Unsure how to wrap my head around this decision, I began asking him questions about why he was doing this. Somebody knowingly and willingly embracing Catholicism, in my mind, was akin to embracing Mormonism—or worse. It was just so obviously wrong. Even more confusing was that we had gone through the same undergraduate program together: Bible teaching. We had spent years learning to study, interpret, and teach the Bible, and if there  was one thing I thought I knew about Catholics, it was that they did not know the Bible. If they did know it, they would reject their beliefs and practices regarding the pope, Mary, the sacraments, purgatory, praying to the saints, a works-based salvation, and more. This had been the case with every person I knew who had been part of the Catholic Church at some point; when they began to learn the Bible, they walked away from the Catholic Church and its false teachings. My friend, however, already knew the Bible very well and was doing the exact opposite, and was convinced that in doing so, he was following Jesus. The more we talked, the more it became clear he had arrived at his decision through extensive study, and I would not be able to show him his errors in this one brief conversation.

Clarifying Misunderstandings

About a year later, my friend moved back to Jacksonville, and we began having more regular conversations about theology and Catholicism. Each time we talked, our conversation typically followed the same pattern. I would bring up a Catholic doctrine any good Protestant knew was false and ask him how he squared it with Scripture. He would then explain what the Catholic Church actually taught on the topic and how it did not contradict Scripture. In addition, he would usually direct me to the writings of the Church Fathers who backed up the Catholic teachings.

For example, I had always heard of purgatory as a “second chance” at heaven for those who die without being saved, or a way to finish paying for your sins in the next life. The selling of indulgences (which free souls from purgatory) during the early 16th century is largely what sparked the Reformation.

It seemed to me that purgatory and indulgences were clearly anti-biblical and an affront to the Gospel. However, my friend explained to me that this is not what purgatory is. The Catechism of the Catholic Church summarizes the meaning of purgatory when it states that “all who die in God’s grace, but still imperfectly purified, are indeed assured of their eternal salvation; but after death they undergo purification, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of heaven” (CCC 1030). Purgatory is not a second chance at heaven for unrepentant sinners, but a state of purification for those who die in a state of grace but still have some level of attachment to sin.

As Revelation 21:27 states regarding heaven, “Nothing unclean shall enter it.” How can a person enter heaven, the presence of the all-holy God, and still have impurity in their soul? Therefore, between death and entry into heaven, the forgiven but imperfect soul must somehow be purified. This purification is what the Catholic Church calls purgatory. Explained this way, I reluctantly acknowledged that it at least made sense and was built upon biblical principles. In addition, the writings of various Church Fathers show that, from early Christian history, this doctrine was believed. St. Augustine, for example, writes, “Temporal punishments are suffered by some in this life only, by some after death, by some both here and hereafter, but all of them before that last and strictest judgment. But not all who suffer temporal punishments after death will come to eternal punishments, which are to follow after that judgment” (The City of God 21:13).

I wasn’t ready to embrace the doctrine, but I had to admit it wasn’t as terrible as I thought. It made a lot of sense, and properly understood, it didn’t contradict the Bible. Furthermore, there was more historical weight for Christians believing that doctrine than not, which put me on the wrong side of history. I quickly moved on to the next topic.

These conversations continued for about two years as I worked at my church. During this time, I learned that Catholics don’t have a works-based salvation, they don’t worship Mary, they believe the Bible, and on and on. Over the course of these conversations and my own study, I learned some important things: first, what I knew of the Catholic Church and its teachings was incorrect. Most of what I had been taught about the dissent from Catholic doctrines was based on misunderstandings and misrepresentations of what the Catholic Church actually teaches. As I kept telling my friend after each of my misunderstandings was corrected, “While I don’t agree with what you believe, I can at least see where the Church is coming from.” I don’t know how many times I used those words. I also didn’t know how much trouble I was in by beginning to be “fair” to the Catholic Church, as G.K. Chesterton says.

The second thing I came to see in a new and deeper way during this time was that everyone reads the Bible through some kind of theological lens. The Bible is not a systematic theology book or a catechism explaining every point of doctrine, but the story of salvation history. It must be interpreted, and the truths it teaches about God and the world are not always as plain as one might think. The denomination one is part of generally determines how one interprets the Bible and provides the lens through which it is read. It slowly became clear that the Catholic/Protestant debate is not a matter of the Bible’s teachings versus the Catholic Church’s teachings, but who is interpreting the Bible the right way. How could we solve this problem?

