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

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As the opening line of the Rule of St. Benedict states, “Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart.” I’m writing this on the Memorial of St. Benedict, a fitting time to reflect and be thankful. So get ready for “lift-off” as my journey home into the fullness of the faith and service in the Catholic Church takes flight.

The Early Years

I was born in 1957, at the dawn of the “space-age,” when the Russian satellite Sputnik set the Space Race in motion between the United States and the Soviet Union. Just south of Seattle, WA, where my brother, sister, and I were born, my father was employed as a Boeing engineer working in Space and Defense. This meant he worked on many projects related to Cold War issues and directly on the Saturn V main stage rocket, which eventually sent Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins to the moon and safely home. Because of my father’s work, we moved wherever Boeing sent us — from Seattle to Huntsville, back to Seattle, down to Cape Canaveral and Cocoa Beach, and then back to Seattle for good. My childhood was shaped by NASA and Boeing, interest in beauty and the arts, and the great outdoors. This background would help shape an unexpected pilgrimage into a strange, yet beautiful, world of grace, love, and wonder for me as an ex-Evangelical Protestant pastor, for my wife Diane, and our two teenage girls.

My memories of church life during my early childhood, mostly at a small Missouri Synod Lutheran Church in Huntsville, AL, are vague but important memories of loving people who treated both my siblings and my mother with kindness. (My father rarely attended.) My mother did a good job giving us a knowledge of God’s existence and basic Christian morality formed from the Ten Commandments. Flannel graphics were a favorite of mine, especially before Sunday school classes began depicting rocket launches and safe re-entry instead of religious principles. One significant event from this time occurred on a Sunday after church, as I was watching a weekly program on a Christian television station. I remember this episode had to do with a family tragedy, and as I watched the program, the thought ran through my mind that, as an adult, I would like to be helping families with hardships and challenges. This experience still guides me.

As I grew older and began high school, my family’s involvement in church waned. I became enthralled with the NFL and Sunday football. In short, we soon became “Christmas and Easter Christians” and neglected church life in general. If I had to describe where I was in my spiritual life at that time, I would say that I was a believer in God but didn’t see how God could be interested in my life. I did believe Jesus was the Son of God, but I had no concept of what that meant or why it mattered. As for the Holy Spirit, somehow, He was part of this, but how, I had no clue. In fact, my life after high school was rather confused and unguided. I had no idea where I was going or how to formulate a plan to get anywhere. Boeing and engineering didn’t interest me; working at Boeing in any capacity didn’t interest me; a career in business didn’t interest me either.

For the first time in my life, I began to search for a purpose, a deeper meaning in life, and goals to pursue. College sounded like it could help provide an answer to these questions, so I effectively rolled the dice and wound up at Western Washington University in Bellingham, WA. I had no idea what I was going to study, but I was drawn to psychology and sociology.

Ora et Labora — Prayer and Work

In 1978, I arrived at Western Washington University in Bellingham, WA, just south of the Canadian border and north of Seattle, in the afterglow of the “Jesus Movement” of the late 60s and early 70s. I quickly became involved in campus ministry, previously unaware that such a thing even existed on college campuses. In the dormitories were numerous posters recruiting students to any number of secular and religious group meetings. One of those was for Campus Crusade for Christ, which I visited and became involved in for a short time with a friend I met on the crew team. Here I was introduced to the Four Spiritual Laws, and even helped my teammate lead people to Christ. One day, this same friend asked if I had ever visited a monastery. I had not, so he invited me to visit a Benedictine Abbey, just across the border in Mission, British Columbia, Canada, named Westminster Abbey. Here, I was introduced to a new world of beauty, peace, and prayer which would begin my long journey deeper into Jesus’ heart and eventually into the Catholic Church.

The beauty of the monastery was stunning. Overlooking the Fraser River, with a north side view of Mt. Baker in Washington State, bald eagles flying overhead, and big timber all around, the impact of this first visit still remains with me many years later.

In fact, I have visited this monastery many times over the years and have brought groups up for retreats and study. Yet it was the beauty and artistry of one of the monks’ works displayed in the chapel and around the monastery that focused my attention on God’s creativity through human genius. The monk’s name was Father Dunstan Massey, OSB, and he was quite well known as an artist around the Fraser River Valley. He specialized in concrete reliefs and frescos, and his artistry speaks to me of God’s wonder. Indeed, his work was his prayer.

Father Dunstan, the grandeur of creation, and other encounters with God through beauty became a gentle path deeper into His love and compassion, which would prove to be of immense consolation in the storms of life to come. The Benedictine Rule would become a huge influence on my life. St. Benedict’s 12 Steps of Humility and their impact on the shaping of the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous became patterns within the development of my ministry over the years. The Benedictine motto, “Ora et Labora” (prayer and work), is a simple and profound way to live and learn a life of prayer and devotion “one day at a time.”

I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology and learned that, while I had become a good listener and loved to minister on the streets, in jails, and occasionally on campus, this was not the most employable degree. As a result, I spent a year doing carpentry with a friend. After this time, I was invited to intern with an Assemblies of God campus ministry (Chi Alpha) with the hope of being equipped enough to pioneer a campus group on a college campus that had a supporting church nearby desiring a new chapter. We studied from well-known works of Protestant Evangelical theologians, occasionally mixed with an Anglican and, very rarely, a Catholic spiritual perspective. We conducted street dramas, traveled to different parts of the western United States to help other campus ministries, led small groups, raised our own funds, and generally became confident that we could pioneer a campus group anywhere we were called. Soon, I would indeed be called upon to begin a new campus ministry, but I needed a partner to go on this adventure with me. Diane would become that partner.

