Throughout my entire childhood, I witnessed my dad’s even-handed mockery of anything religious and my mom’s rather eclectic interest in everything religious. This polarity of perspectives shaped in me both suspicion and curiosity about religion. When I conversed about religion with my parents, who had adopted me when I was eight months old, they would always tell me, “Your biological parents were Catholic, but rather than having you baptized as a Catholic, we feel that when you are old enough, you should decide for yourself what you want to believe.”

My First Bible: Conspiracy and Curiosity

When I was in elementary school, my parents did allow my siblings and me to ride the neighborhood Sunday school bus that stopped on the street in our small Denver neighborhood every Sunday on its way to the local Baptist church. For some reason, my parents, who were not on the same page about their own religious convictions, also thought that they should put a Bible in my Easter basket when I was eight years old.

It was a Sunday morning in April of 1977, and there it was, nestled in the basket between the candy eggs and jellybeans, the green plastic grass, and the paddle-ball toy—a small white gift-and- award King James Bible. I grabbed it right out of the basket and stared at it in awe. My very own Bible! I knew it was an important book, but had no idea why, so I asked my mom to give me the scoop. She announced, in a conspiratorial tone of voice, that the Bible was “an ancient religious book written by a group of men whose goal was to control the masses through religion.”

My young brain wondered why she would want to give me such a book, but I was still curious about what it contained, so I set out to read it. I got to Genesis chapter six or seven, lost interest, and put it on the shelf. As I got older, I would go through this exercise repeatedly, occasionally thumbing through the shiny pictures inside, scanning the chapters toward the end that had red letters in four of the books, but never really figuring out what I was reading. Well into my late teens, the Bible remained a mysterious book for me.

“Mormon Cindy,” Confusion, and a Crisis

My family moved from Denver to Salt Lake City when I was nine years old, and my parents allowed me to attend the Lutheran church with my cousin. This didn’t mean their attitude toward religion had changed. I still remember my dad mocking my Sunday School class’s performance of a Bible song and having it become a standard family joke because we all found it funny, even into adulthood.

Despite these experiences at home, living in Utah opened my eyes to the reality that religion could permeate an entire culture. In Utah, discussions about God, Jesus, the Bible, and innumerable related topics were as normal as talking about one’s favorite sports team or television program. This further awakened my curiosity and openness to religious dialogue.

When I entered junior high, many of my Latter-Day Saint (Mormon) friends began attending religious instruction at a nearby LDS seminary during school hours. I saw them carry their Bibles and other religious books with them, eager to learn about their faith.

During my junior year of high school, I began dating a beautiful LDS girl named Cindy who, upon discovering that I wasn’t a Mormon, asked me to attend a series of discussions with the Mormon missionaries in her home. When I told my mother about it, to my surprise she exhorted, “Just be sure that if you read the Book of Mormon, you give the Bible equal time.”

I had also begun taking a karate class from a man who talked about being a “born again Christian.” He insisted that Mormonism was not “historic, orthodox Christianity.” I had no idea what that meant, but right away, I went from my crush on “Mormon Cindy” to a crisis. My pretty LDS girlfriend, her family, and all my Mormon friends at school were telling me their faith was the fullness of the truth, yet one of my mentors was telling me that not only was it not true, it wasn’t even Christianity! Again, my mother reminded me that I needed to make up my own mind, and my dad reminded me that no matter what decision I made, I’d still be landing in someone’s version of religious idiocy.

Born Again

During those days of crisis, my motives shifted dramatically from wanting to please my girlfriend, my karate teacher, and even my parents, to wanting answers in the simplest of terms: how could I know the truth, and how could I be sure I would end up in heaven when I died? On the evening of Thursday, July 24, 1986, I loaded up all the materials I had been collecting and took them with me to the Mormon temple in downtown Salt Lake City to talk with the missionaries there. I found a temple missionary and asked him a simple question; “How can I know Mormonism is true, and how can I be sure I’ll go to heaven when I die?” He replied, “Many are called, but few are chosen,” then smiled and walked away.

Confused and discouraged, I left too. As I left the temple square, I was immediately drawn to the sound of singing coming from a group of people marching up the street behind a man carrying a huge wooden cross. I couldn’t believe it! I ran over to the group and asked the first guy I met what they were doing. A young “surfer dude” from California, David, smiled as he said, “We’re taking this city for Jesus Christ! What are you doing here?” I opened my bag of books and blurted out, “I’m looking for God!” We stared at each other for a minute in excited disbelief; then, he asked me to step aside and sit with him on a bench in front of one of the buildings.

I told David about my experience with the LDS missionary and asked him the same questions: “How can I know the truth, and how can I know I’ll go to heaven when I die?” David took out his Bible and a small notepad and wrote down John 3:3 (“…you must be born again…”), John 3:16 (“…for God so loved the World…”), John 14:6 (“I am the way…truth…life”), and Romans 10:9 (“If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.”). He said, “The simple answer is that you can know the truth by reading the Bible, and to be sure you’ll go to heaven you simply need to believe in and follow Jesus as your Lord and Savior.” Then he asked, “Would you like to pray and do that now?” I told him that I knew it was what I needed to do, but remembering my mom’s often-repeated words from my childhood, “You need to decide for yourself what you believe,” this was something I wanted to do alone.

The next night, after telling my parents and Cindy what had happened to me, I went to my karate teacher’s house to share the news with him. I had decided to be a “born again Christian.” I walked back to my car, and while sitting on the hood of my car in front of his house, I stared up into the night sky, praying aloud, “God I believe in you. I believe in Jesus. I want to serve you with my whole life. Please save me!” And then, like a flash flood, tears and joy filled me up, and I knew I would never be the same. In fact, that night, I knew my whole life had changed, and that I needed to serve God with my entire life. You could say that it was then that I first felt a call to ministry.

“Ignorance On Fire”

After my dramatic “born again” experience, I developed a ravenous appetite for theology, Christian preaching and teaching, and apologetics. I also began to listen to a daily radio program called The Bible Answer Man, hosted by the late Dr. Walter Martin. In this program, I “learned” that Mormons were wrong, Jehovah’s Witnesses were wrong, Seventh Day Adventists were wrong, and especially— CATHOLICS WERE WRONG!

What began as a deeply sincere quest for truth turned into what all my friends called my season of “ignorance on fire.” I attacked everything and everyone with whom I disagreed. I became an expert at tearing down the religious beliefs of others, and I learned that under no circumstances could I ever become Catholic. Catholicism, they taught me, was an apostate version of Christianity that had been corrected and restored to its original pristine doctrine and practice in the 1500s by men like Martin Luther, John Calvin, and many others. Though this sounded curiously like the “restorationist” claims of Joseph Smith, the founder of Mormonism, I believed the people who were helping me, concluding that, like Mormonism, Catholicism was not Christianity, and that most Catholics were not Christians. This was something I heard repeatedly and eventually taught from my own pulpit when I later became a pastor.

The conflict with my family and most friendships became so intense and constant that my parents forbade me to keep a Bible in the house, listen to Christian music or any kind of preaching/teaching on the radio inside the house (even with headphones on), or attend church. They further forbade me to be baptized until I turned 18. Even my karate teacher told me on many occasions that my way of talking and “sharing my faith” was actually driving people away. I interpreted it all as persecution, and the day after my 18th birthday, I moved out of the house.

Baptism and the Navy

Like many young men in the late 1980s, after watching Top Gun, I rushed to the local Navy recruitment office. I signed up for the delayed entry program and was told to report to boot camp in San Diego, California, on July 6th, 1987.

I moved into a friend’s house on June 5th—the day after I turned 18 and graduated from high school—and spent the month preceding my enlistment attending a local Vineyard Christian Fellowship. I visited my parents on the 4th of July, asked my mom to shave my head, and then asked her and my dad to come to church the next morning to watch me get baptized. They agreed. I was baptized in water, and the following morning, I flew to San Diego. By evening, I was finishing my first day of boot camp.

The Wild West of Evangelicalism

When I joined the Navy in 1987, I began what was an exciting time of discovering all the different kinds of Evangelical and Protestant churches out there, as it often is for many young new Christians. It seemed that so long as a person believed that the Bible was the Word of God, believed in the Trinity, believed that Jesus was divine and “the only way to God,” there were innumerable possibilities with respect to just about every other kind of belief that a Christian could embrace.

During the year that my parents would not allow me to go to church, I simply didn’t have an opportunity to know much about “church life” as a new Christian. Once I left home and discovered I could visit a different church every Sunday, I initially felt like a kid in a candy store. There were churches that believed in the rapture (and others that didn’t), churches that believed in speaking in tongues (and others that didn’t), churches that believed in ordaining women (and others that didn’t), churches that believed you could lose your salvation (and others that didn’t), churches that believed in baptismal regeneration (and others that didn’t), and on and on. For every “true Christian church” that believed one thing, I could find another “true Christian church” in the same zip code that believed the exact opposite. All of these “Christianities,” as I came to see them, claimed to believe that the Bible alone was the sole infallible source of truth, and that their particular version of biblical truth was the most correct one. I also fell into that mindset.

In practical terms, my sense was that Evangelical Protestantism was basically an exercise in trying to get the most correct understanding of the Bible, and then finding a church or denomination that agreed with me (and the biblical teachers, authors, and commentators who I preferred to listen to and read).

From my understanding of the Bible, gifts of the Holy Spirit like prophecy, healing, and speaking in tongues were still available and operating in the lives of Christians, just as they were in the Bible. So, I found my theological home among Charismatics and Pentecostals. The problem was that many of my fellow Pentecostals and Charismatics disagreed wildly about how these gifts became available to people, how to use them, and how to determine their legitimacy. Over time, my initial excitement began to feel more like I was a lone gunman in the wild west! It was me, Jesus, and my Bible (or rather, my interpretation of it).