The Baptism Dilemma

While working at the Presbyterian church, I also began working toward a Master of Divinity degree through Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, with hopes of continuing a career in ministry and Bible teaching of some kind. At this time, my interest in the Catholic Church was still primarily one of curiosity and fairness—I wanted to be sure that, as a teacher, I was accurately representing those with whom I disagreed.

Additionally, I found that I was in a perfect position to learn more about the Catholic Church through my classes and personal study. One topic I kept encountering that gave me trouble was baptism.

I had grown up in Non-denominational and Reformed Baptist churches, so working at a Presbyterian church was the first time in my life that I was part of a church that baptized babies. I wrestled with the extremely broad range of beliefs and practices surrounding baptism within Protestantism. Because baptism is viewed by most Protestants as a secondary theological issue, these differences are significant enough to cause Christians to worship in separate churches while not considering each other as heretics. This approach is often summarized with the phrase, “In essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty, in all things charity.” The more I studied baptism, though, the more I questioned if it could really be considered a “non-essential” tenet of Christianity. In Matthew 28:19, Jesus gives the Great Commission to the apostles: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.” How are they to accomplish this mission? By baptizing and teaching. If baptism is what Jesus clearly commanded his followers to do in the making of disciples, isn’t it important that we get the questions of who, what, when, where, why, and how regarding it right? How could there be so many vastly different opinions on the most important outward sign of being a Christian?

My problems only deepened when, through my studies, I was faced with the reality that, before the Reformation, the consensus view of baptism held by Christians through all Church history was the Catholic position—baptismal regeneration. Two examples from St. Justin Martyr and St. Augustine illustrate this reality:

“Then they are led by us to a place where there is water, and they are reborn in the same kind of rebirth in which we ourselves were reborn: In the name of God, the Lord and Father of all, and of our Savior Jesus Christ, and of the Holy Spirit, they receive the washing of water. For Christ said, ‘Unless you be reborn, you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven.’…The reason for doing this, we have learned from the Apostles.” (St. Justin Martyr, The First Apology, 61:14–17)

“This is the witness of Scripture too… If anyone wonders why children born of the baptized should themselves be baptized, let him attend briefly to this… The sacrament of baptism is most assuredly the sacrament of regeneration.” (St. Augustine, On Merit and the Forgiveness of Sin, and the Baptism of Infants, 2:27:43)

The testimony was overwhelming that this was what the early Church believed about baptism. I re-examined the New Testament teaching and found that nowhere does it describe baptism as a symbol of human action, but God’s. In addition, it is never defined as being merely symbolic. On the contrary, each text (see Romans 6:3; Galatians 3:27; John 3:5; Acts 2:38; 1 Peter 3:21; Colossians 2:12) describes something taking place in baptism, namely God’s action of regenerating, forgiving, adopting, uniting with Christ, and incorporating the baptized into the Church.

If baptismal regeneration was the correct interpretation of the scriptural passages on baptism, then it could not be a secondary issue, for through it we become God’s children and are forgiven of our sins. And for the first 1500 years of Church history, there was agreement about the nature of baptism. Again, I found myself on the wrong side of Church history with little ground to stand on. Ulrich Zwingli, one of the Reformers, recognized this but still said the following: “In this matter of baptism—if I may be pardoned for saying it—I can only conclude that all the doctors have been in error from the time of the apostles.” (Zwingli, On Baptism). I could not bring myself to make the same claim.

Foundations Shaking

Convinced of baptismal regeneration by the biblical and historical data, I thought my main theological dilemma had been solved. But this theological shift surprised me, because I now agreed with the Catholic Church on an issue I previously believed the total opposite. It didn’t cause me to consider becoming Catholic myself, since there were Protestant denomina- tions that held this view of baptism. However, the underlying questions about authority and the interpretation of Scripture had begun to shake the foundations of many of my other long-held beliefs, as well. My change of mind on baptism was simultaneously exciting and unsettling. The excitement stemmed from the result of discovering something new and being deeply convicted of its truth after studying it for so long. As time went on, however, it unsettled me because it caused me to wonder: if I had been wrong about baptism, could I be similarly wrong about other doctrines, especially Catholic ones? And how does the Church determine which doctrines and practices are the essential ones? Who decides that?