Diane and I met when we were both college students. I didn’t know her well in those years, but during this year of internship, our relationship began to flower. I admired her faith in Jesus, her prayer life, and her willingness to step out of her comfort zone in teaching, street ministry/drama, and planning outreach. Of course, I also thought she was cute.

At the end of our internship year, we were teamed up to start a campus group in Kearney, Nebraska at what was then known as Kearney State College. We set out on a cross-country adventure to another culture amidst the cornfields and hog farms of south-central Nebraska, right along the Platte River. Here, our relationship would be tried in the difficult circumstances of a new culture, an unfamiliar land with intense winters and springs, and of a longing for the big timber, mountains, and flowing water of the Pacific Northwest. Despite the difficulties, our two years spent in Nebraska were fruitful. The campus ministry grew, and Diane and I grew closer. We were engaged in Kearney. Then we said good-bye to our Nebraska friends and headed back to the Evergreen State to start our new life as a married couple.

During our time in Nebraska, we had become acquainted with many campus pastors from different denominations, all of whom were very helpful to us. What Diane and I quickly discovered, however, was that our internship in campus ministry fell short in equipping us to converse with them in matters of church history, theology, and much of pastoral ministry. As a result, I desired to go to seminary and learn about these different subjects. We needed to earn money for that to happen, though, so off we went to Alaska and Yukon to drive tour buses in the Great White North for two seasons before I took the plunge into seminary.

I began my studies at Regent College in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, an interdenominational seminary begun by two Anglican Professors from England — J.I. Packer and James Houston. This was a marvelous place to learn (and I must say that many themes introduced to us here eventually found their fulfillment in the Catholic Church). Over a four-year period, we learned about Church History, Christian Spirituality, Systematic Theology, Preaching, Pastoral Care, Greek, Hebrew, and most important to our journey, the Early Church Fathers and beauty. The Early Church Fathers introduced to us an intriguing world of commitment to the Eucharist, prayer, and tradition, aspects of the Church we would later come to understand in a truly Catholic perspective instead of a curious, but still Protestant, worldview. All this we received as God’s gifts in our lives. It was a wonderful time of reception — a time of filling.

Memento Mori — Remember that You Will Die

As I worked toward the completion of my Master’s Degree in Theological Studies, I concentrated on Pastoral Care and Family Ministries. At this time, I was working in an addiction recovery center for adults and teens, helping families deal with recovery issues and treatment plans. Diane was working at a local nursing home and caring for a neglected population of elderly people. After graduation from seminary, I was eventually hired as an associate pastor with a large, local Assemblies of God church which functioned more like an Evangelical community church. This was the same church that sponsored the college campus group where Diane and I had interned. It was quite familiar to us and was an honor to serve on staff. My duties included running counseling services and recovery groups, developing internships in pastoral care, expanding our local food pantry into a food bank, and partnering with community services in the county to help families. I enjoyed this work and felt called to care for people in distress. However, during the 16 years I worked at the church, there were three experiences, all having to do with personal trauma and loss, which drew us into a search for consolation and care which only the Catholic Church was able to provide.

The first of these experiences was the discovery of our infertility as a couple. Anyone who has been part of this journey knows what a loss and burden it can be for a couple totally open to children and wanting to raise a family. In this struggle, we found there really was nowhere we could turn to find comfort or solace. We knew of no groups, no people to talk with, and no support. We were alone, and our church had no resources to help us. Diane and I spent five years praying for God’s direction amid this suffering. Were we to have children? Should we utilize artificial means to conceive? Is adoption for us? Where and how do we proceed with adoption? How are children to be part of our lives? These questions drove us deeper into prayer and into intense listening for God’s guidance.

The Lord did indeed guide us and grant us comfort during these difficult years. We came to the firm conviction that the Lord wanted us to pursue adoption overseas in China. We were in the early wave of North Americans adopting Chinese orphans. Due to the one-child policy instituted by the Communist government, many “unwanted” female babies were either aborted, victims of infanticide, or sent to crowded orphanages where they were cared for as well as they could be by the staff. Describing the adventures of this adoption experience would require an additional story; suffice it to say we traveled to China without a child and two weeks later came back with our eight-month-old daughter, Amy. Two years later, we would head to Vladivostok, Russia, to adopt our youngest daughter, Anna, also eight months old. As we settled into life as a new family of four, we were surprised that the pain of infertility was overwhelmed by the joy of adopting our children. Every family is a miracle; ours is no exception.

As the years passed, we nurtured our family and our ministry, building a community of care and outreach in the church. In time, the mission of the church became obscured, and growing a church in numbers became the top priority. In the midst of this change, the second of three losses occurred in our lives — the sudden death of my mother due to cancer. She was the hub of the family, and her death brought about profound changes in my extended family. This was a time of confusion and deep grief. Coupled with the changes in the church, we found ourselves longing once again for solace and community, but found none. We were searching intently for a deeper meaning and purpose of the people of God and church worship.