Marriage, Ministry, and More Anti-Catholicism

Toward the end of my six-year enlistment in the Navy, I met my wife, MaryJo, on the island of Okinawa. I was serving on a Marine Corps base, and she, a pastor’s daughter, was a missionary at the Youth With A Mission base. When we began our relationship, we both felt a call to be together and to devote our lives to ministry.

During my final year of naval service, I began taking extension courses from Moody Bible Institute. Just over a year after leaving the Navy, MaryJo and I moved back to Salt Lake City and began attending the church that had brought those “March for Jesus” missionaries to town that I had met back in 1986. At the age of twenty-four, I became an associate pastor in that church, remaining in full-time pastoral work in three different congregations for the next twenty years. The lead pastor of that Assemblies of God church often spoke out against both Mormonism and Catholicism in his sermons. He himself was a fallen-away Catholic who “got truly saved” and discovered what he called real Christianity after watching a movie about the rapture at a local Evangelical youth group when he was a teen. His sermons often contained what I eventually called “hint of lime anti-Catholicism,” because there was always a hint of anti-Catholic rhetoric in almost every bite. This reinforced my own anti-Catholic bias and gave me even more ammunition when trying to get Catholics out of their religion and into ours. I also discovered, in every congregation I served, that many of the members had grown up in nominally Catholic families, “found Jesus” in a Protestant church, and ultimately became anti-Catholic.

In hindsight, I found that much of my own anti-Catholic sentiments and understanding of Catholicism came from listening to their stories.

Leaving the Mayhem—Three Watershed Moments

In 2010, nine years into my twelve-year tenure as the lead pastor of our Foursquare Gospel Church in central California, I had the opportunity to attend a biblical seminary at no cost. Three things happened to me during that time in seminary that would change the whole course of my spiritual life, and ultimately, set the stage for my conversion to the Catholic Church.

The first happened when I received my international ordination. During the ordination service, surrounded by fellow Foursquare ministers and an elder in our church who were laying hands on me, I began to think, “What right do these men have to lay hands on me and ordain me to the ministry? What does ordination even mean? Where do they get their authority to do this? Who gave it to them, and to those who laid hands on them?” The question slipped into a kind of infinite regress, and as I stood there to receive the highest level of ordination possible in my denomination, I could not bring myself to believe that any of these men had any legitimate authority to ordain anyone!

The second occurred in my New Testament program in seminary when, during one of his lectures, my professor remarked, “Of course, we know before the New Testament was formally canonized in the fourth century, there was a fully functional, evangelizing, and growing Church that was spreading all over the world. In fact, it was not until after the council of Nicaea that there was universal agreement about which books should be included in the New Testament.”

While I already knew this was true, I had honestly never sat still long enough to think through the implications. I wanted to be a “Bible teaching pastor” because I thought that was the ideal. But what I learned was that, for hundreds of years, there was no universal agreement among Christians about which books even went into the Bible. In fact, many Christian communities were growing, flourishing, and spreading the good news of Jesus before they ever had access to many of the books of the Bible that I took for granted; many Christians in the first generations of the Church’s existence never even knew that some of the New Testament books existed! How was this possible, not just during the time of the first apostles, but for over two centuries after the last apostle had died? Something else had to be holding the Church together. But what was it?

The final thing took place during my course in the book of Acts in my last year of seminary. I had decided to study the Jerusalem Council in Acts 15, and as one of my questions for further dialogue at the end of my study, I asked if the Church in Acts 15—the one that could speak definitively about issues of doctrine and heresy, and which had the power to bind all Christians to the same doctrine and practice—was still present in the world today.

My professors and most of my friends and colleagues all had the same answer—no. It was up to each congregation, each denomination, and ultimately, up to each Christian to determine for themselves what the Bible taught, and to do their best to find fellowship with other believers who shared those same convictions. In that moment, I saw Evangelicalism and Protestantism as a shattered pane of glass—irreparably broken into a million disparate pieces. I resigned from pastoring and left evangelical Christianity just before my final semester of seminary in November 2013. I was, however, not yet Catholic.

The “Four L’s” of my Catholic Conversion

It wasn’t until five years after I had left pastoral ministry altogether, and several years of wandering through varied church involvement, that I experienced what I now call the “four L’s” of my conversion to Catholicism.

The first “L” is LOCUTION. That’s a Catholic word that, when translated into Pentecostal terminology, means “a word from the Lord.” While I was coming home from a trip to the beach near my home in Virginia in 2018, I drove by St. John the Apostle Catholic Church. As I drove by and noticed it was a Catholic church, I very clearly heard the Lord issue a simple command: “Go to that Catholic church.” I could not deny that it was the Lord, but I had no idea why I was supposed to go there. With my many anti-Catholic beliefs, I was not considering becoming Catholic. All the same, I knew I was supposed to go. I shared this with my wife, and she asked to go with me. The next Saturday evening, we went to Mass together. While I was somewhat lost in the liturgy, I could tell something powerful was happening. I just didn’t have a frame of reference to make sense of it.

A friend of mine who had converted to the Catholic Church heard about my visit and encouraged me to read Scott Hahn’s book, The Lamb’s Supper, before going to Mass again. I ordered it, read it in four days, and the next time I went to Mass, I wept all the way through it. I felt like a color-blind person who had gotten his special glasses—“Mass Glasses”—and I could see what, just a few days earlier, had been hidden from me. As I drove away from Mass the second week in a row, I had two thoughts. First, “I need to become Catholic!” But second, “Oh no! Oh God! How can I become Catholic?! I don’t believe in Catholicism!”

The second “L”—LEARNING—happened in the months that followed that initial experience of the Mass. I discovered that I had learned nearly everything I knew about Catholicism from anti-Catholic apologists, former Catholic and anti-Catholic ministers, and former Catholic and anti-Catholic congregants. I needed to learn what the Catholic Church taught and believed in her own language and on her own terms, without the baggage that so often accompanied the perspectives of non-Catholics. I spent the next several months reading the Catechism of the Catholic Church and innumerable Catholic theology books, listening to hours of teachings and lectures by trusted Catholic voices, and attending RCIA classes at St. John the Apostle parish.

The third “L”—LISTENING—happened as I discovered the innumerable conversion stories that had been written by dozens of people just like me—seminary-trained Evangelical Protestants of every stripe who had left it all and joined the Catholic Church. I read their stories of conversion, of sorting through their theological difficulties, and of letting go of their claims of personal infallibility, finally trusting that Jesus had founded a Church—the Catholic Church—which, I discovered, was the very same Church I had wondered about during my study of Acts 15. To my joy, I discovered that this Church was, indeed, still in the world after 2,000 years!

The fourth and final “L” is something I never dreamed would be possible: “LOVE.” I have come to love the Catholic Church. This is because I have heard God’s voice call me to enter into worship with the Catholic Church. I have learned, from the Church herself, what she really believes and teaches, and I have listened to others who have made the same journey home to full communion. In fact, I regularly tell people that, although I was a Christian before, following Jesus and walking in as much light as the Lord had given me, the Catholic Church has told me the truth in the best way I have ever heard it told. Speaking of love for the Catholic Church, I’ll end with a quote that I have come to treasure from G.K. Chesterton who, when explaining his own conversion to Catholicism, observed: “It is impossible to be just to the Catholic Church. The moment men cease to pull against it, they feel a tug toward it. The moment they cease to shout it down, they begin to listen to it with pleasure. The moment they try to be fair to it, they begin to be fond of it.”

The post “L” is for Love. . . appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

Courtney has also shared a written version of her testimony: read it here.

The post Courtney Comstock – Former Pentecostal appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

If you’re a pastor looking for support on your own inquiries into Catholicism, visit chnetwork.org/vocation-support.

The post Ken Hensley and Kenny Burchard – Former Baptist and Foursquare Pastors appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

During his time as a pastor, he began to make several discoveries about Christology, Scripture, history and the sacraments and found himself agreeing with Catholic thought on more and more questions.

Kenny shares how he came to the conviction that it wasn’t enough for him to just agree with the Catholics on all these things; he needed to join them in their communion with Christ.

The post A Foursquare Pastor Who Started Agreeing With the Catholics – Kenny Burchard appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

I was born in 1970 in Portland, Oregon, the youngest of four children. My parents did not raise me as a Christian. My running joke was that they loved to drink and party, while their children rebelled and became Christians. In my first encounter with Christ, at age eleven, I said the Sinner’s Prayer with my cousin on a rainy day in Newport, Oregon. Later, I spent some years in the Foursquare Church, a charismatic denomination that planted in me a sincere love for the Bible.

I struggled with school and social situations. The negative words of family and peers affected me. A conventional diagnosis might be that I had ADHD and anxiety disorder. They told me to “try harder” and “be on the ball.” I was starved for affirmation.

The “Brad” Years

In February of 1989, I received an affirmation through an older man, “Brad.” He was a Christian visual artist and spoke from a blend of Christian streams like Word of Faith and prophetic charismatic perspectives. Focused on discipleship, Brad highlighted some verses I had overlooked.

One focus, from the book of Acts, described the early believers: “And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (Acts 2:42). Brad’s interpretation emphasized that Constantine came around in the year 325 and brought a “mixture from Babylon.” So, through the “revelation knowledge” that we believed came to people like us, we took it upon ourselves to discern these scriptural elements, outside of organized churches, in our house groups. The irony is that we affirmed the gist of the Nicene Creed of 325. But that irony was lost on us.

