by Marco Rubio
On Thursday morning, I started reaching out to my rivals to convince them to drop out and support me. By Thursday afternoon the last of my competitors had quit the race. Not all of them committed to me, but I was the only candidate left. I had thirty-nine votes, and I rushed to get the rest.
On Friday, we chartered a plane and flew from Ft. Lauderdale to Tampa, where about twenty house freshmen were meeting at State Representative Kevin Ambler’s house to deliver their pledge cards to me. I invited Gaston to come with me. He had done so much for me, and I wanted him to be there to share in our historic success. But I invited so many people to fly with me there wasn’t a seat for David Rivera, my friend and most loyal supporter. He had done more for my candidacy than anyone else, and I left him to drive to Tampa on his own. Just as I had once taken Jeanette’s support for granted, so, too, had I taken David’s for granted.
Earlier in the week, all indications were it would be a long and hard-fought battle for speaker. By the end of the week, in a flurry of activity, I had secured all the votes I needed. Just four years earlier, I had been a city commissioner in little West Miami, and an unknown candidate in a special election for the house. Now I was on the verge of becoming speaker of the Florida House, the first from Miami in over a quarter century, and the first Cuban American ever.
CHAPTER 18
Come Home to Rome
I WOULD NOT BE OFFICIALLY DESIGNATED SPEAKER UNTIL November 2006, three years after I had secured the necessary pledges, and in that long interim anything could happen. Rumors that an attempt might yet be made to challenge me began circulating almost immediately after the last of my opponents had quit the race. My first concern was to keep my voters on board, no matter what enticements might be offered them to reconsider their commitment.
Early in 2004, I hired Richard Corcoran to run my political organization. An attorney from Crystal River, Florida, Richard was smart and highly regarded. His first task was to reorganize my political committee, which was an accounting mess, and after a quick review he decided to close it. Once I appeared to have the votes to be elected speaker, money had begun pouring into the committee. It had to be carefully accounted for and wisely spent. We opened a new committee, which Richard would run, and hired a professional accounting firm to keep the books.
During my campaign for speaker, members repeatedly expressed to me their frustration with their lack of influence over how the house was managed and the policies the leadership decided to pursue. They resented the top-down management style of previous speakers, and insisted on a more collaborative process. I agreed with them, and assured them that as speaker I would leave it to members to create and pursue policy priorities, while I oversaw the management of their agenda.
Richard and I spent many hours devising a leadership structure that would give more power to the members. Critical to the success of any leadership team is choosing the right people for it, and Richard and I gave a lot of thought to finding the right ten to fifteen people to serve as my inner circle. I was influenced by Jim Collins’s book Good to Great and his advice that a leader’s most important function was to get the right people on the bus and assign them seats where they would make the best use of their talents. Once I had the right people, the team would decide the bus’s destination.
I also wanted the house to become a vibrant laboratory of ideas, a place that conceived and pursued big, bold policy ideas. In that endeavor, I was most influenced by the creativity and daring of Governor Jeb Bush, who was a one-man idea factory and had used his intelligence, innovation and the authority and bully pulpit of the governor’s office not just to improve the status quo on the margins, but to overcome it and change it. His last term would end eight weeks after I became speaker. For eight years, his office had set the policy agenda in Tallahassee, and his retirement would leave a huge policy vacuum in state government. I wanted the house to fill it.
To that end, Richard came up with the idea of writing a book that could serve as a guide for a policy agenda similar to the Contract with America that had helped Republicans win a majority in the U.S. House of Representatives in 1994. Governor Bush pointed out to me that some of his best policy ideas had come from e mails he’d received from regular Floridians. I decided to follow his example. I traveled the state over the next two years, joining other members at events with voters we called “idearaisers.” We picked the best ideas they offered and turned them into a contract with Florida, which we later published and titled “100 Innovative Ideas for Florida’s Future.”
As I traveled the state in 2003 to prepare for my speakership, Jeanette usually stayed at home. Veronica invited her to services at a local church she attended, the First Baptist Church of Perrine. I had become so immersed in my political career that I had lapsed considerably in my spiritual responsibilities to my family. First Baptist, which would later change its name to Christ Fellowship, sparked a spiritual awakening in Jeanette’s life, and eventually in mine, too.
The church’s pastor, Rick Blackwood, is a gifted preacher very adept at connecting real-life experiences to biblical teaching. Christ Fellowship’s congregation grew immensely under his stewardship. One of the reasons for its popularity and its appeal to Jeanette and me was the excellent children’s program it offered on Sundays. I have often heard parents complain about how hard it is to get their children to want to go to church on Sunday. Since Jeanette started attending Christ Fellowship, Amanda and Daniella practically begged us to take them to Sunday services. I saw my children’s enthusiasm, and I saw how my wife’s faith was deepening and enriching her life, and concluded I shouldn’t let denominational divisions disrupt the awakening in their faith. More than anything else, I wanted my children to grow up with a strong faith influence in their lives. I also wanted my family to be part of a wholesome, family-oriented church, and Christ Fellowship provided that. It was a case of history repeating itself.