This search steered me into a doctoral program in urban leadership and spiritual formation at Bakke Graduate University (based in Seattle at the time, now based in Dallas). In this program, we learned more about the spirituality and leadership of serving the needs of the poor in urban settings, of creating communities of care and outreach, and of diving into the mystery and majesty of human interaction in the act of ministering care in God’s compassion. I would often pray in the St. Ignatius chapel at Seattle University and found this space compelling, drawing me toward beauty and prayer. Here, I discovered many more contemporary Catholic authors and people who became heroes to me. Diane and I were also drawn to Celtic Catholic spirituality and the “thin places” of the world, those places where heaven and earth are thinly veiled to one another. We had no idea that this would be the perfect description of the Catholic Mass, but the journey was beginning to take on new dimensions for us. It was also here that I came across a wonderful quote from G.K. Chesterton in his masterpiece, Orthodoxy, giving us insight to the Christian life.

“Christianity satisfies suddenly and perfectly man’s ancestral instinct for being the right way up; satisfies it supremely in this; that by its creed joy becomes something gigantic and sadness something special and small.… Joy, which is the small publicity of the pagan, is the gigantic secret of the Christian.” (G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 1996. p. 239.)

In 2007, I graduated with a Doctor of Ministry in Transformation Leadership and Spiritual Formation and soon after discerned that my time at the Assemblies of God church was coming to an end. Through a series of many staff changes and circumstances, Diane and I knew that our hearts were being pulled somewhere else, though where that would be, we did not know. We knew our view of the Communion service was changing, that the Lord was somehow present in ways we couldn’t articulate.

Our view of Mary was changing also. We knew that Protestants didn’t understand her or her role in salvation history. They could not help us answer the question of what her role was, and what our relationship with her ought to be. We knew it had to be more than a casual appreciation for her at Christmas.

One final issue that we could not resolve was the issue of authority. With so many opinions about Holy Scripture, what or whom were we to trust, and why should we trust them?

I resigned my position, which for a career pastor can be devastating, with the loss of income, an uncertain future, the disappearance of community and friends, and vanishing support networks. This was the third of the losses that would send us into a “desert wandering” for five years, until one Christmas Eve when our world was turned upside down.

My family loves Christmas. As part of our Christmas tradition, we would attend a Christmas Eve service somewhere in the county. Diane thought we needed a new experience of Christmas Eve as a family, so in her wisdom and attentiveness to the Holy Spirit, she suggested we attend Children’s Mass at Sacred Heart Parish, just up the hill from the church where I used to be employed. This sounded like a good idea to me, since I had been in the parish church occasionally to pray and look at the beauty of the sanctuary, statues, and candles. So, off we went to Children’s Mass. We had no idea what to expect, but knew the kids would be cute, Christmas carols would be sung, and hopefully English (and very little Latin) would be spoken. We were right! The kids were cute, Christmas carols that we knew were sung, everything in the church was decorated beautifully, and very little Latin was used. We were stunned!

We left that Mass wondering what the Lord was doing. While there, my eyes became fixed on the crucifix in the front of the church. It seemed that Jesus was speaking directly to me, saying that He knew the pains and sorrows of humanity, and more than that, the pains and sorrows my family and I had endured. He was saying that here, in the Mass, in the Catholic Church, our search for deeper meaning and purpose would find its answers. Here, Mary would be our Blessed Mother. Here, living water would finally quench our thirst.

We stayed away from the church, and from Mass, for two weeks trying to sort it out. We were a bit numb, but Diane and I were convinced that God was ushering us into full communion with the Catholic Church. We asked the girls if they desired to attend with us, and even if they desired to explore the possibility of becoming Catholic; they were game to try. So that we could become better prepared for this further adventure, we felt the need to find out more about the Church, if we could. We went to our local Barnes & Noble and found a book which became incredibly helpful to us, Catholicism for Dummies. We still refer to this book from time to time! Eventually, we were introduced to the parish priest. We invited him over to our house to pepper him with questions, attended RCIA, and prepared to enter the Church at the Easter Vigil in 2012.

Entering into full communion with the Church has been an oasis for us. Our journey has not been so much a wrestling with doctrine and tradition as it has been discovering where consolation, beauty, and joy manifest Jesus’ love on earth in the most deeply personal and authentic way. We have been overwhelmed by Jesus’ Real Presence in the Eucharist, the love of our Triune God and our Blessed Mother, and the wonder and beauty of the Church unfolding before us.

Why enter the Church in this time of trial and scandal? Perhaps it was precisely because of these wounds that the Lord led us here, to help tend to a Church that needs renewal, strength, and care.

A few years after our entrance into the Church, I started inquiring into the Diaconate upon the encouragement of our parish staff, not knowing what that entailed. It was a whole new world of potential pastoral involvement, and I wasn’t quite sure if I was up to the challenge. I told Diane, my wife, that unless someone approached me at coffee and donuts after Mass, I would forgo the honor. As I sat enjoying my donut and coffee after Mass, our parish priest made a beeline to me, telling me I needed to apply. I felt this was the Lord’s prompting! So I applied, was interviewed, along with Diane, and entered the formation process, which was quite challenging on every level.

In the second year of formation, we were graced with attending a Coming Home Network retreat at the Archbishop Brunett Retreat Center in Federal Way, WA, which was our home for formation throughout the years. The retreat was wonderful and life-giving, thanks to Jim Anderson, Ken Hensley, and Monsignor Steenson! On December 19, 2020, in the middle of the COVID pandemic, I was ordained a permanent deacon of the Catholic Church. It had been quite a journey!