Brad was influential in my life when I married, and we brought my wife into the fold. We had two girls, then a boy.

Over the years, our discipleship grew legalistic. We were told that Brad was an apostle. There was increasing pressure to move back to the town where the church was centered and avoid working in specific industries. They pressured me to attend meetings 60 miles away to be a better disciple. These pressures, with many behavioral norms put on us, were huge issues for my wife. She left me for another man.

A few months before she left, they gave me “counsel” not to cut myself off from the fellowship in order to keep my marriage. They told me to put the Bible aside because I was too much into the “religious spirit.” They told me to “stop leaning on others in the Body of Christ.” They told me, “Stop praying for your personal needs.”

I prayed according to their counsel over the next two months, and it felt like my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling. So when my wife was about to leave me, the second-in-command at church told me, “Well, you were warned.” I believed him, thinking I must not have prayed enough. I went two days in a row, “to fight off the demons,” with my intake being three-quarters of a glass of water each of those two days. It was on me to “get the victory.”

The Case for Re-orienting

September 5, 1997 was the day my wife left. (My children were five, three, and less than one year old at the time.) I was so distraught that my employer gave me the day off. I went to The Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother, known to the locals as The Grotto. It’s a Catholic monastery in Portland built on a precipitous hillside. I figured those Catholics were at least good for places of silent prayer. At The Grotto, I looked down from a cliff high enough that I briefly considered “the easy way out.” By God’s grace, I kept walking. I looked at the exquisite wood carvings about the temptations of Christ in the wilderness grounds. I perceived weariness on the face of Christ and, in that, a sense of His humanity. I began to get “re-oriented” to basic Christianity. I felt an impression from the Holy Spirit that Christianity and relationships should have a foundation of love, trust, and respect.

I knew that I needed to mend my life by following those principles – with Christ’s help. On my first day back in church with a healthy, well-balanced congregation, the hymn they were singing was “On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand.” They never sang it again until more than a year later, the Sunday after the court finalized my unwanted divorce. It was a great comfort to me and, no doubt, not a “coincidence.” That season had a recurring theme of the unlimited love of God (agape).

I renewed myself by reading about Christian apologetics and spiritual abuse. For a while, I chose to use a Bible with as little commentary as possible — like avoiding too many chefs in the kitchen.

My Crisis Years

Crisis colored the next several years. I had custody modifications, was injured on the job, and injured again in car accidents. My pastors sided against me after several private meetings with my ex-wife. One used the toxic “house church” period against me, even though it was four years in the past.

Although I was mostly in healthy church settings now, there was a root of bitterness. I nurtured a resentment inside of me that was founded on a false contract. This carried me away from the basics that God had spoken to me that day at The Grotto.

Sometimes there is sinful thinking in the Christian life. There can be presumptions, such as “name it and claim it.” These presumptions, which became my own, tried to hold God obligated to hold up His end of the contract and reward me for my holy choices by blessing me and preventing harm. How could He allow harm to come to me, harm like divorce, depression, spiked-up anxiety, injuries, and vast loneliness?

In hindsight, I can say where that contract existed: only in my head. Nowadays, I could tell my younger self that I had forged the name of Jesus and pretended it was a binding contract. It was like saying to God, “I do for You; You do for me.” There were periods where I thought stupidly, selfishly, and solitarily, acting out my search for romantic affirmation. It always left me empty.

After years of this, I tore up my “contract” and learned the basics all over again. I went to a tremendous Protestant church in Portland called Imago Dei Community (the name means “image of God”). They valued worship and beauty, truth, and authentic community. Those values soaked through my hard heart like rain in the soft Oregon soil. Little did I know that God was planting seeds there for what He was about to do.

Marital Bliss

During this time, I went to a coffee shop concert to support a musician friend who was sharing sets with a beautiful young woman who sang and played guitar. Her name was Summer, and we had a great chat between sets.

Though God meant her to be my wife, the Lord still had work to do in both of us for more than a year. For me, it included dealing with my codependency issues. Now, later in my life as a therapist, I describe this to my clients as having a fuzzy boundary on where oneself ends and the other person begins. As a single man getting more grounded in faith, healing meant not seeing a wife as another savior.

A year later, the time was right for me and Summer to date, and we decided to attend the same church. She hit it off well with my three children, and we were married on October 14, 2006. She suffered a miscarriage, then we had a son and a daughter. She supported me in building on my few college credits to get a bachelor’s degree in Social Work. We led a home group for our church for several years. I started a modest business supporting the needs of adults with developmental disabilities and was getting more defined in addressing the needs of humanity as a social worker, informed by my Christian faith. Life was good — or was it? Was it enough?

Is This All There Is?

In the last two years of my undergraduate studies, I started asking myself several questions. I wondered what Communion was all about. I figured that, if it was instituted so close to the cross, it should have more meaning than we assigned to it. Also, I questioned whether or not it accomplished something tangible. Finally, I considered that, in Communion, something ought to transcend that meal if it was actually connected to the cross.

I considered that, in Communion, something ought to transcend that meal if it was actually connected to the cross.
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I even wondered about things connected to the doctrine of Christ Himself. In particular, I considered how Jesus could be born without sin if He came from a sinful woman. My logic was that, as an inheritor of Original Sin, Mary would necessarily have to be unholy and unfit to contain the Holy One. Without an explanation for that dilemma, it all seemed strange and left me hanging.

Furthermore, having witnessed and experienced so much division in the Body of Christ, I considered how there should be a design for the unity of this Kingdom (John 17:21). I suspected that part of the solution lay in the Ten Commandments.

An Odd Development

In the spring of 2012, as I approached graduation from college, I heard something strange from my eldest daughter, who was 19 at the time. When I asked her if she could watch the younger kids one night, she said she had to do something, but she mumbled the details.

“What?” I asked.

“RCIA,” she responded. “It’s for those who may be interested in becoming Catholic.”

I was okay if that worked for her, but God forbid that I myself go into that area of Christianity! I wanted to be spiritual and relational in my church and not be a part of what I considered “dry” ceremony.

The Lord’s Prayer

Three months later, my family of four moved to Wickenburg, Arizona. We lived on my in-law’s property while I established residency and applied for a Masters in Social Work at Arizona State University. Although we found an excellent non-denominational church, my earlier, gnawing questions caused more discontent. My heart pivoted towards God, opening up my blind spots.

He answered my prayer by priming the pump of my heart with a greater desire to pray the Lord’s Prayer, also known as the Our Father. It rattled in my head and heart morning, noon, and night. I was meditating on it backwards and forwards, settling on the line about the Kingdom. I knew in my spirit that His Kingdom should be something I can enter into in some form on earth. I thought I should have perceived it by now with my various denominations and light theological training. I prayed many times for the Lord to show me this Kingdom.

The New Kid

In the fall of 2012, something was triggered in what I had been praying. One night, I was flipping through the cable channel guide on the TV and saw a program title and show summary for “Genesis to Jesus.” Well, I had always appreciated how the Old Testament is fulfilled in Christ.

Feeling like I had heard everything, here was this “new kid” named Dr. Scott Hahn. I had never seen a Bible teacher with such insight on how the Bible fits together. I proceeded to read a few of his books, then another book by Pope Benedict XVI. I watched many vigorous debates on YouTube between Catholic and Protestant apologists.

Pope Benedict wrote about beauty drawing us up to heaven and tied it to knowing Christ in His incarnation, with the Church as His Bride:

[It] is not merely the external beauty of the Redeemer’s appearance that is praised: rather, the beauty of truth appears in Him, the beauty of God Himself, who powerfully draws us and inflicts on us the wound of Love, as it were, a holy Eros that enables us to go forth, with and in the Church, His Bride, to meet the Love who calls us (Pope Benedict XVI, On the Way to Jesus Christ, Ignatius Press, 2002).

Between prayer, the Bible, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, YouTube debates, and some exposure to the early Church Fathers, things clicked into place. I will now summarize how they answered my questions.

Between prayer, the Bible, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, YouTube debates, and some exposure to the early Church Fathers, things clicked into place.
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Connecting the Dots

I could now appreciate Communion, seeing what it was about. Christ instituted the Eucharist under the appearances of bread and wine. He is present in His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity.

Yes, Communion accomplished something tangible. It is the objective means through which we, together, can partake of His divine nature. I compare it to when I supported adopting parents: in raising your adopted baby with pheromones, spit-up, tears, and other body fluids, they do indeed become your real children. Let naysayers beware.

Communion in the Eucharist is a result of the cross, with Christ offering the unique atonement. The sacrifice of the Mass is an extension or reverberation of His work on the cross. It does not undermine Calvary at all, but rather is an extension of it.

It was fitting that Jesus was born without sin by a mother who was also without sin. She was “full of grace” in the perfect sense; Greek language scholarship supports this. I learned that she was “full of grace” through the retroactive grace of Jesus on the cross that preserved Mary from sin. God was her savior in a privileged way when the Immaculate Conception occurred.

I stood in awe of the calling of unity founded in the Church. Christ founded a literal, visible Church (Jn 17:3, 21). As for the Ten Commandments, I learned where they have their place in the New Covenant in Christ. They are covered extensively in the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

It got even better. I realized those patterns from Acts 2:42 were found by reading the early Church Fathers and connected directly to the modern Mass! The priest carried on Sacred Tradition, passed on since the time of the Apostles through apostolic succession, by laying on of hands. The fellowship of the brethren stems partly from the fact that the Catholic Church is the most diverse form of Christianity on earth. The Breaking of the Bread was the Eucharist, and there was both a liturgical and personal-prayer spirituality in Catholic tradition like none other. My relationship with Jesus was only encouraged.