I had done enough basic study of Catholicism up to this point to have moved past the common misconceptions of it, but I still had the “I-don’t-agree-with-where-you-are-but-I- see-how-you-got-there” attitude toward it. Nevertheless, discoveries up to this point led me to share some of my findings with my parents and older brother. In talking about what I had learned about Catholicism, I expressed frustration that so  many Protestants didn’t understand Catholic theology. I explained to them various Catholic beliefs such as why they have priests, what they really believe about Mary, and where they find their basis for the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist in Scripture. Hesitantly, they listened to me.

My parents raised my siblings and me with a commitment to teach us to know and love God. I owe my faith to them more than anyone in my life. The Second Vatican Council states in Lumen Gentium that, “The family is, so to speak, the domestic church. In it parents should, by their word and example, be the first preachers of the faith to their children” (LG, 11). My parents exemplified this in both aspects described: word and example. We had family devotions together every night, memorized Scripture, sang hymns, and faithfully attended church.

There wasn’t anything explicitly hostile towards the Catholic Church in the practice of our faith, but we were informed and convinced of our Protestantism, so there was a natural bias and negative outlook towards Catholicism. After several months of conversations, I realized that I was scaring them when they sent me a concerned, loving email, expressing caution about a few Catholic beliefs. They told me that it would be easier for them if I became Anglican. I reassured them that I had zero intention of becoming Catholic and that I was primarily concerned with fair and honest conversations between the two sides.

My older brother and I have always loved discussing theology, so when I told him that I believed in baptismal regeneration, he created a group chat with some other friends who also liked debating theology to discuss the topic. We went back and forth for a couple of weeks, and after the discussion had run its course, one of them jokingly asked what topic we could discuss next where everyone could gang up on me. I responded, “Well, I’m okay with relics, icons, and prayer to the saints.” As you can imagine, the conversation quickly moved there.

I had been only half serious, still firmly in the “under- standing but not embracing” stage regarding these practices. I had not yet prayed a Hail Mary or venerated an icon myself, but I was starting to wonder why I shouldn’t. So once again, I found myself defending the Catholic Church, even though I reassured others (and now, myself as well) that I was not, and would not, become Catholic. I simply wanted the Catholic claims to be taken seriously, because then I could accurately and fully evaluate them, and then, once and for all, reject them.

As I tried to find Protestant engagement with Catholic beliefs, however, I repeatedly ran into the same basic anti-Catholic argument: where is that in the Bible? The problem with this question is that it completely misses the point of the Catholic/Protestant divide. As mentioned before, doctrinal disagreements cannot simply be solved by asking, “What does the Bible say?” because, as St. Vincent of Lerins says, there are as many interpretations of Scripture as there are interpreters (The Commonitory of St. Vincent, II, 5). So how are we supposed to solve interpretive disagreements?

The breakdown of the principle of sola Scriptura was complete for me when two realities became obvious. The first was that Scripture itself doesn’t teach sola Scriptura. The second was that before one can determine how to interpret the Word of God, they must know what the Word of God is. Which books belong in the Bible? On this question, like so many others, Christians disagree. The Bible itself does not give us a list of books which are inspired by God. This means that one must go outside the Bible to determine the canon. However, if only the Bible is an infallible authority, then any outside group determining the canon by definition is fallible, and therefore they could have gotten the list of books wrong.

This twofold crisis of the dismantling of the Protestant structure of authority and the problem of the canon promptly moved me from “fair, but contentedly removed from the Catholic Church,” to seriously wondering and worrying if it was right. Its threefold authority structure of Scripture, Tradition, and the Magisterium seemed to provide the only reasonable solution to these problems. With this structure, questions like that of the biblical canon can be answered. This is because the Church is guided by the Holy Spirit through its divinely instituted teaching authority, the Magisterium. I was now acutely aware of the impact the answer to these questions would have on my current job, career, school, and life.

Not knowing how much longer I’d be able to continue working at my church while questioning so many fundamental tenets of Protestantism, I knew I needed to figure out if Catholicism’s claim to be the authoritative interpreter of Scripture was true. However, with a full-time job and taking seminary classes, I wasn’t sure how much time I’d have to dedicate to this level of study. Then, COVID hit, and everything shut down.