In the years since my ordination, I have been impressed with the immense prayerfulness of God’s people and gained a growing love of the saints, especially St. Joseph and our Blessed Mother. I am filled with wonder as I serve the Mass and am thankful for the Divine Office, praying for the profound needs of the Church worldwide. I have also become a regular follower of On the Journey with Matt, Ken, and Kenny on the CHNetwork website, finding their insights helpful in the challenges of the diaconate.

Greater than those challenges, though, the diaconate has brought me fulfillment. Along with preparing and preaching homilies at Mass, it is one of my joys to pray for those who have died and to help those who struggle with loss to find a way home. My current role offers many opportunities to minister to bereaved families and pray for the souls of the dead as they are committed to God’s good earth, one of the corporal acts of mercy. This work brings me back to St. Benedict. One of the disciplines of the Benedictine Rule is to remember that we all will die, Memento Mori. It is not a morbid preoccupation with death, but a daily discipline to remind ourselves that our lives are short and need to be filled by the Holy Spirit with virtue, humility, and fortitude — the love of God.

Blessings to you on your own journey home! Kyrie Eleison!

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Fr. Sebastian’s book is Always a Catholic.

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A Faith of My Own

Born in 1951 and growing up in Seattle, Washington, I had been a Christian all of my life. Our family was Lutheran, so I was baptized as a baby, attended Sunday school, vacation Bible school, and church camp. I was confirmed when I was 14 and active in Luther League in high school. I had faith in God, but it was more my parents’ religion than my own. There was a short period in college when I walked away from my faith and turned my back on God. When I returned to faith in 1971, it was during the Jesus People movement, and I became a charismatic. Suddenly, God was no longer just someone I believed in. It wasn’t just about going to church on Sunday to give Him that slice of my life. Instead, He became integral my whole life, and I had a living, daily relationship with Him.

In the early years of the charismatic movement, the late 1960s and early 1970s, charismatic worship was new and fresh. We sang scriptural songs accompanied by guitars. We learned a lot about the Holy Spirit, His workings, and His gifts. After college I spent a couple of years in California at a Christian organization called Youth With A Mission, a worldwide organization that trains people to become missionaries and work around the world. These missionaries emphasize the need to cultivate a deeper relationship with God. As I had no money for the training, I volunteered in their office in California and learned much through exposure to visiting speakers, listening to teaching recordings, and having conversations with many students and leaders who were there.

On February 8, 1976, I flew from Los Angeles to Anchorage, Alaska, to be a bridesmaid in my college roommate’s wedding. I went from temperatures in the 70s to 30 degrees below zero! This was a pivotal point in my life. I liked Alaska and was looking for an adventure, and my friend’s parents invited me to stay with them for a while. I found a job and never left Alaska. I met my husband, Willy, there. We were married in 1977 and now have three grown children and four grandchildren.

During the time we were raising our children, our family attended a local Assemblies of God church, where our children flourished in their faith through the many ministries the church offered. Despite the busyness of raising three children, I always felt that God had a purpose for my life beyond that, but I didn’t know what it was. From 1989 to 1999, I was involved with the music in our church, singing in the choir and playing piano for the worship services. This did not become the lifelong purpose it may have seemed to be during those ten years.

He Leadeth Me… Through Pain and Confusion

In the late 1980s, I became involved with an interdenominational charismatic group for women called Aglow, where my faith flourished and I grew spiritually. Aglow was a large part of my life for many years, and I started by serving on a local board and continued until I was the State Prayer Coordinator, then the State Leader.

During my time with Aglow, we went to many Alaskan Native villages, where we had vacation Bible school for the children during the day and ministry services for the adults in the evening. Through the local and state gatherings, national conferences and the village trips, I made many friends in Aglow in my state and across the nation.

In 1999, the door to music ministry closed for me, and it was a difficult and painful time coming to grips with the circumstances that led to a change in how and where I served God.

It was at this time that I went to the Aglow Conference for the first time in Orlando, Florida. Women came from all over the world! We had wonderful speakers, we enjoyed worship that brought us into the presence of God, and my experience there brought me into a new intimacy and closeness with God that I had never known before.

My husband retired in 2011, but in 2014 he took a “retirement job,” where he worked Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays; so he was unable to attend church. Things changed again. I started going to a church in Anchorage, but after about three years, I grew weary of making the 35-minute drive alone, then sitting alone through the services. Because of the distance, I didn’t get involved in the church or make friends. I also had grown weary of the style of worship in the charismatic churches I was attending. Many of them reminded me of rock concerts with darkened rooms, flashing lights, the worship team front and center, and very loud music. There were also things happening in Aglow in our state that were difficult for me, and I found it very hard to move forward as a leader. November of 2017 was marked by snowfalls, especially on the weekends. I stopped going to the church in Anchorage because of the weather.

About this time, a good friend of mine, and one of the very few Catholic friends that I had, moved to my area. It was November, and I was thinking about Advent and Christmas. Growing up in the Lutheran Church, we always had an Advent wreath and candles, and I always loved the anticipation of Christmas and of celebrating the birth of Jesus. Most of the churches I had gone to all my adult life had not had an Advent wreath. Out of the blue, one day I said to my friend, “I just want to go to a church where they have an Advent wreath and watch them light the candle.” She said that she needed to connect with the local Catholic church, and the following Sunday would be the start of Advent, and there would definitely be a wreath and candles, so why not go with her?