Things came together in such a way that I knew I needed to be Catholic. I knew I needed to tell my wife, Summer. She laughed with me as I played the Ave Maria scene from Sister Act, but as we laughed, my thought was, “Oh boy, I hope she doesn’t freak out when I tell her the news.”

My Catholic Coming Out

That fateful night, while staying in her parents’ small guest house, I reached out, held her hand, and fessed up: “I believe the Lord may be calling me to the Catholic Church.” She stiffened immediately and replied, “I’m a Protestant. I married a Protestant. If I were to become a Catholic, I would have to give up every gift that God gave me.” Thus began a year of contention, with many tears on both sides.

That weekend, I went to our regular morning church with her and the kids. After that, I went alone to Mass with eyes wide open for an event that would be, for me, both new and timeless. I attended the noon Mass, which was in Spanish, and found myself feeling at home. Being bilingual in Spanish, I recognized some of their songs like “Alabare.” The parish was humble in size, but I had a sense of an angelic presence. Though I returned home joyfully, it was bittersweet because of the tension that awaited me there. It was as if I had gone on a date with someone else.

When I met with the RCIA director, she noticed that my wife and I had both been married before. I explained that, since my wife’s ex-husband was mentally ill from the beginning and then abandoned the marriage and since my ex left me for someone else, I considered us biblically free. She then explained Catholic teaching, and I, then, had to explain annulments and the reasoning behind the Catholic viewpoint to my wife, who was already upset.

God’s Timing

In February of 2013, I went to my first Catholic Men’s Conference and found that I had not left behind my evangelical fervor but, rather, discovered it replanted in the soil I was meant for. This conference was full of men on fire for Jesus!

I went to my first Catholic Men’s Conference and found that I had not left behind my evangelical fervor but, rather, discovered it replanted in the soil I was meant for.
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Although the tension at home was still present, a few months later, I found joy when I was received into the Catholic Church at the 2013 Easter Vigil. The pastor heard our marriage stories and convalidated us. (I found out much later that this is not in line with the teachings of the Church. I made sure we initiated annulment processes after attending a Canon Law class.) My eldest daughter was received into the Catholic Church the same night back in Oregon.

Other family and friends scratched their heads, not knowing what to make of my odd life change. I emphasized that I was not disrespecting the spiritual investments of Protestant pastors and loved ones. I was appropriating the godly discernment built into me to follow Christ where He led.

I emphasized that I was not disrespecting the spiritual investments of Protestant pastors and loved ones. I was appropriating the godly discernment built into me to follow Christ where He led.
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I also did not leave behind the fire of Pentecost. I went from my Holy Spirit encounters to the community context in the Sacrament of Confirmation. I moved from a context where I had subjective encounters with Christ, which were indeed edifying, to the objective context that Christ founded in the Church. I started my blog as I learned more about the fullness of truth.

My wife continued to make snide remarks, but she would also apologize. I had my moments and needed to apologize, too. We would hug and cry and recommit to listening to each other, even when it was hard. We moved to Phoenix, and life got busier as I entered my Master’s program. We found Our Lady of Mount Carmel parish. This was the former parish of Catholic musician Matt Maher, who wrote a contemporary music liturgy. My wife joining the music ministry here made an excellent bridge.

Some Softening

After several months, I saw my wife’s heart finally begin to soften.

She read Rome Sweet Home by Dr. Scott and Kimberly Hahn. She was struck by Kimberly’s perspective, as the daughter of a Protestant pastor, on the Church’s view regarding life issues. I had my three children from before, and together, Summer and I had one of each. But why stop there? So along came another one! Our boy was born during my Master’s program.

Summer decided to enter RCIA. She resonated with exploring what the Catholic Church was doing, even if she might never join. The director, Todd Covarrubias, was a godly, lifelong Catholic. He also had an evangelical fire, making him joyful and bold. He called people to be disciples of Jesus Christ and Catholics. Imagine — both/and, not either/or! His passionate manner challenged her assumptions.

Later on in the 2013–2014 RCIA year, I mentioned that she had not made any sarcastic comments about the Catholic Church in two weeks. She said it didn’t feel quite right to her any more.

I joked that it could be because I had been asking for Mary’s intercession for two weeks — which was true. She gave me a look and a laugh like, “All right, smart guy!”

Soon, she shared with me that she had decided to enter the Catholic Church. At Easter Vigil, the night she was received, they played “The Easter Song,” a Keith Green composition dear to me. God was making things fall into place. For the next three years, we were involved in a Catholic charismatic covenant community.

Still Learning

There was growth, adaptation, and suffering, too. I have had many theological questions answered, and knowing Christ from the heart in the trials we encountered has been precious to me.

However, the paradox of suffering and blessing is a reality. In my Christian life, I have meditated on St. Peter preaching about times of refreshing on the day of Pentecost. While I still believe the Holy Spirit can be active in that way, there are also those times in between. In those times, we can learn that grace is still active in our faith. This is the tension of the paradox.

My understanding of blessing and suffering became clearer in the traumas that followed. After our daughter was born (our baby number four), Summer suffered a miscarriage at seven weeks. Then another at ten weeks. We determined yet another pregnancy to be “home free,” only to find out that our son had passed at 18 weeks. This called for a stillbirth protocol. These three losses in a row occurred within a period of only 18 months. I cried out, “Abba, Father,” and He was there. So was the Church. Deacons supported us in burying our children at a Catholic cemetery. One of the deacons brought personal experience of his own on this as he listened and consoled.

My faith was still standing. I had torn up my contract a long time ago because, as was reinforced by Catholic teaching, we are called to a covenant of unconditional love. Having a conditional expectation of God leads to despair and darkness. To know Christ in covenant love — an interpersonal exchange without conditions or expiration dates — is an end in itself. Encountering Christ is what matters, not assumptions of what we are supposedly entitled to.

Still Planting

We are all called to be wounded healers. God works in me through my private, informal prayer and in His Sacraments. God inspires me in my work as a licensed therapist. Though I work in a secular setting and cannot explicitly evangelize there, I am inspired to draw out, by asking the right questions, a hunger for the beautiful, the true, and the good.

By God’s grace, I have become more clearly faith-based through helping in RCIA after moving to Minnesota in 2019–2020. I have also contributed to parish spiritual formation through the pandemic period. Through the working of the Holy Spirit and my training at the Kino Catechetical Institute in Phoenix, Arizona, I am able to pass on the Faith to those inquiring into God’s ways.

By God’s grace, more conversions in my family have happened. A few years after I became Catholic, we visited my older brother and his wife. We planted seeds on the usual suspects: the Pope, Mary, the Eucharist, then Mary again. Over time, my brother corresponded frequently with Ken Hensley from the Coming Home Network (thanks, Ken!). He and his wife are now in full communion with the Catholic Church.

I have found the covenantal love of God beautifully expressed in the Church. I have hope for this life and the life to come, and I want to share that hope. If I pause to look, I see that “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is thy faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22-23).

The post From Contract to Covenant appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

I’ve been a Christian my whole life. My father came from the Orthodox Faith, and my mother was Protestant. I was baptized as an infant in Lebanon, in the Syriac Orthodox Church, coming to America when I was five years old. In America, my faith formation took place in various Protestant denominations and also via the radio, commentaries, and other books. We visited the Orthodox church only a few times a year, for special occasions, until I was about eight or ten. We weren’t “practicing” Orthodox. My mother was the spiritual driver in the family. She would take all five of us kids, usually walking to various churches, depending on where we lived, but they were always Protestant.

When I was two years old, there was an incident with my eyes. My teenage cousin was playing with me and accidentally poked my eye, which became infected. That event left me cross-eyed for eight years. My maternal grandmother would anoint my head with oil often and pray over me, and my mom and many others did the same. When I was about ten, we were watching TV. A group was visiting the Holy Land and talking about Jesus’ empty tomb. My mother told me to touch the TV screen and ask God to straighten my eyes. I did so, and immediately my eye, after eight years of living with crossed eyes and taunts, became straight. It was the first time in my life that I saw myself with straight eyes.

My extended family thought I had had surgery; they wouldn’t believe that God had performed a miracle. This event planted a seed in me. Time passed, and like many teens, I became less fervent in my faith, trying to find my footing and where I fit in this world. The world pulls you one way and God calls you in another direction. I didn’t realize the significance religion would have in my later life.

When I was 18 years old, I read the Bible for the first time, “rededicated” my life to Jesus and was “re-baptized” in a Foursquare church. I did backslide for a few years, but God brought me back to Him. For the next 30 years, I lived as a Protestant — Foursquare, Baptist, and non-denominational Evangelical. I read through my Bible and devotionals regularly, attended and later taught Bible studies, and was grateful for every sermon that nurtured my faith. It was a culmination of all those years of whetting my appetite that drew me to want and pursue something more. My thought was: never be satisfied with the progress you have made, because God is greater; so keep on pursuing Him.

By 2002, I was married with three kids, living in our current home in Northridge, California. In the chaos of raising kids, I discovered the solace of Scripture. In reading my Bible, I loved the way both Testaments connected to each other. God’s cleverness orchestrated everything and brought about unity and perfection. Yet something was missing. Many times, a question would pop into my mind, prompting me to chase down the answer. It’s thrilling to find answers and connect dots. Before I knew it, over the years — especially the last five years of it — my Christian journey evolved from a journey into an obsessive quest. I was drawn to find out how we got here. Why so many denominations? Who’s right? Can we ever be reconciled? Did Christ establish one visible Church or an invisible Church?