My parents began attending services at Christ Fellowship as well. My father, who had never been a regular churchgoer, often began insisting to my mother that they attend Sunday services. On Sundays, my entire family—my parents, my sisters and their families, my wife and daughters and I—went to church together, and then had lunch together. Christ Fellowship brought my family closer together and closer to Christ. By the end of 2003, Christ Fellowship was the church where we regularly attended services, and the church we tithed to as well. It was our church.
Yet, theologically, I hadn’t left the Catholic Church. Despite our growing relationship with Christ Fellowship, all of our children were baptized Catholics. And on many occasions, especially during the Lenten season, something in me still yearned for my Catholic roots.
One of the reasons so many Roman Catholics like me wander away from the Church in search of something more is because so many of us don’t appreciate or understand the fullness of the Catholic faith. The scriptural basis of the Catholic catechism, the theology behind the Church’s liturgy, its symbols and sacred traditions—these aren’t fully understood by many Catholics, even Catholics who attend Mass regularly and receive the sacraments. And when the Church’s teachings or practices are challenged, too many Catholics don’t know how to answer them.
Americans increasingly receive their news and information in creative and entertaining ways. And some want to receive their faith that way as well. The gospel, preached by a gifted pastor who ties its message to the routines, problems, aspirations and temptations of our everyday lives, is sometimes more accessible and comprehensible to twenty-first-century Americans in search of a closer relationship with Christ.
Sometimes it seems as if the American Catholic Church struggles to connect its ancient rituals and centuries-old practices steeped in the Old World traditions to the lives of the faithful. I’ve heard some Catholics say they often leave Mass feeling unfulfilled and detached, as if they just participated in an elaborate ceremony that didn’t reveal its purpose or draw them closer to God.
Many Catholics don’t understand the
richness of our ancient faith, or the powerful purpose behind every moment of the Mass. Every gesture, every word has a purpose and a meaning. Some are taught the practices but not the origins of our traditions, and don’t realize the connections of every part of our liturgy to biblical and historical truths.
That was me, unaware of the fullness of the liturgy and the intimate relationship with God the Church’s sacraments establish. And so I lapsed and joined another church, a place that provided my family a spiritual life that was more personal and comprehensible.
I admire Rick and the other pastors at Christ Fellowship. I respect how hard they work to meet the spiritual needs of their flock. Every Sunday, I watched desperate, hurting people make the walk to the front of the church and accept Christ into their lives. It is a deeply moving experience to witness.
Every Sunday, I witnessed a powerful message of the gospel that applied to the challenges I was facing, to the fears and doubts I had. It was a message of salvation. But it was also a practical guide to how our faith can influence and guide every aspect of our lives.
I loved Christ Fellowship—I still do. And yet, despite the power of its message, I could never shake the feeling that for me something was missing. Maybe that is why we were never baptized there, or why we never enrolled in the church’s introductory class that was a prerequisite to becoming full-fledged members of Christ Fellowship.
The church’s services offered a powerful teaching of Christian faith. But I felt I wanted something more. After some reflection, I finally figured out what it was. I craved, literally, the Most Blessed Sacrament, Holy Communion, the sacramental point of contact between the Catholic and the liturgy of heaven. I wondered why there couldn’t be a church that offered both a powerful, contemporary gospel message and the actual body and blood of Jesus.
There is an old saying, “Once a Catholic, always a Catholic.” I am not sure that is true for everyone, but for me the observation refers to more than nostalgia for the religious institutions and practices of my youth. Something greater than just old habits drew me back to the Catholic faith. It wasn’t my memories but my heart that compelled me, a deep sense that the Church holds the fullness of the faith that Jesus Christ founded. That it is built on the full truth, and I felt a calling for this truth.
In late 2004 and early 2005, Ralph Arza, my friend and early supporter of my campaign for speaker, helped lead me back to my Church. Influenced by the strength of his wife’s faith, Ralph had become a very active Catholic. He shared with me the books of Scott Hahn, a former Protestant minister who had become a lay evangelist in the Catholic Church. I even read the entire catechism of the Catholic Church.
A deep, almost mysterious, emotional attachment pulled me back to my church. The challenges to the Church’s teachings and sacred traditions inspired me to not just practice Catholic liturgy, but comprehend it.
I learned that the Church has answers, not only to the criticism it receives from other churches, but to the incompleteness and yearning that causes people to seek a fuller relationship with God. Every sacrament, every symbol and tradition of the Catholic faith is intended to convey, above everything else, the revelation that God yearns, too, for a relationship with you.
There are plenty of resources at our disposal that communicate that truth. In early 2005, I found a wonderful monthly Catholic publication, Magnificat, which I began reading faithfully. When I was in Tallahassee, I attended Mass with Ralph every morning. But I knew I faced a dilemma.
I was becoming a more devout Catholic, while my wife and daughters were growing in another faith tradition. In the pursuit of my temporal ambitions, I had neglected my spiritual responsibilities at home, and my wife and daughters had found their own spiritual home. I had no standing to insist my family return with me to the Church I had fallen back in love with.