My heart sank. I was thinking, “WHY go with her — to a dead, ritualistic boring church service?” Nevertheless, I said yes. What else could I say? I couldn’t tell her how I really felt about the Catholic Church. Up until this point, my only experience with the Catholic Church was a wedding and two funerals, besides the things I had learned from other Protestants.

The Father Ran to Meet Me

This was the beginning of God’s great set-up for me. I was not looking forward to going to Mass, but I went. As we walked through the door to the nave (what we Protestants called the sanctuary), I was immediately taken aback. While I have always loved the Trinity, I have always had a special relationship with God the Father. In the churches I attended over the years, they would do just about anything to get the Holy Spirit to move. I was used to that, but encountering the presence of God the Father was a rarity. I always recognized the presence of the Father by the fact that — how can I describe it — His presence is heavy, weighty. I recognized it in that church by how I felt when I visited Jewish synagogues. As we walked through the doors of St. Andrew’s, I was hit with the heavy, weighty presence of God the Father, and I was stunned by it.

Then the priests came in, and suddenly, I did not see what happened next as a “ritual.” Instead, I saw how they revered the holiness of God so much that they approached Him with… protocol. That was something I would never see in my churches — a love and reverence for the holiness of God — and I loved it. When we started singing the liturgy, I almost melted! I was so touched by the beauty of the music and the words we were singing that I was moved to tears and kept on crying. The music sounded like something one might expect to hear in heaven.

A Brush With the Son

When it came time to receive the Eucharist, not knowing anything, I jumped up and followed my friend to the front. The woman gave me the host, but then she knew I shouldn’t have received it, and let me know it. Busted!

When we left the church, I was in shock. I knew something profound had happened to me, but I didn’t know what to do because I was NOT going to become a Catholic! But I decided I would attend there during the Advent season. This far I would go, but no farther.

The next part of God’s master plan was the third time my friend and I went to Mass together. In the church foyer, they had set up a book fair. After Mass, my friend was talking to people, and since I didn’t know anyone, I amused myself by walking around, looking at the books. I had never seen books like those. They were alien to me, with strange words and pictures. Then suddenly, I saw a book that stopped me dead in my tracks. Its title was Rapture: The End Times Error that Leaves the Bible Behind, by David Currie. I had spent my whole adult life in churches that espoused the Rapture teaching; still, I had had serious issues with it for years. The few times I heard someone teaching about the Rapture, I ended up with more questions and confusion than anything else. Unfortunately, there was no one to whom I could ask my questions about the Rapture, because everybody in attendance all agreed with it, whether they understood it or not. Here, for the first time, I was staring at a book that might have some answers! I didn’t have any cash, so I went home and immediately downloaded it onto my tablet and started reading. David Currie’s book was a turning point for me. He was knowledgeable and thorough and went through all the Bible prophecies, explaining how most of them have already been fulfilled.

Christmas came, and I still didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to become a Catholic, but I was so drawn to the Catholic Church that I couldn’t stay away. Then there was another step in God’s set-up. Back in 2001, one of my friends, who is a Bible teacher, was invited to speak for two weeks at a Bible school in Magadan, Russia, and she invited me to come with her. Before I left, an Aglow friend who is Catholic told me about Father Michael, a priest from Alaska who was pastoring a church in Magadan. She told me what a wonderful priest he is, and I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great to meet him!”

We were in a foreign country, I speak no Russian, and I had no idea where the Catholic parish might be. But we would see!

The Holy Spirit Makes a Move

One day in Russia, we were walking through a building to go to a meeting, when the person leading us pointed to a door in the hallway and said that that was the Catholic church. I immediately thought of Father Michael — and just then, the door opened and out walked a man in a long brown robe. I asked him if he was Father Michael. He said yes, and we had a short conversation. The Sunday following Christmas, who should come to celebrate the Mass and preach the homily, but Father Michael! I couldn’t wait to go, and I was not disappointed.

Father Michael shared about a little five-year-old girl who would come to Mass in Magadan by herself, because her parents were not church attenders. Being so young, he didn’t give her the Eucharist. One Sunday after Mass, she came to him and said, “Father Michael, why won’t you give me Jesus? I just want Jesus!” Father Michael gave her Jesus.

What About Me? What Do I Want?

I thought about that incident, and I realized that I wanted Jesus, too! I had loved Jesus all my life, but I wanted Him more fully in the Eucharist. Then he talked about the Gospel passage of John 6:53–68, where Jesus told his followers that they must eat His body and drink His blood, and everybody but the Twelve left. Then He said to the Twelve, “Are you going to leave too?” Peter said, “Lord, where else can we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Suddenly, those words sank deep into my heart, and it was at this point that I knew there was nowhere else I wanted to go — that this is where I belong, where God — Father Son, and Holy Spirit — was calling me and where I would find the Truth.

I was still reading David Currie’s book, and one day I started reading about him and was surprised to learn that he had converted from the Presbyterian Church. He was the son of a Presbyterian pastor; his parents were teachers at Moody Bible Institute. I also discovered that he had written another book, Born Fundamentalist, Born Again Catholic. I couldn’t wait to get that book, too. I immediately downloaded it and started reading. It was the perfect book for me to read at that time, since I still knew nothing about the Catholic faith and had many questions.