My Christian journey evolved from a journey into an obsessive quest. I was drawn to find out how we got here.
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I owe a lot to my husband, Scott, a cradle Catholic who never once tried to push me into Catholicism. What he did was much more profound: he remained steadfast. Although we loved each other, we would argue a lot. The first six years of our marriage were cyclical arguments about religion. The more I prayed for God to change Scott, the more God changed me.

It’s hard when you can’t share conversations about your intimate faith. Instead of bringing us together, faith was like a wedge in our marriage. We eventually moved past the hostility and rested at acceptance of one another’s perspective on faith: we agreed to disagree. When I surrendered to God and trusted Him with my husband, then my husband didn’t feel attacked. So we slowly moved into a better place in our marriage. But while we were united in many areas of our marriage, we were separated in the most central part.

We had three little children and agreed that going to church as a family unit was important. There were many years when we attended both a non-denominational church on Saturday nights and a Catholic Mass on Sunday mornings. Somewhere along the line, I started to feel more at home in the Catholic Mass when I actively listened to the readings and prayers. I didn’t fit in our non-denominational church anymore, yet I didn’t think I fit in at the Catholic church, either. I couldn’t go against my conscience and convert just to make peace. However, the more I listened and participated in the Catholic Mass, the more I fell in love with the reverence and worship of the liturgy. As the kids started to attend Catholic school, we volunteered and were involved in various activities. We started to attend less at my church. Meanwhile, God was opening the doors for my husband to minister in various Bible studies at our parish. Through the years, I also helped in various areas. As I gradually came out of my bubble, I began to see that there were Catholics who were “real Christians.” They were actually no different than Protestants in their genuine and deep commitment to Christ. I started to see the similarities in our faith, that we have much common ground. God planted us in a great parish, with a wonderful pastor and warm parishioners. Our priest welcomed me, even though I wasn’t Catholic and didn’t intend to convert. He loved me and allowed me to use my talents there.

There were many years when we attended both a non-denominational church on Saturday nights and a Catholic Mass on Sunday mornings. Somewhere along the line, I started to feel more at home...
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It wasn’t only that my conversion was slow — at this point I had been with my husband for 24 years and attending this parish for 14 years — it also came with much wrestling and reflection. As I attempted to discover who God was, I was beginning to get a deeper and wider picture of His Church. It wasn’t just about “me and Jesus,” but about an entire Christian family. Jesus prayed for us to be a family, praying for us to be one as He and the Father are one (John 17). God wasn’t just calling me to Him; He was calling me to His family, both here and in heaven (Ephesians 3:15).

From about five years before my conversion, we were only attending our Catholic parish. We stopped going to my church. I didn’t need to attend the non-denominational church to hear a good sermon; I could do that on TV or radio. I was divided with my own identity, because I questioned whether I needed to go to church to be a Christian. Why did I need to go to church, especially a megachurch? I really didn’t get anything out of it. I already did my own in-depth Bible study on my own. Sermons were designed to bring people forward to an altar call to receive Christ, to rededicate one’s life, or to prayer. That might be beneficial for those individuals, but after years of church, it didn’t make sense for a seasoned Christian like me to sit through a sermon, then watch an altar call. On most days, I was familiar with the topic preached, and I’d even add in my own notes while the preacher was talking. Hebrews 10:25 tells us not to neglect gathering with believers. So I thought to myself, if I had a Bible study group, wouldn’t that count? I figured, if it really didn’t matter whether I went to a church service, then I would just go with my husband to Mass.

I also began to question what worship meant. Was worship a song and a sermon? The songs began to feel more like concerts, and the sermons felt like a Bible lesson at best and a motivational speech laced with humor at worst. As beneficial as those can be, I had to ask: was that worship? Communion was a symbol to help us remember what Christ did on the cross. Was that worship? I began to feel curious about how the early Christians worshiped. What did worship mean to them?

I also began to question what worship meant. Was worship a song and a sermon? The songs began to feel more like concerts, and the sermons felt like a Bible lesson at best and a motivational speech laced with humor at worst.
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I began to notice the differences between our churches. At the Catholic church it was assumed everyone in the pew was a Christian, since there was never an altar call; no one came forward for prayer — just the opposite from the Protestant church, where it was assumed that everyone needed to be evangelized.

There was more happening at the Mass. Although helpful, the sermon or homily wasn’t the reason one went to Mass. You went because Jesus is there. A lot of Protestants have a problem with the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, but this Presence wasn’t a crazy notion to me for two reasons: 1) My limited understanding of the Orthodox faith was that they believe in the true Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, although they refer to it as a Mystery, not a Sacrament. 2) I believe that, when receiving communion, Jesus is there with me in that moment of time. That’s why we’re taught in Scripture that receiving communion while in the state of sin is dangerous. St. Paul warns us not to participate in an unworthy manner (1 Corinthians 11:27). I likened it to the curses for disobedience and blessings for obedience that Moses gives the Israelites as they prepare to enter the Promised Land (Deuteronomy 28). There’s a saying that the same sun that hardens the clay, warms the wax. So the blessing and the curse come from the same source. It never made sense that communion was just symbolic if judgment was attached.

Not fitting in anywhere, I started looking into different churches in our area, trying to find some middle ground to the Catholic Church. Something that felt Catholic without being Catholic. I called myself “the woman without a country.” Nothing felt right. Some churches had a liturgical ambiance, but something was missing. Frustrated, I grew jealous of my husband and his faith. He knew where he belonged, and he sincerely believed he was part of the Church that Christ established. I was miffed at the Reformers. It’s not my fault the Church had schisms — several and counting. I felt like the child of a divorced family. Why did the Church have to break up? We threw the baby out with the bathwater. Just to be clear, I was not looking at the Catholic Church with rose-colored glasses; I was familiar with her history. But as my husband would say, 2000 years later the Catholic Church still stands — not because her members are spotless, but because the “the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it” (Matt 16:18).

Frustrated, I grew jealous of my husband and his faith. He knew where he belonged, and he sincerely believed he was part of the Church that Christ established.
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By now, I wasn’t just reading to grow in faith. I was in pursuit of something. I couldn’t articulate it, but the Catholic Church was nowhere on my radar. My journey was intentional; I had to find answers. Unsettled, I had to know “the truth,” even if it turned out that I was wrong about my beliefs. This was my prayer for years. As I was reading my way into the Church, I did so with fervent prayer.

In the meantime, I was still attending Catholic Mass, and periodically I would be lost in prayer as I began to see things in the Mass that I had read about in the early Church Fathers. My conversion started out intellectually, with reason, logic, and facts, but even with all the knowledge I acquired, I couldn’t surrender until I had a profound experience.

At this point I had been going to a Catholic parish for about 14 years. Yes, I was stubborn! I was unsure of His Church and what worship was supposed to look like in the 21st century. On June 10th, 2019, my interior dam broke. All I remember is one word that came to me with clarity: authority.

I never would have guessed that my stronghold was authority. I thought my issues lay with the saints, Mary, purgatory, and other doctrines that Protestants commonly object to. But the concept of authority connected my head with my heart. It wasn’t easy to accept. My prayer of wanting to know the truth, even if I’m wrong, came back to me. If Christ is the ultimate authority, why wouldn’t I come under the authority He had established? I felt like Paul on the road to Damascus.

I never would have guessed that my stronghold was authority. I thought my issues lay with the saints, Mary, purgatory, and other doctrines that Protestants commonly object to.
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I had been fighting God all these years and didn’t know it. I was judging His saints and children as if they were lost, but it was they who were faithful to His authority. I was physically sick in bed for a week. I wrestled with the flood of emotions from this stronghold that had broken within me, feeling an entire spectrum of emotions, like the joys of liberation and heaviness of regret. God had broken through my preconceived assumptions and ingrained prejudice — which I didn’t know I had until I was face to face with them. God humbled me. But now that He had my attention, He also began to rebuild (Hosea 6:1).

I devoured Catholic apologetic books one after the other. Meanwhile, my husband was quiet. You’d think he would have been jumping for joy when I spoke to him about what was happening to me, but he was quiet. I later asked him why he wasn’t excited, and he responded that he was “cautiously optimistic.” He didn’t realize how close I was to a decision. He knew I had been searching and struggling for a while, but with this strange sight before him, he needed time to process what was happening to me.

I was now listening to understand rather than listening to find fault. This attitude profoundly affected me, because if the enlightenment was from God, then I must wholly surrender.

But what if it was all from the devil and I was being deceived? That thought occurred to me on several occasions, but it didn’t last. It didn’t even get a chance to stake its ground, because I had already arrived at the conclusion of my search. I was so overwhelmed by the evidence and so humbled by God’s grace that all doubt drained away.

I used to find it insulting when Catholics would say that they had the fullness of the faith; now I understood. In Peter Kreeft’s book, Catholics and Protestants: What Can We Learn from Each Other?, he writes, “When a Jew becomes a Christian, he comes to believe more, not less. He loses nothing in Judaism but fulfills it …. When a Protestant becomes a Catholic, he loses nothing positive in Protestantism but perfects it” (p. 61). I was becoming more Christian. It could not be a deception. It was a work of the Holy Spirit drawing me closer.

I read a book by Karl Keating, Catholicism and Fundamentalism. This hit home. It helped me to see how my faith was influenced and shaped by Fundamentalist teaching. Without knowing it — never having attended a Fundamentalist church — the effects of Fundamentalism were present. I recognized that I had absorbed anti-Catholic teaching, intentional or unintentional, planted throughout my formative years. I had listened to a lot of Christian radio sermons from various denominations. When they made accusations, or distorted Catholic teaching, or spoke as ex-Catholics about why they left the Church, I had simply received their teaching. I had no reason to doubt them, since they were respected pastors. Over time, I acquired the idea that the Catholic Church was dead wrong, and thank God for the Reformers, who saved Christianity. Until confronted, I didn’t know these were part of my belief system. All along I wanted to avoid being deceived by the Catholics, and now I felt at least misinformed and at worst cheated by Protestantism. As I mentioned, authority was my stronghold, and God just crumbled that stronghold and everything it represented.

