I often feared Him, constantly feeling His vigilant eyes on me. Whose vigilant eyes were these? They were the eyes of God. In my mind’s eye, He was an old man with a flowing white beard, His hand gripping firmly around a weather-beaten walking stick. And he ruled over the world from a brilliant golden throne. How and where did I perceive this image? In my catechism class, among other wide-eyed little urchins like me. We hung on to every scolding word that the teacher hurled out of her mouth like a ball of wildfire. I still envision her wielding her long, bony finger as if pointing it directly at…