Currie wrote this book to explain to his Protestant friends and family why he became a Catholic. His reasons were presented clearly and systematically in a way a Protestant would understand — the perfect book for me to read at that time. He addressed subjects that separate Catholic and Protestant beliefs, including the Pope, the Eucharist, and the Virgin Mary. As I read his book, I slowly came to understand what Catholics believe, and for the first time, it made sense to me. There were still many things I didn’t understand. I started reading other books as well, because I craved learning about Catholicism. I read Scott Hahn’s conversion story and loved it. I read The 7 Secrets of the Eucharist and The 7 Secrets of Confession by Vinny Flynn. I picked up CDs about Catholicism in the church foyer and listened to them.

One of the things that I didn’t understand was the relationship Catholics have with the Virgin Mary. In the churches I went to, we talked about Mary once a year at Christmas, and that was about it. I had an experience that changed all that.

In Alaska we get earthquakes. Once or twice a year, the house shakes a little for a few seconds, our hearts skip a beat, and then we go about our business. On November 30, 2018, we had an earthquake around 8:30 in the morning, when it was still dark in our far northern latitude. That earthquake registered 7.2 on the Richter scale — a big one! For a full minute, our house pounded up and down, the lights went out, things fell off shelves and crashed to the floor, and I had to hold onto the counter to keep from falling. When the earthquake stopped, the aftershocks started. Already traumatized, every 20 to 40 minutes, we would hear a deep rumble, the house would shake again, and fear close to panic would return. That night, I was lying in bed, exhausted. Every time I would start to relax a little, another rumble would come, the house would shake, and my heart would pound. I thought of all the people in south-central Alaska who, like me, were lying in bed with their clothes on, in case they had to leave the house suddenly, thinking, “We are all in this together!”

First the Blessed Trinity, Then the Blessed Mother

I tried to pray, but could not. I didn’t know how to pray the Rosary, but I could say a Hail Mary. So I started saying Hail Marys, and pretty soon I started drifting off to sleep. I wasn’t awake, but also not fully asleep, when I audibly heard a woman’s voice say to me, “I love you.”

My eyes flew open, and I thought, What was that?! It wasn’t a voice that I recognized. Then it dawned on me. I had been saying Hail Marys, and she came to comfort me!

In September of 2018, I started RCIA. I cannot say enough about what a great experience it was! We had excellent teachers, and I learned so much about our Christian faith, what they believe, the sacraments, and all the wonderful things Catholicism has to offer. I especially liked the teaching about the Eucharist, which is one of the things that really drew me to the Catholic Church. In all my years as a Protestant, I knew there were deeper things to communion than what I understood, but I could never really grasp what they were.

When it was fully explained, I was thrilled to finally discover what Holy Communion really is and what it means to us as Christians. When I was a Protestant, we hardly ever talked about sin. Holiness is essential, but I didn’t understand how to become more like Christ and deal with my sins. In learning about the Sacrament of Reconciliation, I began to understand the importance of confessing our sins to the priest. I didn’t understand the necessity of penance until after my first confession, when I forgot to do it. When I went to Mass the next day, I could immediately tell something was wrong, and then I realized that I hadn’t done the penance I had been assigned! It is a very important part of confession. I still struggle with understanding purgatory, something I didn’t know about at all before. I recently took an online class from goodcatholic.com about what we believe, and I encountered one of the best explanations of purgatory that I have ever heard.

On April 20, 2019, at the Easter Vigil, I was confirmed at the age of 67. The confirmation name I chose was Anne. St. Anne, the mother of Mary, is the patron saint of seamstresses, of which I am one. St. Anne was the grandmother of Jesus and a name that has been given to many in my family.

I have been a Christian all my life, but becoming Catholic feels like coming home. St. Andrew is a wonderful parish, and I sing in the choir, go to weekly Adoration (where we pray before Jesus in the Eucharist), attend weekly Rosary prayer, and attend Bible studies. I figure I will be learning about God and our relationship to Him for the rest of my life, and that thought makes me very happy.

My husband has now retired again and attends a Protestant church in our area. He doesn’t mind that I attend Catholic Mass, but he prefers to remain a Protestant. I join him at his church about once a month. I am the only Catholic in my family of Protestants, and my prayer is that someday I will have others in my family join me. Even if they don’t, it is okay because they are Christians and accept the choice I have made. Even so, Father, make us one (John 17).

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Wandering in the Dark

I grew up in Tallahassee, Florida. My parents divorced when I was three or four. I was with my dad after the divorce and stayed estranged from my mother most of my life. My dad and I were homeless for a time, living in other people’s houses or just living in the car. I experienced significant physical and sexual abuse as a child. As a teenager I was in trouble with the law for stealing cars and sentenced to chop wood in the Blackwater State Forest STOP (short term offender program) Camp as punishment. This camp in the middle of the woods is where I first responded to the Gospel. I got out at 16 and kept my nose clean afterwards.

I joined the Army in 1996 and served in the 82nd Airborne Division, while on active duty as an airborne artilleryman. While in parachute jump school, I met a young lady; we were stationed together at Fort Bragg. She became pregnant, and we were married. At this point, I believed in Jesus; however, I had no relationship with Him and was not practicing my faith in any way.

After getting out of my first tour in the Army, we moved to Canton, Ohio, where my then wife was from. Things quickly deteriorated, and I found myself kicked out of her family’s house (where we were living) and again homeless. I did not want my daughter Zoey to grow up without a father, so I determined to find a place in Canton and leave Tallahassee, Florida. I eventually found residence in one of Canton’s housing projects. I was lonely, without any nearby blood relatives, and I turned to alcohol and drugs.