All along I wanted to avoid being deceived by the Catholics, and now I felt at least misinformed and at worst cheated by Protestantism.
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Links from various videos led me to Peter Kreeft videos, and from there, I found the Coming Home Network. In a moment, I was home. No longer “the woman without a country,” I couldn’t read and watch enough stories. They all made the same difficult decision, many at a great cost to livelihood and relationships. I was overwhelmed. I saw my own story in the countless narratives. I had thought I was alone, that no one had had my experience or could relate to my dilemma, that I was the only one who didn’t fit in any church. What did God tell Elijah when he thought he was alone and wanted to die? You’re not the only one, there are seven thousand like you (1 Kings 19:18). Well, it turns out that there are many more like me.

Catholicism answered my long-time questions. I began to connect the dots. After my moment of profound grace, on June 10th, when God humbled me and showed me that my issue was authority, everything was clear. I didn’t need to object or argue against Catholic doctrine anymore. In listening to understand, I could receive what God was trying to give me. It was very liberating to submit to authority when I read the Catechism of the Catholic Church, I discovered that it is woven with Scripture throughout. The same arguments that didn’t make sense before now made complete sense. I didn’t even feel the need to defend my views, because it was more important to come under the authority that Christ had placed over me. I stopped hurtling my opinions and just listened.

We made an appointment to speak with our priest to find out what the next step would be for me. I was nervous and excited, but it was easy to approach him because I had known him for over 10 years. He said I didn’t need RCIA classes since I had already done the research and studying on my own. We decided to wait a few months for the right timing. The religious sister who was director of RCIA was on summer vacation with her Order, and my sponsor, who was a long-time parishioner and close friend, needed to be there. I think it was good to wait and let it sink in. Four months later, on October 6th, 2019, I was confirmed. However, I did join the RCIA group before and after my confirmation, because there are always things we can learn, and some things are not taught in books.

All the studying I had done over the years wasn’t in vain. I thought I would have to start over and relearn my Bible, but that wasn’t the case. I did need to correct my flawed theology, but God doesn’t throw out the baby with the bathwater. I started to put everything together and am still amazed by how much there is to learn. I found many of my answers in my own New King James Bible, where I had underlined or circled many passages. God really does meet us where we are; He speaks our heart language. My heart language is Scripture. He met me there and connected the Old Testament to the New Testament in a way I hadn’t seen before, because the Catholic Faith connects them. The Bible came to life in a profound way.

My heart language is Scripture. God met me there and connected the Old Testament to the New Testament in a way I hadn’t seen before, because the Catholic Faith connects them.
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Regarding the Eucharist: I now saw the Catholic Mass as an extension of Jewish roots. Jesus said He didn’t come to abolish the Law but to fulfill it (see Matthew 5:17). If the Old Testament is a copy and shadow of what was to come then the New Testament would be the fulfillment, not another copy (see Hebrews 8:5-6). The institution of the Eucharist is the fulfillment of Passover and of the manna in the desert. They can’t just be mere symbols. In John 6, Jesus was clear (despite all those years that I glossed over it) that we were to eat His Body in order to abide in Him. The Israelites in Egypt ate the Passover lamb, which was symbolic of Christ. In the desert they ate the manna, which was symbolic of Christ. Now that the Messiah has come, are we to eat another symbol in order to commune with Him? If we eat another symbol, how is that fulfillment?

The institution of the Eucharist is the fulfillment of Passover and of the manna in the desert. They can’t just be mere symbols.
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Paul spoke of great consequences for those that receive the Body and Blood in an unworthy manner (1 Corinthians 11:24-30). It didn’t make sense that severe consequences would be attached to a symbol.

Regarding Mary: I began to prayerfully meditate on her role in salvation history. I studied her in Scripture and other books. Behold Your Mother by Tim Staples was very helpful to me. I had to flesh her out, to think of her as more than a painting or a statue. We regard the Blood of Jesus as power and salvation; I began to think about that Blood. Where did it come from? His DNA was of Mary. His Body and His Blood came from His mother, since He had no biological father. She was the first Christian. She “communed” with Him for nine months — then for 33 years. What conversations they must have had during that time!

Regarding purgatory: I was taught that 1 Corinthians 3:11-15 is speaking of your “works” not “you.” Yes, my works are being judged in this passage, but the judgment is coming down on me. Who I chose to be, how I lived my life, my earthly attachments — they are all part of me, so I am what is being judged here.

This passage is speaking of a believer, not a non-believer. Therefore, only those who are “saved” will be judged in this way. When will this happen? Experience tells us that it doesn’t happen in our earthly lifetime, so it is obviously speaking of the afterlife. Revelation 20:11-12 speaks of the judgment from the great white throne. Books will be opened and the Book of Life. We know the Book of Life has every believer’s name; it’s our reservation to heaven. What are the “other books” about? We will be judged by our works (Romans 2:6-8). After all, we were created to do good works (Ephesians 2:10). Have we lived that out?

It makes sense that this moment of burning away our work (that had the appearance of kingdom work, but when tested burned away) would be painful to me, since it’s my life work. This aligns with the idea of the purifying of the person before one enters heaven. It’s not a punishment, but a cleansing of all that I thought was holy and good; all that I thought was kingdom work. A time to rid myself of earthly attachments and misconceptions. I think this will be the kind of pain that’s followed by rest, a consoling. It only hurts as it’s happening, but then it feels good to be cleansed, purified, and sanctified. That’s how I have come to think of purgatory. It is Christ completing His sanctifying work in me (Philippians 1:6). As a Protestant, I believed in sanctification. But now I see that its development to completion can be called purgatory.

I am now confidently convinced that in the Church there is order, logic, history, and a bigger picture of God’s family. I’m home.

The post The Authority of Scripture appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

My mom eventually settled on an Assemblies of God church. By then, I was tired of going with her on Sundays. I fought her every week. Sunday school was boring, and I did not see the point in going at all. Eventually, my mom stopped asking me to go with her.

In high school, around 1998, I began dating a Catholic boy. He was not on fire for his faith, but he did invite me to Mass once. It was totally different from anything I had experienced. Afterwards, he gave me one of the plastic rosaries they had laying out on the table in the back. I was not sure what to do with it, but it intrigued me. When I got home, I was excited to tell my mom about my experience. I thought she would be thrilled that I went to church. Her reaction was just the opposite: she was upset! She told me Catholicism was bad and unbiblical, that Catholics worshipped Mary and statues. She told me that it says in the Bible not to worship graven images. Her anger blindsided me. I had no idea what to say, so I dropped the conversation.

Fast forward to my early twenties. My mom invited me to attend a Foursquare church with her. I enjoyed the sermon, and the pastor and his wife were lovely people, so I attended there sporadically with my mom.

In 2004, at the age of 21, my boyfriend proposed, and we married at that church. It was a long-distance engagement, so marriage prep with the pastor was done individually. My fiancé was a believer, but he did not attend church. God was not a big part of our marriage. After almost two years of emotional and verbal abuse, that marriage came to an end.

So here I was, 23 years old and going through a divorce. I decided to live in Iowa with my best friend and her uncle. I would finish up my teaching degree while licking my divorce wounds. The divorce itself was ugly, and I had a few tough days. I was crying one day when my friend’s uncle came home from work. He presented me with a gold crucifix necklace and told me to lean on Jesus for help. He was not Catholic, but Lutheran. Regardless, his kindness touched me deeply.

That Christmas, I flew back to Arizona for a visit with my parents. I was wearing the necklace when they picked me up from the airport, and as I went to hug my mom, she stopped, stared at the necklace and asked me angrily what was this thing I was wearing. I told her it was a gift. She scoffed and said Jesus is risen; He is no longer on the cross. I was crushed. The necklace had meant a lot to me.

I went to hug my mom, she stopped, stared at the necklace and asked me angrily what was this thing I was wearing. I told her... She scoffed and said Jesus is risen; He is no longer on the cross.
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For the next handful of years, church and religion again went by the wayside. I began my teaching career, giving no thought to God and his teachings. Around 2009, I reconnected with an old boyfriend, Kenny. We married in 2011, and I moved to New Mexico, where he was stationed in the Air Force. By 2012, I was pregnant with our daughter, Cameron. Being thankful for my part in bringing a new life into the world, I finally began to wonder about a higher power. Surely God had something to do with that.

I thought back to my experiences with my mom and her anger towards Catholicism. I contacted a Catholic friend of mine, Rachel, back in Arizona. I asked her why there was so much animosity towards Catholics. There are billions of Catholics; surely they can’t be all that bad? How can so many people be wrong in their beliefs? She chuckled and told me that Catholicism is extremely misunderstood. She recommended I do some research of my own. She suggested I read, Why Do Catholics Do That? by Kevin Orlin Johnson. That book was a turning point; it sparked a fire. It explained everything so concisely, with Scripture passages to back it up. There was a biblical explanation for everything from the crucifix, to genuflecting, to Mary, and it all made sense! I knew I had to learn more. For the next two years, I read tons of books and inundated Rachel with questions. Then I went back and reread that first book and highlighted, underlined, and dog-eared the pages.

