Man Crosses Threshold

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.

- Isaiah 43:1

There are mornings when God doesn’t knock gently.

Some mornings He kicks open the door and says:

GO INTO THE WORLD.

November 30, 2025, was one of those mornings.

As I opened my front door, the air carried a scent I could only describe as a glass of water left sitting all day. The winter version of petrichor. I paused there, letting the post–winter storm morning settle onto me. The sky was gray and dull, a faded watercolor overhead, but inside me was something bright, the feeling of yellow, of joy, like a sunrise no one else could see but me.

The weather didn’t match my mood.

Nonetheless, I was dressed as though I were heading to something sacred. My peacoat hung neatly over a white shirt and maroon pants. Around my neck was my favorite tie, covered in tiny printed books, held in place by a silver cross tie clip.

Then I saw my first trial.

A four-foot barricade of snow stacked against the doorway. Not a gentle dusting. Not a friendly Minnesota flurry.

A wall.

If I didn’t leave now, I’d be late.

I bent my knees, took a breath, and launched myself into the cold. My dress shoes cleared the snowbank like I was training for the Winter Olympics.

I stuck my landing in a foot of snow, socks immediately soaking through and my adrenaline rising.

My Rite of Acceptance began with a hall-of-fame long jump.

I laughed.

Even in the chaos, I could feel it.

This was the threshold.

By the time I reached the Cathedral, my heart was still pounding. But the moment I stepped inside, the noise of the morning after the winter storm faded.

Everything grew quiet except the choir, harmonizing with an angelic tone that seemed to touch every stone.

It felt like heaven on earth. Light poured through the southern rose window. Gold gleamed from the massive dome above. Statues of saints stood in silent communion with one another, watching over us.

Then I saw them.

The other catechumens.

Still.

Nervous.

Eyes wide.

In that moment it hit me:

This is real.

This is ancient.

The same rite that welcomed catechumens in the Early Church.

And now it’s my turn.

When I stepped forward to declare my name and what I sought from the Church, my chest tightened and my breathing slowed. For a moment, everything paused.

But I spoke.

And I completed the task.

The priest traced the sign of the Cross onto my forehead before moving on to bless the other catechumens and candidates gathered that morning.

And then, it was time.

We joined the procession. A line of longing souls walking toward the altar, following behind the priest, and continuing a rite that has marked believers for nearly two thousand years.

I felt everything at once:

The fear leaving.

The peace entering.

The identity of a catechumen taking hold.

I was not just in the Church.

I was being brought in.

Welcomed.

Named.

Claimed.

That moment will live in my heart for the rest of my life.

After the rite, we received our Bibles, the Didache Bible, filled with commentary from the early Church Fathers. Inside the front cover was a sticker:

Cathedral of Saint Paul

Rite of Acceptance

November 30, 2025

Name: Marquis L. McCoy

My name, written under the date my journey truly began.

Not the day I first attended Mass.

Not the day I first prayed seriously.

Not the day I first wondered whether God was calling me.

This was the day I publicly said yes.

This morning changed my life.

I didn’t just join a program. I crossed a threshold.

The man who walked into the Cathedral that morning was not the same man who walked out.

This was the beginning of something larger than myself.