I came upon an opportunity to work raves with some buddies (raves are musical concerts where people do lots of drugs). I traveled all over the Midwest vending at these raves, and drugs were plentiful. The guys I worked for were heroin addicts. I eventually found myself trying this insidious drug. While in Milwaukee, I was at my friend’s apartment and the drugs had run dry. Most of my friends were dope sick. I had been spared this condition because I had only tried heroin a few times. One night, I was watching television in my friend’s living room, and a televangelist came on TV. I can’t fully explain it, but the fire of God came over me. I was burning inside with grief, pain, and a desire to repent. I wept for about half an hour. At the end of the program, I was invited to pray with the person on TV.

It was April of 2000, and I had been sober for days, so what was about to take place was not drug induced. When I began to pray, the windows started slamming open and shut, the TV flew off its stand, and books and other items were flying around the apartment. My friend and his girlfriend came running out of their bedroom and witnessed everything. I exclaimed, “This is evil!” and caught the next Greyhound bus back to Canton, Ohio.

I determined in my mind, returning to Canton, to stay away from hard drugs. In August of that year, my dad reached out to me from Florida, telling me that he wanted to give me a car. I went down to Tallahassee to get the car and went out with some friends. They were doing cocaine, so I decided to do just a little. Suddenly, I was filled with oppressive fear; the same feeling I had had in Milwaukee earlier that year. I immediately left Tallahassee and headed back to Ohio.

Upon arriving, I couldn’t sleep for five days. At my wits end, I called the only church I could think of. They had organized a skateboard competition in their parking lot, which I had attended, and that’s the only reason I knew anything about the place. When the lady answered the phone, I exclaimed, “I need to speak with a priest!” She laughed and told me they didn’t have priests, but a pastor was available.

Once I had him on the phone, I unloaded the whole story on this poor guy and told him, “I think I need an exorcism or something.” He told me that this was all in my head and that I needed to just find a Bible, start reading the book of Psalms, and get some sleep. I cursed him out and hung up the phone. I started to feel my heart beating erratically, and I felt like I was on the verge of dying.

Somewhat irrationally, I thought to myself, “If I get to holy ground, I might be safe.” I went to a large hill in Canton South, where there was a large wooden cross, a pulpit, and wooden pews for outdoor sermons. I knew of this place because it was my ex-wife’s church. I got out of my car, got down on my knees, and begged God: “If you save my life today and restore my relationship with my daughter, I will give my life to you!” I immediately began to vomit, but while that was happening, I felt the oppressive fear leave my body. I could sense tall angels standing all around me. I went to my car, got a blanket, and went to sleep for six hours right in front of that hilltop cross.

That night I dug up an old King James Bible out of my Army duffel bag. The pastor I had spoken with on the phone earlier that morning had told me to read the Psalms, so that is what I did. It was my first experience reading a Bible. When I got to Psalms chapter two, I read: “Yet have I set my king upon my holy hill of Zion. I will declare the decree: the Lord hath said unto me, Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten thee. Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession.” (Psalm 2:6–8 KJV).

I was just on a hill! And here, apparently, God was affirming that I was His son. Later, I would realize that this passage is a prediction about the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, but in that moment, the verses were speaking to me personally. I could hardly sleep that night. The next morning was Sunday, so I went to the same church I had called the day before. I didn’t know a whole lot back then, but I knew there was going to be an altar call. There was, and I almost ran down the aisle. The pastor gave an invitation to give my life to Christ, and I did. With the microphone in his hand, he said “Son, do you know what the baptism of the Holy Spirit is?”

I answered into the microphone, “I don’t know what any of this is, but whatever you got, I want it!” The congregation laughed. When I received the Holy Spirit (speaking in tongues), it felt like a freight train was passing through the room.

The next fifteen years of my life were tough ones. I always tried to step into ministry, but the timing was not right.

I became a Combat Medic, deployed to Kuwait and Iraq in 2008. I was medevac-ed out of Iraq due to multiple injuries, and while I was waiting for the Veterans Administration to process my claims for disability, I was called back to serve in the Army Reserve.

My time in the Army and being at war cost me broken marriages as well as many visible and invisible scars. Just when I had determined that God would never use me in public ministry, God sent me to Malone University. The timing was perfect. My military service had spanned the years 1996 to 2011.

I was one hundred percent disabled through the VA and had the time and the finances to go to school. I pursued a degree in Pastoral Ministry.

I found a wonderful woman there, whom I married. Our relationship started while she was an atheist and I a relatively new Christian sharing the Gospel with her. Our faith grew, and so did our love.

In 2015, my wife and I were sent from my home church (Non-denominational) and commissioned to serve as missionaries to the inner city of Canton, Ohio. I had lived in the projects and on the streets of Canton, and I felt my story could be impactful. We began serving at an inner-city church called Rising Hope, a Holy Cross Lutheran ministry. I served as lead evangelist and was a pastor in training, giving sermons as well as serving on the worship team while I was attending Malone. It was a wonderful time. Before committing to Rising Hope, I prayed to God for guidance. I heard the soft still voice of the Holy Spirit asking me a question: “Matt, do you want your own ministry, or do you want to be a part of My Son’s ministry?”

I replied, “Lord, of course I want to be a part of Your Son’s ministry!” The Lord then said to me, “I will lead you in a way you know not.” Little did I suspect that the way he was leading me was toward the Roman Catholic Church.