In 2015, my husband left the Air Force, and we moved back home to Arizona. Rachel invited me to Mass at St. Germaine Catholic Parish. Although I could not keep up with all that was going on during the Mass, I enjoyed myself and continued to attend with her and her family.

Rachel gifted me a copy of Butler’s Lives of the Saints, by Bernard Bangley. Each day I would read about a new saint. The saint on October 12th was St. Cyprian of Carthage. Like me, he came to the Catholic Faith later in life. He devoured books by Christian writers and became a bishop. He guided his people with hundreds of letters, in which he explained the Faith. Something compelled me to learn more about that man. I found his complete works, and it took me a year to read them all. His treatises helped me decide to convert.

After I shared my decision with Rachel, she gave me the phone number of the RCIA instructor. I met with him and gave him a quick rundown on my background and why I wanted to be Catholic. (Because it’s the truth, and I could not deny the truth!) As the RCIA instructor was signing me up for class, he mentioned I may need an annulment. I thought, what is that? Come again? He explained that, since I had been divorced, I would need that marriage annulled and my current marriage recognized by the Church before I could become Catholic. He gave me a number for the deacon in charge of the Nullity Ministry. I was thoroughly confused.

I called the deacon the next day, and we set up a time to meet. He went over the Church’s teachings on the indissolubility of marriage. According to the Bible, I was technically practicing adultery by divorcing and remarrying. Since I had never heard anything like that elsewhere, I had an extremely tough time accepting that. He walked me through the process of obtaining a Decree of Nullity and told me that the tribunal at the Diocese of Phoenix was taking 18 months to two years to complete it. My heart sank. I wanted to be Catholic so badly, and now I had to go through the process of revisiting this extremely painful part of my past. I struggled with having to dig up and expose my history to this man I barely knew. I did not want to relive it, and I felt it was unfair and not healthy for my mental well-being. I had a long list of questions and objections for the deacon and my RCIA instructor. Fortunately, they allowed me the space to vent and rant during those difficult days. Overall, I was beginning to wonder if I was doing the right thing in converting.

My heart sank. I wanted to be Catholic so badly, and now I had to go through the process of revisiting this extremely painful part of my past... . Fortunately, they gave me space to vent and rant during those difficult days.
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I began RCIA in the fall of 2017, with Rachel as my sponsor. I also began the annulment process. During this time, I found out that my husband also needed an annulment, since he too had been married before. I did not understand this at all, since he was not religious and had no desire to become Catholic. Why should he have to go through the process as well? It felt like the setbacks kept coming. Thankfully, Kenny agreed to go through the annulment process, so long as I did not pressure him to become Catholic or do anything he did not want to do. Deal!

I found out that my husband also needed an annulment, since he too had been married before. I did not understand this at all... . It felt like the setbacks kept coming.
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He even agreed to have Cameron baptized Catholic. I invited my family and closest friends. Not surprisingly, when I invited my mom and her side of the family (grandparents, aunts, and uncles), all refused to attend. However, many of my friends, and even my father, came to support us when Cameron was baptized in August of 2017.

A few months later, I knew the time had come to tell my mom that I was converting. I took a deep breath and made the call. My confession was met with silence, then stuttering disbelief. She went on a tirade against Catholicism and its “evil ways.” I cried. We ended the conversation there, since continuing would accomplish nothing. My heart was broken. Was converting worth all of this? Was I doing the right thing?

Nearing the end of RCIA, and with the end of my annulment nowhere in sight, our class went on a spiritual retreat. I was feeling disheartened and unsure of my decision to become Catholic. I could not find solace in the Rosary, as so many had counseled. During the retreat, our class was told to disperse and have some quiet time. We were out in the wilderness, on a makeshift farm. There was a path leading away from the buildings, out into the trees and fields. Several of us made our way down the path in quiet contemplation. I had not gone far when I spotted a large rock. I sat down on the rock and proceeded to cry silently, asking God why I was feeling this way. Why all this turmoil? I closed my eyes and let the tears fall.

Then I opened my eyes and looked up. There, about ten feet in front of me was a horse. I had not heard it walking up to me. I looked around for my classmates but saw no one. I was completely alone. Then a second horse walked up and stopped behind the first one. Then a third horse came up behind the second one. All three were staring at me. We all stared at each other for a couple of minutes. My tears stopped, and I said hello. I felt calm. Finally, the horses slowly moved on. I looked all around me, expecting to see at least one other person, but no one was there. It was as if the Holy Trinity had come to ease my fears and confusion. As a result, to this day I have a special place in my heart for the Trinity.

Easter of 2018 came and went, with me watching my classmates getting baptized and confirmed without me. A few months later, in July, I finally received my annulment. I felt a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. However, Kenny’s annulment was still being processed. Still more waiting, with my patience growing thin. I continued to attend Mass in the meantime, anxiously for the day when I could finally receive Jesus in the Eucharist.

On March 30, 2019, Kenny’s annulment was granted. I immediately called my pastor and asked if I could be baptized that Easter, just a couple of weeks away. He said I might have to get my marriage convalidated, and he was not sure there would be time before the Easter Vigil. I felt deflated. Please, God, do not make me wait any longer! My pastor said he would call the tribunal and ask what we should do next. In the meantime, he suggested I pray for the intercession of Our Lady, Undoer of Knots. I went through my days imploring Our Lady to untie this seemingly never-ending knot in my life.

I went through my days imploring Our Lady to untie this seemingly never-ending knot in my life.
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Later that week, my pastor called to let me know that I was all clear to be baptized at Easter Vigil. No convalidation was needed! My heart soared. On Easter Vigil, April 20, 2019, I was baptized and confirmed. I chose the confirmation name of Cyprian. St. Cyprian was a big part of my intellectual conversion. That evening, Rachel was there next to me, along with my dad, Kenny, Cameron, and several close friends. They had come to watch my years-long desire be realized. I was sad my mom was not there, but the topic of my faith is a toxic one between us. We have agreed to disagree on this point, and we do not discuss it.

Once I had officially entered the Catholic Church, I volunteered to be a teaching assistant in the religious education program. I worked with second graders, preparing them for their first confession. Later on, I was approached by the deacon who had worked with me on my annulment. He asked if I would be willing to consider becoming a nullity minister at the parish. I accepted the position. I completed my training through the Diocese of Phoenix Tribunal, and I now help others who were once in my position, needing to get their marriage in alignment with the Church’s beliefs. It is ironic that, considering how much I railed against the process in the beginning, I should now be on the other end of it, but I believe that my experience uniquely qualifies me to help others in this regard.

I now help others who were once in my position, needing to get their marriage in alignment with the Church’s beliefs. It is ironic that, considering how much I railed against the process in the beginning... .
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Cameron had her first confession last year, and she is currently preparing for her First Communion and Confirmation. I am thankful that God has led me home and that I can help my daughter grow spiritually, as well. Kenny is not Catholic, nor is he interested in converting, but I believe there is still time for God’s grace to function in him. After all, it took God thirty-plus years to get my attention. Thanks be to God that He did.

The post The Courage to Convert appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

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The next day, I stood in the lobby of the hotel in Moorhead, Minnesota. There was a television on the wall, announcing that the plane carrying Buddy, Ritchie and the Big Bopper had gone down in the storm. There were no survivors.

From that moment on, I knew God had a plan for me.

I was born and raised in Bronx, New York City. Mount Carmel Catholic Church, which was the hub of our neighborhood, is where I was baptized and confirmed. Though my parents have many wonderful qualities, I came from a highly dysfunctional family that wasn’t too interested in religion and found the Church unnecessary.

Frances, my mom, has never had a day in her life when she isn’t worrying about something, looking out for someone or taking charge somewhere. She was born to bear responsibility, and the heavier it got, the more long-suffering she got. In most important ways, she held the family together, sewing hats and making ends meet at home.

My dad, on the other hand, was always somewhere else making puppets or down at the local gym lifting weights. My parents would constantly argue about our money shortage, and the need for my father to get a job. Mom would chew him out in front of the family with my uncles helping, and it was her feelings towards him, more than anything I guess, that made me lose respect for my old man. What was there to look up to, I thought, when he lets her treat him that way? In this macho Italian neighborhood, the code of the street was respect, and reputation was everything.

In this environment, Catholicism seemed suited for old women and sissies. Real men didn’t need it. It looked to me, as a kid, like the world was divided into things that were my size and things that were way over my head. God was a million miles away in Mount Carmel church, somewhere up above those stained glass windows. The priests and nuns could give you the fear of God, all right, and the guilt that came from not following the rules, but they couldn’t breathe life into the words and rituals. Still, I remember going to Mass occasionally with friends or relatives on those cold, snowy Christmas nights when our parish seemed to be overflowing with everyone in the Bronx. The choir voices, singing, flickering candles, ringing chimes, the church organ bellowing sounds from the third tier — all this filled me with awe. I guess somewhere in me, the music, the worship, the sense of reverence struck a chord that said there was Someone great up above who cared and we were nestled in His unconditional, loving arms.

At the age of twelve, my uncle purchased a secondhand guitar as a gift for me. I was soon caught up in the music of Hank Williams and some rhythm and blues, which was odd for a city boy in the 1950s. Hank Williams knew what it was like to have folks in the palm of his hand simply through the sound of his voice. It was something I was learning too. At the age of thirteen, in those vulnerable years when a boy starts making the transition to manhood, the call of the streets, the gangs, being cool and running my own life seemed the way to go. With music, I felt part of something. I felt connected. By the time I was a teenager, I was beginning to realize the limits that were put on me by my family and the neighborhood. After a while, I lost that sense of belonging that carried me through my childhood. Without even realizing it, I started looking for a way out.