The Final Stage

Suddenly, like everyone else, I found myself stuck at home with a lot of extra time on my hands. I focused my study on the question of authority and the canon of Scripture. I saw that the Catholic Church’s claims to authority affected not only its uniquely Catholic dogmas, but also Christianity as a whole. If sola Scriptura is true, then foundational beliefs like the Trinity and the deity of Christ could be called into question because the orthodox formulations of such doctrines required Ecumenical Councils to formulate them. Furthermore, how could I trust the Bible itself unless the Church is guided by the Holy  Spirit to get the books contained in it correct? As St. Augustine said, “I would not believe in the Gospels were it not for the authority of the Catholic Church” (Against the Letter of Mani Called “The Foundations,” 5:6).

G.K. Chesterton powerfully describes this discrepancy with an analogy of an ornate priestly procession going down the street, laden with their canopies, headdresses, staffs, scrolls, images, candles, relics, and more. He writes:

“I can understand the spectator saying, ‘This is all hocus-pocus’… I can even understand him, in moments of irritation, breaking up the procession, throwing down the images, tearing up the scrolls, dancing on the priests and anything else that might express that general view… But in what conceivable frame of mind does he rush in to select one particular scroll of the scriptures of this one particular group (a scroll which had always belonged to them and been a part of their hocus-pocus, if it was hocus-pocus); why in the world should the man in the street say that one particular scroll was not bosh, but was the one and only truth by which all the other things were to be condemned?” (The Catholic Church and Conversion, Ignatius Press: 1926. 39-40)

I realized that, as a Protestant, I was inconsistently relying on the Catholic Church for the Bible itself, for fundamental formulations of doctrine like the Trinity and the nature of Christ, but was throwing out other beliefs simply because they were Catholic. It was apparent that the Catholic Church’s threefold structure of authority—Scripture, Tradition, and the Magisterium—was necessary to have confidence in the sources and truths of our faith. Through this means, Christ’s promise to lead His Church into all truth through the Holy Spirit is ensured, and protection from error is guaranteed. I also found, through the New Testament and onwards through the writings of the Church Fathers, that the early Church was centralized, hierarchical, and universal, not individually governed or congregational. The Catholic Church was the only Church that still could claim continuity with the early Church in both form and doctrine and the only Church that had ongoing means by which it could be protected from error through its Magisterium and Apostolic Succession. The biblical, historical, and epistemological weight of the Catholic Church’s position was overwhelming.

When COVID restrictions began to lift, I attended Mass when possible, but I wasn’t yet ready to swim the Tiber. I didn’t have any more doctrinal hang ups, but I still had a fear that I might have missed something or not studied enough. And, if I did take the plunge, what if something down the road changed my mind again?

Amid this uncertainty and fear, however, the knowledge that God is a God of truth and promises to lead us into the truth if we are honest and obedient, gave me the comfort and courage I needed to step out in faith. In addition, I had begun praying the Rosary, and I’m convinced that the intercession of Mary, who always points us to her Son (John 2:5), helped calm my fears and strengthen my trust in God’s guidance.

Thus, at the end of summer 2020, I stopped protesting the Catholic Church. I began telling my family, friends, and church of my decision to convert. These were some of the most difficult conversations I’ve ever had, and joining the Catholic Church led to the loss of some relationships. Becoming Catholic, of course, does involve the denial of some Protestant distinctives and the acceptance of one’s incompatibility with it, but I see my entrance into Catholicism as an embracing of the fullness of Christianity, not a conversion to a different religion.

I learned to love Jesus, the Bible, truth, and what it means to follow Him from the countless Protestants in my life, and because of them I had the courage to continue to do so into His Church.

Once I had decided, I did not want to wait to be confirmed and receive the Eucharist, but thought it would be wise to go through RCIA first. I enrolled in the RCIA class at the local parish, had my first confession after a few months, and was joyfully confirmed at the Easter Vigil in April 2021. My confirmation saint was St. Ignatius of Antioch, an Apostolic Father whose writings were instrumental in my journey.

The most common question I’ve received, of course, is why I converted. I always have trouble answering this question, though. How can I pick one thing? Over the course of my journey, I became convinced of the truth of the Catholic faith one piece at a time. To be sure, the question of authority and interpretation is foundational and the most important, and ultimately what it came down to for me. The truth of the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist is itself a singularly great reason to convert. The beauty of the liturgy, the grace of the sacraments, the deep historical roots, the communion of saints…

I could go on. But in my moment of decision, it was because I knew it was true, and I knew that, no matter the cost, I had to surrender to the Truth.

