention fixed on the looming Christ figure behind the altar. He arrives before anyone else for the 7:30 a.m. mass and, for ten, sometimes fifteen minutes, remains a solitary figure in the early dawn light. Monday through Friday in the St. James Catholic church in Arlington Heights, Illinois, you'll see him in that front pew, praying and reading his "Magnificat". People wonder—but never seem to ask—what life journey this man has trekked and continues to trek. Being a retired newspaper editor and still a nosey soul, I talk to him, Brad Jenkins, and learned that his journey has been a lifetime of searching for truth and love, a journey not without devilish attacks and perilous walks down rabbit trails leading nowhere. Mr. Jenkins is no stranger, so he told me, to spiritual combat.
Describing himself as a once " poorly catechized cradle Catholic," Brad was born into music, to a father who was a trombonist with the Stan Kenton and Louis Prima bands and a mother classically trained to sing opera so well that her singing in church embarrassed her son. “And , at home, all the neighbors would hear her," Brad reminisced with a chuckle. At age l4 he formed his own rock'n’roll band and was singing melodies and playing bass guitar with a latent professionalism that one day would bring him gig after gig in northwest Cook County.
In 1969, Brad and family moved from St. Louis to nearby Crystal Lake and, later, to Arlington Heights, where soon, he said, “I was dabbling in things I he shouldn't have”. He experimented in drugs ( no arrests, he said ) and got "things sort of messed up" by getting too deep into Eastern religions and Evolution and by reading New Age books, including one on astral travel. “I was a truth seeker," he said. “I always wanted to know the truth. I knew there was more than just this life I was living. "
At age 23, Brad married. Two children followed: Katy, now a 27-year-old actress living in Manhattan, New York, and John, 24, studying to be lawyer. “My wife was Catholic, too, but neither of us wanted anything to do with the church. We never really had much of a faith life." Seventeen years later, the couple was divorced over "irreconcilable differences,” which, Brad points out, had a lot to do with money. "When you don't have Christ in the picture, things fall apart,” he admitted.
Towards the end of the marriage, Brad started to attend mass at St. James. He was also attending the Willow Creek Community church in South Barrington ( he still thinks it's got some of the very best contemporary church music ), the Moody Bible Institute ( which ostensibly appealed to his charismatic sense ), and a Promise Keeper rally , a national Protestant event after which, l8 years ago, inspired him to join—and later help facilitate for eight years-- the Saturday morning men's faith group at St. James.
But Brad, like the ancient Hebrews fresh out of bondage, had a long trek ahead before reaching his River Jordan. "My goal of knowing truth and love remained.” It would occur to him later that the essence of both was in Jesus Christ.
Not only did Brad discover he had to put on that full armor of God—which included prayer and Bible study—if he was to ward off the Flesh, World, and Devil, but equally critical to his very spiritual survival, he had to surrender something.
This "something"—the “Big One", Brad calls it-- occurred one night in a grove of Oak trees outside the Bellarmine Jesuit Retreat House in Barrington, Illinois. Preoccupied with his pending divorce, Brad approached a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary and knelt. “She just came alive," Brad recalled. “I poured out my heart to her. It was at that moment, when I completely surrendered my will, that the door was opened. My shell was broken. It was through this brokenness that the Holy Mother allowed me to come in and lead me to her Son. "
Brad soon ensconced his 230 pounds in that front pew on weekday mornings and, on Sundays, with his children and new wife, Bonnie, a high school special education aide he had met through mutual friends. " It was the Eucharist that brought me back into the church," he said, his voice a full octave. Now, for the first time, he was believing in the True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. “This was the ‘something’ that had been missing in my faith life," he said. “I saw that the church is Jesus and without Him, the whole thing would fall apart.”
Brad continued his thoughts with a reference to Christ's words which proclaim that whenever two or three people come together in Christ's name, He is in their midst. “You can pray the Rosary by yourself but it doesn’t have the power like when you say it with another person or group. You know, the wolf attacks the stray sheep."
Asked if he believed that he had now crossed his Jordan that maybe his exodus trek had ended, Brad paused, took off his glasses and thoughtfully moved a finger across his brown bearded chin. "You know, everyday is a constant barrage. I put on that full amour of God all the time. I go to confession once a week, and if I don't, things just start to happen. "
In McDonalds over breakfast, I asked him how he copes with that "favorite" sin we're all prone to repeating despite resolutions and promises. Brad put down his coffee and sighed. "Well, you just go to confession and pick yourself up and start again.” He quickly added: "The act of going to confession doesn't automatically make everything all right. But it gives us the grace to change. Without God's grace, you're going to repeat that sin over and over again."
We talked about Brad's move at the end of 2010 to Austin, Texas, where he and his wife will eventually retire. It's a move he and Bonnie have prayerfully considered. Why Austin? Most importantly, the region’s climate will be healthful for Bennie’s rheumatoid arthritis. Then, there's the economy. It's much better there than around the Chicago area, Brad maintains. He'll be working for a large national firm, selling insurance to seniors. Bonnie and he also have friends in Austin. And it's no small bonus that Austin, according to Brad, is the world's music capitol, where Brad, of course, will be contributing his share of music. He's also visibly excited about the reverence he perceives exists among Austin's Catholic parishioners; he will introduce himself to the bishop as a first step in re-activating his St. James ministries of facilitating faith groups and leading adorations of the Blessed Sacrament.
Our conversation turned again to Bonnie. “She makes me happy. She makes me smile." Brad intoned the words as if they were a lyric from a favorite song.
A parting word came from a Eucharistic Minister who has worked with Brad for years. "He's been a wonderful fixture, and we're going to miss him.”
1 comments:
I have known Brad for years. He was always one of my favorite lectors. He always transformed me into the readings and I could always understand the message better. Brad was chosen often for special lector readings. I saw him as a key minister at St. James leading us in the veneration of the Blessed Sacrament on Thursdays. To hear about his faith journey was wonderful.
I have always admired Brad and his wife Bonnie for being Jesus to so many including me. How lucky is Austen. You will be missed. Thank you for all you have done at St. James in the name of Jesus and in thanksgiving to his mother Mary, Brad.
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