Music offered that way. Maybe it could rescue me — maybe my whole family, too. By 15, I was a rebel. Then I met Susan, the most beautiful girl in the world. She’d moved to the Bronx from Vermont. I had no idea they grew anything as gorgeous as Susan up there. She had a clean, country air about her that followed her down the street. I fell head over heels in love. I approached her like I approached everything else in my life: with a mixture of sheer bravado and quaking fear. I wanted her to love me back, even just a little. But more than that, I wanted her to look up to me, and admiration was something I thought I knew how to get. So I sang. I used to play school dances at the parish hall, where Susan would come to hang out. In doing that, I hoped to catch her attention.

With the help of a seasoned songwriter who heard me rocking out at the local Friday night dance, I landed a recording contract. He took me to Manhattan and introduced me to Bob and Gene Schwartz, who ran a record company. Things were different in those days; you could put out real records without a whole lot of money. I auditioned for the Schwartz brothers, singing Wonderful Girl. It was my favorite song at the time — kind of a dedication to Susan. They loved it and wanted to give me a try.

“You want to hear some stuff?” I asked Gene. “I’ll round up some guys from the Bronx, and show you some stuff.” The next day, I was back with three of my friends, the best doo-wop singers I knew. That was the beginning of Dion and the Belmonts. I Wonder Why was our first song and it went Top 10. I was on my way.

One of the first gigs we did was Dick Clark’s American Bandstand right after it had gone from a local broadcast to the national airwaves. At this time, I was going steady with Susan. I bought a Ford Thunderbird and we acted like the neighborhood king and queen. The next five years were an amazing rush of hit records, movies, concerts, television shows and worldwide tours with Chuck Berry, the Everly Brothers, Roy Orbison and others. The music seemed like it would never end.

I was a Bronx kid in a very elite club, rubbing shoulders with people who seemed very sophisticated and savvy. The fears in my life, the doubts and insecurities and pain, had been pushed back into some dark corner. It was like I was a child again and everything was brand new and shiny.

Now, I knew how life was supposed to be — just like in the movies. By the age of 21, I was a millionaire twice over. I’d been on the Ed Sullivan Show, bought my parents a home and could give my girl the best time in New York City. When I went to parties, I was the center of attention among all the beautiful people. I was in front of audiences all the time and their applause was my drug of choice. Sure, I’d gotten into other drugs, and was even shooting heroin, but my real narcotic was all the adulation. I believed it all. I needed it all.

The song Teenager in Love went top five, as did Where or When. Still, because of musical differences, the Belmonts and I split up. They wanted to sing with smooth harmonies and I wanted to rock. On my own, I recorded The Wanderer and Runaround Sue. They were the biggest efforts yet, and both topped the charts in the early 60s at number one. That’s more like it, I thought. I was at the top of my profession and all the time, I had Susan at my side, watching everything with her big green eyes. She’d be there running the gauntlet of flashbulbs and fans as I soaked up the fame.

Then one night, out of the blue, she asked me, “Dion, is this all you want? I mean, is this it?” She could see through the act, past the airbrushed pretty boy and into the part of me, hidden and hurting, that I was trying so hard to deny. If I’d been able to — if I could have remade myself in her eyes as the glamorous golden boy that everyone else saw, I don’t think we’d have lasted much longer. The truth is, I’m not sure she even liked the superstar who was trying so hard to sweep her off her feet. The guy she loved was simple, more genuine, nurtured in the neighborhood, part of a family. I’d lost touch with that guy and all Susan could do was hang on and wait.

It was 1963, and I was spinning my wheels, trying to get a grip on something that would last after Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens went down in that plane. I tried to hide from my fears by partying even harder.

Still, I didn’t want to lose Susan. I asked her to marry me, swearing to change and vowing to love and cherish her forever. We married and things went from bad to much worse. I had no idea drug and alcohol abuse was a progressive disease. The day I snorted that first white line and walked like a king through the tenement streets was the day I cut myself off from ever facing what was wrong with me, Dion, the man behind all those masks. Inside me, I never made it past 13. It was like I just stopped growing, stuck there on the trembling edge of manhood like my dad. It was drugs that sucked me into thinking only about myself, got me addicted to blaming others for my problems, or simply turned me away, to pretend they didn’t exist. Hope and joy and childlike faith withered and died, too. If I had to bow to my weakness and powerlessness, I’d lose respect. Maybe I’d start getting treated like my father, like something less than a man. I’d have to face my own weakness, the helpless feeling. I’d have to ask for help. I was truly lost and I knew it. The pain, humiliation, fear and emptiness were terrifying; if I let go, I’d look like the hole in a doughnut.

I was the first rock and roll artist signed to Columbia Records and naturally, expectations ran high. No expense was spared and no excuses accepted. This was the big time. I was getting $100,000 a year guaranteed — whether I sold a record or not. Ruby Baby and Donna the Primadonna were a great down payment: they went Top 5.

Still, even with that success, I was at an all time mental and spiritual bottom. Out of depression, we moved to Miami, looking for a fresh start. There, I would have the surprise of my life: I got to see God work through my father-in-law, Jack. Jack helped fan into flames the gift of God that was in me through the laying on of hands at my confirmation. I said a prayer one night there in Jack’s home: “God I need your help.” I was delivered from the obsession to drink and drug; it was just lifted off me like a weight. On that day, April 1, 1968, I became aware of God’s power, even before I became aware of His reality.

I entered a spiritual-based 12-step program and grew in these disciplines. Six months later, at the age of 28, I released one of the biggest records of my career — Abraham, Martin and John. It became an anthem.

But my biggest moment was to come. On December 14, 1979, I went out jogging, like I did every morning. It was a time when I could be alone with my thoughts — thinking about the past, thinking about the future. There was a lot going on in me then, a mid-life crisis, or something. My emotions were everywhere. In the middle of that confusion, all I could pray was “God, it would be nice to be closer to you.” That’s all it took.

I was flooded with white light. It was everywhere, inside me, outside me — everywhere. At that moment, things were different between me and God. He’d broken down the wall. Ahead of me, I saw a man with His arms outstretched. “I love you,” He said. “Don’t you know that? I’m your friend. I laid down My life for you. I’m here for you now.” I looked behind me, because I knew I’d left something behind on that road. Some part of me that I no longer wanted. Let the road have it; I didn’t need it anymore.

God changed my life that morning, and things have never been the same. I started writing and recording these wonderful gospel songs in the 1980s and started touring again. In the following years, I experienced many different approaches and forms to faith which were new and exciting. I went to Israel with Gregg Laurie and Calvary Chapel in 1981. It was the most beautiful trip Susan and I have ever had. Great teaching, precious people — a lot of love for our Lord. Jack Hayford’s Church on the Way was a place I’d visit when working in L.A. But in some circles, I started hearing attacks on the Catholic Church and anti-Catholic teachings which confused me. My belief system was being threatened; my insides felt like they were being torn apart. It was affecting my relationship with Susan, also. My wife is very deep and loving. She’s also totally genuine.

Sometimes, as we’d sit in the pew at our latest Evangelical Church, she’d lean over and whisper in my ear, “I wonder what this Church is going to look like in 2,000 years.”

I started regularly attending a Protestant church where there was much exuberance and volume in the worship and teachings. Having a mild Catholic upbringing and not knowing exactly what I was leaving, I drifted away from the Church. The last 18 years, going through different denominations, there was always something missing and incomplete. Now, I know it’s the Eucharist, the fullness of the Faith, the communion of saints, the beauty of Truth. I was missing 2,000 years of family history and rich tradition.

It seemed to me that each individual believer has to acquire enough knowledge on his own in order to know which church can bring him to eternal life. Instead of accepting the Church on God’s terms, I’d have to choose a church of my liking, a church that agreed with me. In those years, I did come to love God’s Word and met some wonderful pastors. But with a new church opening every week with a little different doctrine, it became increasingly difficult and confusing to know what the truth really was.

In late 1997, I came upon a television program called The Journey Home on the Eternal Word Television Network. John Haas, a former Protestant clergyman, was Marcus Grodi’s guest. He was talking about the question of authority in the Church. As a Protestant, his final authority was “the Faith and practice of the early, undivided Church.” However, there was a problem. He saw there was no living voice of authority to really settle and resolve disputes or controversies in the church he was in.

This started my inquiry into some of the teachings I’d accepted and believed from a Protestant standpoint without serious study.

When I looked, I found that St. Paul called the Church the “pillar and foundation of truth” (1 Tim. 3:15) and said to hold to the traditions passed on, “either by word of mouth or by letter” (2 Thess. 2:15). I saw how the early Church recognized the bishop of Rome as the earthly head. I discovered that the Church is guided by the Holy Spirit to make decisions without error. This promise by Jesus — this infallible divine guidance — gave us the Bible.

I discovered that Jesus is present in the Eucharist. Not symbolically present. Not kind of present. He is really there, under the appearance of bread and wine. Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch in the first century, wrote about the truth of the Real Presence in the Lord’s Supper. And he sat at the feet of St. John who penned John 6:25-69.

Little by little, God helped break through my defiance and ignorance. My misconceptions about the Church were falling away fast. All the questions I had as a Protestant were being answered, as I finally felt those deep parts of me satisfied.

And so I went back to Mount Carmel Catholic Church — where it all began. I went to confession and let it out to Father Frank. I told him where I’d been and what I’d done. When I finished, he stood up, stretched his arms out and said, “Dion, welcome home.” I tried to be a man, I tried to stifle myself, but I couldn’t do it. I broke down right there. At last, I met the God who is a Father — a Father who is strong, but loving; tough but gentle. I met a Father who took this wanderer in His mighty arms, and led him home.

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