The second most common question I’ve received, due to the nature of my conversion primarily involving theological study, is whether my conversion has been beneficial for my spiritual life and relationship with the Lord, and not just an intellectual conversion. This question is also difficult to answer because it drives an unnecessary wedge between the mind and heart in one’s walk with the Lord. Ask any married man and he will probably tell you that the more he gets to know his wife, the more he loves her. It has been no different for me upon en- tering the Church. To know God is to love Him, and to grow in my knowledge of Him and His love for me, more fully and deeply than ever before, within the Catholic Church has been transformative.

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For many years, Alan was the U.S. record holder for the fastest mile time at 3 minutes and 46 seconds! He now serves as a coach in the athletic department at Ave Maria University.

The post Alan Webb – Former Mainline Protestant appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

In November of 1973, when I was eight years old, my parents had their sixth child, Phyllis. Tragically, she was stillborn because the umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck. My innocent mind struggled to understand how this could happen, and, understandably, it devastated our whole family. What happened next, though, puzzled me greatly. At the small funeral which was held in the hospital chapel for Phyllis, I witnessed doctors and nurses crying over our lost sibling. It was profound, but even at age eight, I wondered why these medical staff, some of whom supported or even may have participated in the newly legalized abortion of the unborn, could then cry for my sister. Didn’t those babies deserve the same dignity as my sister? A seed was planted that day, watered with the many tears of my mother.

Laying the Foundation

Over the years, my interest in the sciences, and biology in particular, grew. I went to college and completed my pre-med coursework, with plans to attend medical school. While in college, I had a few Catholic friends, and I attended Mass a couple of times with them. However, I was angry because I felt as though the Catholics thought they were better than me, denying me communion, so I defiantly went forward and received the Eucharist, thinking it was only bread. I pretty much forgot about that event until I started to contemplate the Catholic Faith many years later.

After college, I applied to medical school, but I wasn’t accepted the first time I applied. Because of this, I got a job at Johns Hopkins University developing protocols for pediatric leukemia treatments, while also working as a home health nurse aide. After a year, I changed gears and went to Colorado to join the full-time staff of Young Life, working as a counselor with troubled teens experiencing teen pregnancy and teen homelessness. I also enrolled at Fuller Theological Seminary to study Christian Family Counseling. While there, I gained important skills in working with this demographic, as well as learning how to see and love them, rather than focusing on their crimes and shortcomings.

With the dream of medicine still in my heart, though, I returned to the east coast to conduct research on Alzheimer’s Disease at Duke University while working as a physical therapy assistant. During this time, I was attending a Presbyterian church with friends, but I met this bubbly Catholic Cajun girl who had just moved up from southern Louisiana for a critical care nursing internship. I had never met a Catholic who was so dedicated to his or her beliefs. Kathleen was not a great apologist and didn’t have complete answers to many of my questions, but she had an unwavering faith. I was fascinated with this new species of Christian.

Marriage and Medical School

I had always been able to easily counter arguments in favor of Catholicism, but Kathleen had a great uncle who was a diocesan monsignor and an uncle who was a Discalced Carmelite friar; she was formed well enough to resist the basic tenets of Protestantism. As we started to spend more time together, talking about our very different lives and beliefs, we began to fall in love. I had been an avid member of Intervarsity and Campus Crusade for Christ, so I was confident I could lead her to the “truth” of the Reformation. During this time, I applied to medical school a second time and was rejected again. I was told I needed to get a master’s degree to prove I could do graduate level work. So, I decided to return to The College of William and Mary where I had earned my undergraduate degree, while Kathleen returned to Louisiana to take care of her dying grandmother.

After her grandmother’s death, Kathleen moved back to Virginia so we could continue discerning marriage together while she lived in a nearby town, working as a nurse. I earned my master’s degree in biology, but was rejected a third time to medical school. Frustrated, I decided to actually move to the medical school in Richmond, get a research job, and stay until they got tired enough of me to admit me. I researched and published on brain receptors in rats and applied a fourth time. I finally was accepted.

