The madness of a Methodist, I love it! So obviously you're not a Baptist anymore because it says that you aren't a Christian.
Permit me to begin by telling you a little of my paternal grandfather:
He was taken out of school at the age of ten, and set to work in the coal-mines (unlawful, but who cared?).
Using the local Miners’ Institute – centres of learning at that time (and being a book-worm) – he learned (among many other things) both Hebrew and Greek. His second great passion – Faith and Family together being his first – was music. Able to play both violin and piano – and to transpose written music into tonic-solfa for those who could not read music – he was appointed Musical Director of the Glanselsig Amateur Operatic Society. His favourite work was Handel’s Messiah. I can see him now, dressed in his black evening suit, white shirt, black dickie-bow, conducting a full chorus and orchestra, with his white baton; with every word, every note engraved in his heart. I have his baton, but none of his talent!
In the 1920’s a number of Italian families moved into Glamorgan and set up shops and cafes. One of these families (the Bassini’s) settled in Tynewydd (my home town).
When Italy declared war, and joined with Germany, the UK government issued an internment order against those it deemed to be ‘enemy civilians’. This included the Bassini’s. The husband (I knew him as Jack) was taken away, but his wife and children were allowed to remain in their home (they had a café and a fish and chip shop, located side-by-side).
One day, my grandfather was returning from work, only to discover a mob hurling abuse (and stones) at the Bassini’s and their home; at people they had once called friends. My grandfather told the mob to stop, and they did. Many years later the family’s eldest daughter (Maria) was accepted as a Carmelite nun; and my grandfather and grandmother were invited to attend the ceremony. A great honour.
My grandfather was an Elder at Blaencwm Chapel, in Tynewydd. The Elders employed the Minister.
When I was a teenager, one Minister visited my grandfather’s house while I was there. He was treated like royalty. My grandfather called him ‘Sir’. Later, I asked him why he had called this man ‘Sir’ after all, he was the Minister’s boss!
My grandfather smiled, and said: ‘I’m just an Elder. The Minister speaks the Word!’
When my grandfather died, several hundred men – of all ages – attended his funeral (women did not do so in those days). They filled the cemetery chapel, and many were weeping openly.
My grandfather was able to calm a howling mob – and move the hearts of many – not because of any legal authority (he had none), but because of his character; because of the person he was. He lived his Faith as it was meant to be lived. A Christian would say that he reflected the love of Jesus; and that it was this that made him a shining beacon to others. I would say that he reflected the love of God. He led by example rather than by argument.
He is, by far, the finest man I ever knew.
As for me: Raised a Baptist, I became, at the age of fifteen, a Catholic; and remained one for over fifty years.
For ten years I was a professed member of the Carmelite Third Order; and studied biblical and dogmatic theology, as well as other relevant stuff, with the aim of becoming a priest. I spent a year with the Carmelite Friars at Hazlewood Castle in Yorkshire (now a hotel); and over a year with the Cistercians (Trappists) at Mount Saint Bernard Abbey in Leicester, testing a vocation (I first visited the Abbey in my early twenties, and knew the community well). It became clear that life in a religious order was not my calling, and so I became a husband and father (as the Abbey Secretary said to me: ‘Our novitiate is a seedbed of good Catholic marriages!’). I look back at my time with the Carmelites and Cistercians with great affection. Even though I no longer share their doctrinal beliefs I admire their spirituality, and their honest convictions; and their way of life – especially that of the Cistercians. It has been my privilege to know many excellent Christians: paternal grandfather; priests, religious and laity. Each was an example of the best of their Faith.
About fourteen years ago my son became a Muslim. He obtained a degree in Classical Arabic; married a Moroccan lass (who I consider to be my third daughter); and now lives there. He is a translator of Qur’anic and aḥadīth exegesis; and of other scholarly works. One of my daughter-in-law’s ancestors, ʻAbd al-Salām ibn Mashīsh al-ʻAlamī, was the spiritual guide of Abu al-Hasan ash-Shadhili, founder of the Shadhili Tariqa. My son is a Sufi of that Tariqa; and a murīd of Seyyed Hossein Nasr.
Having gained a Muslim family I made it my business to learn all I could about Islam (I’m still learning). It was during this long process (around nine years) that I began to question certain Christian beliefs I once held as true; and which I had defended many times over the years. Moving from Christianity to Islam was a painful journey (emotionally); but it was the right journey……at least for me.
And that’s about it, I guess!
Possibly Hebrew? 
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