I met with a priest to discuss my predicament. He wisely told me I should be grateful that my wife and children were growing stronger in their faith in Jesus Christ. I needed to take charge of my own spiritual growth, he advised, and trust God to take care of the rest. And that is what I did. I attended Mass during the week in Tallahassee, and often alone on Sunday mornings, before accompanying Jeanette and the girls to services at Christ Fellowship.
Our faith journey continues today. On most Saturday nights, we still attend services at Christ Fellowship, especially if Pastor Rick is preaching the sermon. His sermons still inspire me to grow in my Christian faith. On Sunday, we all attend Mass at St. Louis Catholic Church. My children are enrolled in CCD classes there. The girls received their first Holy Communion last May.
Some of my Catholic friends occasionally express concern over my continued association with Christ Fellowship. But I don’t think you can go to church too often or spend too much time in fellowship with other Christians, whatever denomination they confess. I fully accept the teachings of the Roman Catholic Church. But God used Christ Fellowship to bring me closer to Him and ultimately to the Catholic Church. As it is often said, He works in mysterious ways.
Some of the biblical teachings I listened to at Christ Fellowship helped make the Catholic Mass come alive for me, and I now see clearly the biblical basis for every word written in the Catholic liturgy. The Church’s liturgical calendar is no longer a meaningless routine to me. The days before Christmas are now Advent, the season of hope in anticipation of the greatest gift humanity has ever received. Christmas isn’t one day, but a twelve-day celebration of the birth of our Savior. And the bread of the Eucharist isn’t just a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice for us, but the living Christ, available to us every day of our lives.
To paraphrase a title of one of Scott Hahn’s books, I have come home to Rome, but with a real appreciation for the work being done by my brothers and sisters in Christ, who live their faith in other traditions.
As I have dealt with my faith journey in the context of my public life, I have learned to accept the powerful lesson contained therein. Our temporal ambitions are infinitely less important than our spiritual progress, but they are the stuff of life, too, and often beguiling, and they tempt us constantly to misplace our priorities. It’s a lifelong temptation, one which I have often succumbed to, and which tempts me still. We all crave to make our mark in this life, and sometimes forget that our place in the next one matters more. I have been ambitious for worldly success. I hope I have been for the right reasons. But I know my own failings well enough to admit that I am prey to the desire to achieve distinction for my own sake, in the mistaken belief that there is happiness in it. It’s a struggle to remember that when you’ve invested so much time and trouble in your success you’re likely to value it too dearly.
As for politics, the 2004 legislative session was just as difficult as the previous year. Speaker Byrd was running for the U.S. Senate and almost every decision he made was viewed by the press and many house members as politically motivated. But on an individual level, when the house adjourned in the summer of 2004, I was pleased with my personal progress. My political committee was well organized and well run. I had identified the members I would ask to join my leadership team. Many of them hadn’t initially supported me, but they were talented legislators and the right people for the jobs I had in mind for them. I believed we had identified worthy goals for my speakership and devised a good plan to achieve them. I didn’t think things could get any better. But they did.
CHAPTER 19
Speaker in Waiting
THE SPEAKER IN WAITING DOES NOT HAVE FORMAL POWERS in the legislature, but the distinction does come with political responsibilities. Beginning in early 2005, I was expected to lead the Florida Republican Party’s support for our house candidates in the 2006 election cycle. It wasn’t an official office, but by long-standing tradition, the next speaker is responsible for raising millions of dollars to fund the house campaign’s operation, and makes the hiring and spending decisions there as well. I would also be expected to fill in for incoming speaker Allan Bense when he was unable to attend a
fund-raising event for the party or one of our candidates.
I was still mostly unknown to Floridians outside my district, but my leadership of the campaign committee and my impending speakership were the beginning of my ascent to statewide political prominence. I was eager for the responsibilities and enhanced public profile my new leadership role would give me. I was not, however, prepared for the greater scrutiny accorded to prominent political figures. In the months following my election as speaker, I would make political and personal decisions that would cause me considerable political difficulty and embarrassment in the future when I tried to explain them to a skeptical press.
I spent much of the summer of 2004 cultivating relationships with the party’s leading donors, many of whom didn’t know me. I authorized my political committee to pay a retainer to my fund-raiser, Bridget Nocco, who organized the meetings and would later serve as the finance director for house campaigns. I paid my consultant Richard Corcoran a retainer so he could afford to take time away from his law practice and help my political operation. And in the fall of 2004, I also authorized my committee to hire my nephew Landy, as well as Jeanette’s brother Carlos and her cousin Mauricio, and I sent them to help several house campaigns around the state. They were too young to rent a car, so we rented my mother in law’s old van to use as transportation.
I didn’t consider these decisions to be anything less than practical and appropriate. Bridget and Richard were instrumental in organizing my political activities. And I needed young, inexpensive campaign aides to help me, and Landy, Carlos and Mauricio were capable and available. But years later, as a U.S. Senate candidate, some of the press would see things differently. The retainers paid to Richard and Bridget would be deemed lavish. And I would be accused of funneling money to my relatives. I didn’t have enough experience to know it then, but I would learn in the years ahead that every decision I made, even the smallest personnel and spending decisions, could be potentially exploited by my political adversaries.