After applying for and receiving all the canonical approvals from the Church, Kathleen and I were married two weeks before the start of medical school in 1994. We had gone through pre-Cana (marriage preparation) classes and agreed on most topics, such as birth control, abortion, and raising the kids Catholic. However, I still thought she would become Presbyterian. I would attend Mass with her, but I was also part of a Presbyterian church. The “mission” of our marriage was “to live the broken body of Christ and strive towards unity in His Church.”

A Pro-Life Ethic

During medical school, my commitment to pro-life medicine solidified. Throughout medical school, I had to fight against instruction that promoted supporting the relativistic convictions of patients rather than helping patients ethically navigate health care decisions. Birth control, abortion, euthanasia, neglecting abstinence counseling, and many other topics were left up to the patient alone, forcing many students to practice medicine against their consciences.

Thankfully, this changed when I moved on to my residency. Kathleen and I practiced Natural Family Planning (NFP), and when we moved to begin my residency position in Family Medicine in Mobile, AL, we became a certified Sympto-Thermal Method teaching couple. My first week in residency, I was faced with a 16-year-old girl requesting birth control from me. I had to pause and pray. I told her I could not in good conscience prescribe a harmful medicine to her, especially one that would support an immoral lifestyle. As a family practitioner, I practiced medicine with a holistic approach, caring for mind, body, and soul. Following this, I approached my director and told him that I could not prescribe birth control or make referrals for procedures such as abortion or sterilization. He respected my right of conscience, and I went on to complete my residency.

During this time, I would listen to my wife teach the Rosary and the tenets of her Catholic faith to our growing family. Our third child was born during my residency. Kathleen was pregnant with our fourth child when we moved to North Carolina, where I joined an NFP-only general practice. In this new practice, we started to have many Catholics come under our care. All of the local priests came to us, as well as the many large, homeschooling Catholic families.

When our kids reached school age, we opened King of Mercy homeschool and were able to incorporate our religious beliefs into our curriculum. Kathleen was becoming stronger in her faith, while the Methodist church I was attending was becoming more progressive and deviating from my beliefs. Our local priests asked us to teach NFP to couples in marriage preparation, and they went on to have me teach sessions in the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults (RCIA) regarding the Church’s teachings on birth control, sterilization, in vitro fertilization, and end-of-life care. I thought it was pretty progressive of these priests to allow a non-Catholic to teach in their RCIA and pre-Cana classes.

I became more interested in Catholic ethics. During our second year in North Carolina, an influential pro-life leader was coming to town, and I was asked to host him. I spent several days with this amazing man, who was wholly dedicated to the defense of the unborn. Over the next five years, my practice partner, Dr. Danny Holland, and I offered free prenatal care and delivery services to abortion-vulnerable women. We would pray outside of the abortion clinics and set up referral services through the crisis pregnancy centers to deliver free care.

In 2006, a young woman came into the office after taking the abortion pill and immediately regretting it. She wanted to reverse the abortion. God delivered an idea to me to use progesterone to do exactly that. We had progesterone in our office because Dr. Holland was a certified NaPro Fertility Consultant, having trained at the Pope Paul VI Institute in Nebraska. She received the treatment, and her baby survived. Today, that baby is a healthy 16-year-old girl.

If I had gone straight to medical school out of college, I never would have gained the experience and wisdom to understand how protein receptors worked, to understand the plight of a teenager in pregnancy, or to see this medical dilemma with a “can do” culture-of-life medical approach.

Following this, though I was still a Protestant, I became a medical advisor for Priests for Life and started working with others on delivering this protocol to more women hoping to reverse their abortions. Ultimately, I teamed up with Dr. George Delgado, who had also discovered the reversal protocol separately, and began collecting abortion reversal stories, publishing a case series of reversal treatments in 2012. Eventually, Heartbeat International took over Dr. Delgado’s call center, and they have been able to expand the network of providers able to deliver this treatment. To date, they have over 2000 providers in 86 countries, and the Abortion Pill Reversal protocol has saved over 4000 babies, with numbers growing daily as medication abortion services expand.

Surrendering My Skepticism

Meanwhile, in the midst of this work, I was struggling with my faith, trying to sort out the truths of Kathleen’s and my seemingly opposing churches. I had debated topics with multiple priests and catechists. I had attended multiple conferences. I had been to Rome and stood two feet from Pope John Paul II while searching for answers. I led Catholic medical missions to Mexico, Ghana, and Vietnam, but I still could not bring myself to accept the Catholic Faith.