First Theological Epiphany

I was in my theology class at Malone University, and the instructor was lecturing on the topic of where authority comes from. He wrote on the board: “Roman Catholic Church, Scripture and Tradition,” then he wrote “Greek Orthodox Church, Scripture and Tradition,” and he finally wrote “Protestant Church, sola Scriptura (Scripture alone) 33,000 denominations and counting.”

The first thing I thought was of the word demon which means “to scatter.” In my mind I thought, “The Reformation scattered the Church, and scattering is demonic. Something is not right there.” That was my first prompting to look at the Catholic Church.

Second Theological Epiphany

Rising Hope, the inner-city church where my wife and I were serving, had their first communion service. Rising Hope was under Lutheran sponsorship, so the elements had to be blessed. This was strange to me. Prior to this moment, my understanding was that communion was symbolic only. In our service that morning, our lead pastor had the elements out when he started the service. I was then caught up in a vision. I saw smoke filling the school gym where we gathered. Suddenly, I saw clouds opening above us. As the clouds opened, a beam of light shot down from the clouds and hit the elements. Then the light went through the elements and spread across the floor of the gym, illuminating every person in the room.

I was then aware of angels standing in a perimeter around us with their wings and arms outstretched in an attitude of worship. I looked up and saw the clouds opening up fully, and in the clouds were people. I was aware that those people could see me, and they knew I could see them. Finally, I saw the shape of Christ, in pure light, with his arms outstretched, presiding over our little service. What I had just experienced was completely different from any other communion I had participated in and, from what I understood, substantially different from how those gathered viewed communion. I shared this vision with our two lead pastors. They commented that that sounded like the way Catholics understood communion. This led me to investigate the Catholic understanding of the Eucharist.

Third Theological Epiphany

Becoming ever more curious about the Catholic Church, I started secretly watching EWTN. I was watching a program late one night while vacationing with my wife. The priest was explaining the Communion of the Saints and talking about asking them to pray for us. Asking Saints to pray for me was obviously an issue for me, considering my Protestant background. The priest then said “It’s in the Bible.” I sat up in bed and said out loud to the TV, “No it’s not!” Then the priest proceeded to reference the Book of Revelation, and how the elders were collecting the prayers of the Saints in golden bowls. I then said out loud, “[Expletive], it is in the Bible!” The Lord was making a pathway in my heart for the next big milestone, which was St. Augustine of Hippo reaching out to me.

I woke up one morning, feeling as if the Holy Spirit was urging me to go to Confession. The only problem was that I had never set foot in a Catholic Church.
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Fourth Epiphany

I was still attending Malone, and an Anglican priest was teaching a class on Spiritual Formation. We were assigned a book, the Confessions, by St. Augustine of Hippo. As I read those pages, I found someone in St. Augustine that I could relate to in ways that were almost scary. It was as if St. Augustine was speaking to my spirit. I woke up one morning, feeling as if the Holy Spirit was urging me to go to Confession. The only problem was that I had never set foot in a Catholic Church. One of my buddies was a charismatic Protestant, but raised Catholic. I saw him at Starbucks that day. I told him that I felt led to go to Confession. He said, “I know just the place and the priest.” As I was following him to St. Francis de Sales parish in Akron, Ohio, I called my mom. As I said in my testimony, my mom and I were estranged most of our lives; however, at this time we were communicating again and restoring our relationship. I knew my mom was raised Catholic, and I wanted to tell her I was going to Confession and see what she thought. When I told her this over the phone, she exclaimed, “Matt, you were baptized in St. Augustine’s Basilica, in St. Augustine, Florida, November of 1977.”

I realized instantly that St. Augustine was calling me, that my baptism was in fact efficacious, that my baptism produced all of the spiritual blessings in my life... . It was as if I had been an orphan my whole life, then suddenly…
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As I hung up the phone, I was at a loss for words. I realized instantly that St. Augustine was calling me, that my baptism was in fact efficacious, that my baptism produced all of the spiritual blessings in my life, from my first belief to the moment at hand. It was as if I had been an orphan my whole life, then suddenly discovered that I had a living family.

Fifth Epiphany

When I got to St. Francis de Sales parish, I told the priest what I had just learned from my mother. He said that was good enough for him to hear my confession. I unloaded everything on that priest. It was as if a weight that I couldn’t get rid of was finally taken away from me when he laid his hand on my head and absolved me of my sins. The penance was even better. The priest told me to meditate on Luke 15, the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin.

I was so overwhelmed that I started praying in tongues. Amazingly, the priest started praying in tongues with me! We then just laughed, both of us filled with joy. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a charismatic Catholic priest! The next day, my friend linked me up to RCIA at St Paul’s Parish in North Canton, Ohio, and I came into full communion with the Church that year, 2019.

*****

Today, I am active in my parish. We started a men’s group called “Walking in Strength.” I am part of a parish evangelization team and help in our RCIA class. I am also receiving spiritual direction from a priest at Walsh University as I discern a call to the Deaconate. I am also currently involved in the Catholic Charismatic Renewal, serve on the evangelization board at St Paul’s, and am active in building ecumenical bridges between Catholics and Protestants.

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Find more about tonight’s guests at kansasmonks.org.

The post Prayer Roundtable – Fr. Gabriel Landis, OSB and Fr. Jay Kythe, OSB appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

For more information about Fr. Gabriel’s monastery, visit kansasmonks.org.

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Find out more about the Society of Catholic Scientists at catholicscientists.org.

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