I grew up in a liturgical church. Newborn children were baptized into the community of faith. We celebrated the Lord's Supper often. The preaching was good and we were trained for intelligent membership. I went to Sunday School and grew up to learn Greek and silence. God came among us in ways both prescribed and proscribed. We were taught that the Holy Spirit did not drift on the air (despite that unyielding saying of Jesus) but worked through means. Baptism and Holy Communion were two of these means and they were rooted in the Word, especially the word of forgiveness. We were sure God showed up in these means of grace, even when we giggled and cast looks at each other along the communion rail. . . .Between me and God a great gulf was fixed. The miracle was that God overcame that gulf in the suffering and death of Jesus Christ, apart from whom I was unable to enter communion with God. If there was mysticism in my young faith, it was a Christ mysticism pure and simple. My church did not call on me to condemn Buddhists, Jews or others as being without God; their pathways were their own and likely acceptable, but we didn't know, you see, so it was best to stick to what we knew. From early on, I saw contradictions. What they are and how they have moved me into a life of deeper faith are the content of this essay.