One patient whom I met on a mission particularly touched me. It was a very frustrating and unorganized day in the makeshift clinic we had put together in bush country. Hundreds of patients, some of whom had walked two days to see us, were tired and hungry and needing help. I was tired and hot and second guessing this trip. I asked God to show Himself to me and convince me that I made the right decision to come. A little boy then came in to see me. He was about eight years old, dirty and malnourished. He had scaly skin and a large wound in his head, called a Buruli ulcer. This is a chronic wound that requires surgical treatment plus special antibiotic treatment. It was eating into his skull. The village children teased him and poked him in one eye with a stick, leaving him blind in that eye. His mother had abandoned him, and his grandmother was reluctantly raising him. He was seen as a curse in this village, where many still practiced animist religions. When I asked his name, his grandmother told me, “Emmanuel” — literally, “God with us.” It struck me right in the heart. My prayer was answered, and we did all we could to cure this little boy. We offered to take him to the United States for treatment, but ultimately, we could not do it. We did get him to a regional Buruli ulcer center, but sadly, he died six months later. However, this encounter gave me a real heart for the places God meets us and helped me to understand how we are to see Jesus in each of our patients and be Jesus to them.

Despite these experiences, I was still struggling with my faith. By now, I had stopped going to Protestant services and was fully integrated into the life of our parish. In fact, people were surprised when they found out that I wasn’t Catholic.

Maybe it was pride or my inborn stubbornness, but when I really examined the root issue, it came down to the Eucharist. As a scientist and medical doctor, I could not bring myself to consider it even a possibility that bread and wine could become God — so vulnerable, so physical, so present, and so seemingly inanimate.

Continuing to wrestle with my skepticism, one day, I received a call from our priest asking me to investigate a possible Eucharistic miracle. The priest said he was looking for someone who was scientifically sound, who would honestly evaluate the Host and not be tempted to be biased based on religious belief. I accepted the task and traveled to investigate a Host that had fallen to the floor, then was placed in holy water. When the priest went to properly dispose of the Host, it had a bloody and fleshy appearance. I was fascinated and took a sample to a pathologist. The first test came back positive for the possible presence of blood, but further testing revealed that it was a bacterial growth. This type of bacteria glows very red, and the Host had become puffy with the absorption of water and bacterial growth. I delivered my report to the priest, but the event made me think very deeply about my ability to believe, especially amid my other experiences with Eucharistic miracles.

I had been to Orvieto, Italy, and studied other Eucharistic miracles, where the accidents remaining after the transubstantiation had actually conformed to the physical appearance of the Body and Blood of our Lord. I saw the stained altar cloth in Orvieto and marveled at the multiple accounts of AB blood type, the universal blood type recipient found in these Eucharistic miracles. I thought how appropriate that blood type would be, given that Christ longs to receive everyone into His kingdom. I really wanted to believe, but my data collecting brain wouldn’t let me.

All of these factors made me think about the multiple times where Christ had said we must have the faith of a child to receive the kingdom of God. I had studied Scott Hahn’s The Lamb’s Supper and even gone to several of his conferences. I decided that if there is no way possible for me to believe, then I would have never gone to investigate a possible miracle in the first place. All this time I had been waiting for God to physically change bread and wine into flesh and blood, but what God changed instead was my heart. I believe my subconscious was wanting to believe, but my conscious intellect was blocking that belief.

Another shift in my faith took place when we went on mission to Vietnam. While there, we experienced a frightening incident as we were driving in the middle of the night to the leper colonies. The priest in the car started praying the Rosary while our lives were in danger, and I joined in my desperation. This was the first Rosary I actually prayed, and I felt real comfort come over me. That we were saved from an almost certain collision and death affirmed my trust in praying for the Blessed Mother’s help, and today, the Rosary is a daily devotion for me.

Prior to this, I would always sit with our family as my wife led our seven children in the Rosary, rebelliously not wanting to “pray to Mary,” but wanting to be with my family. As a Protestant, I had confused worship and prayer, not understanding the “communion of the saints,” which not only includes those on earth but also those in heaven. When I really studied the Rosary, I realized how scriptural it was and had little argument with it. If I would be honored to have Billy Graham pray for me, why wouldn’t I want the prayers of Jesus’ own mother? I started to realize I could never love Mary more than Jesus does. When praying the Rosary and meditating on the mysteries, it started to feel like the times when I would sit with my best friend’s mother and talk about her son’s adventures. But instead of seeing my friend’s antics through the eyes of an immature friend, I was able to see those same stories through the eyes of a loving mother. That was now how I was learning to pray the Rosary, seeing the passion of our Lord through the eyes of a grieving mother, or the joy of the presentation at the temple through Mary’s eyes.

A Final Spiritual Offensive

As our children were growing older, with one in college, I knew that I needed to make a decision regarding my faith. Therefore, I told my wife that I was going to attend the upcoming RCIA classes in order to truly investigate the questions I had regarding the faith. Little did I know that my wife had enlisted multiple priests to start a novena of novenas, offering 81 Masses for the intention of my conversion. At the time I told her that I was going to start RCIA, they were already 13 Masses in, but she didn’t reveal this spiritual offensive to me until after my Confirmation on Pentecost in 2015. I remember my first Sacrament of Reconciliation, and the first sin off of my lips was that of pride. The second was receiving our Lord in the Eucharist while I was in college without recognizing that it was actually the Lord Himself. Now that I knew that specific sin was grave, it weighed heavily on my heart until I confessed it. Wow! It was such a relief, and I could finally know and acknowledge His presence in the Eucharist!

It was after this that I came into full communion with the Church through the Sacrament of Confirmation in the Traditional Latin Rite, a stark contrast from my prior faith. I chose the saint that I had only stood a few feet from as my confirmation saint: Pope St. John Paul II. Not many can say they have met their confirmation saint!

That same year, my son decided to attend college seminary and discern a call to the priesthood. He is scheduled to be ordained in June of this year (2024), and a second son will be starting his first year of major seminary in the Fall. Since the time of my reception into the Church, my faith has only grown. I truly feel that my faith is complete in the celebration of the Mass.

I am eternally grateful for the wonderful Christian upbringing of my parents and extended family. They gave me such a strong foundation in faith and Scripture. They love my wife and family very much. In fact, my wife has broken many of their stereotypes about Catholics. Even though they do not agree with us theologically, they remain continually supportive and loving, for which I am truly grateful.

I still feel like a baby Catholic and am looking forward to the spiritual journey ahead. Thinking back on the road that led me into the Church, I invite any Protestants who are considering the Catholic faith but are held back by fears to just relax and rest in the Lord. Take a deep dive into the history of our Christian faith and read the early fathers. Go and sit and attend a Mass and observe. Sit in an adoration chapel and just ask the Lord to guide you into His will.

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Read a written version of Don’s testimony.

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Wanting to have more of it sink into his heart, he went to live at a L’arche community in Chicago. Along the way, he flirted with the possibility of becoming Catholic, but it was spending lots of time with Muslim friends that caused him to rethink his Christianity as not just a belief system, but an entire way of life. 

Along the way, Jeremy discovered that his life experiences had given him a unique perspective that he could express through the medium of stand-up comedy, which he has been involved in for a number of years.

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However, all that success didn’t seem to be meeting his need for meaning. He decided to take a sabbatical to Rome, and even though not Catholic, somehow connected with the Dominican Order and even ended up working on the Vatican website!

Eventually, so many things came together that Fr. Corwin could no longer ignore God’s call, and he became Catholic, and discerned a vocation with the Dominican Order.

The post Fr. Corwin Low, O.P. – Former Nominal Christian appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

Dean shares how he came over time to realize the incredible role that Mary played, not only in the Biblical account of her life with Jesus, but also in cooperating with God as He brought all of salvation history to fulfillment.

More of Dean’s story

The post Preaching Mary Beyond the Manger – Dean Waldt appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

A scandal in his congregation led him to re-evaluate the theological and philosophical roots of his faith, which took him deeper into Calvinism and the Reformed tradition. Erik decided to pursue a doctorate in philosophy at Purdue, and taught briefly at Notre Dame, all the while becoming more and more intrigued by the Catholic approach to philosophy. Over time, he began to realize he could no longer treat his interest in Catholicism as a mere academic exercise; he needed to actually come into the Church.

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A brush with cancer brought new urgency to these questions, and after some time in an Anglo-Catholic church, she felt called to come all the way home to Catholicism.

Read a written version of Andrea’s testimony.

The post Andrea Garrett – Former Evangelical and Anglican appeared first on The Coming Home Network.