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!

The post Kyrie Eleison – Lord Have Mercy appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

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

The post Fr. Gabriel Landis, O.S.B. – Former Baptist and Lutheran appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

Dad had penned the “Welcome” message appearing that night in the Catholic parish’s bulletin. He’d be serving as one of the nine participating clergymen: five Catholic priests and four Lutheran pastors. The Don Bosco College Choir and the Lutheran Theological Seminary of Philadelphia Chorus would be singing the hymns.

I protested, “but we’re Lutherans!” I felt like we were being traitors, or at least crossing enemy lines.

My protest wasn’t because I was anti-Catholic. Practically all of my neighborhood buddies were Irish or Italian Catholics. They attended St. Joseph’s Parochial School.

Why had Dad said such a confusing thing? I was aware that some grownups had angrily grumbled that my father’s liturgical practices were “too Catholic” — not that I understood what they meant. I was aware that Dad had gotten into hot water with the officers of the Missouri Synod because he was offering weekly holy communion, rather than only having it once a month, and that he “communed himself.”

My father’s maternal familial lineage was German Lutheran. Before the Missouri Synod even existed, his maternal ancestors had founded a parish in northwest Ohio. Dad was the first home-grown member of that parish to be ordained. That took place in July 1960 at the hands of his seminary mentor, Dr. Arthur Carl Piepkorn. Piepkorn had been the head chaplain of World War II’s European theater, serving with General Eisenhower.

I loved my father’s demand for “high liturgy” worship, as well as his passionate and intelligent sermons. I also loved when Dad would ask guest pastors to help, mainly those from his seminary class of 1960. In February 1961, Richard John Neuhaus delivered the very first sermon at Dad’s Holy Faith parish. Later, when we were going on vacation, Dad tabbed Robert Louis Wilken, another seminary classmate, to man the pulpit until we got back. I was proud to serve frequently as an acolyte (altar boy) at our services. In 1967, again at Holy Faith, I received my first communion.

Dad had hoped I’d follow in his footsteps and become a pastor, but that wasn’t my dream. I wanted to play shortstop with the New York Yankees. (Ironically, three decades later, another boy from West Milford, Derek Jeter, would become the greatest-ever Yankees shortstop.)

“Someday we’ll all be Catholic!” My mind ran through all the reasons we Lutherans weren’t Catholics: didn’t Catholics worship the Virgin Mary? Weren’t Catholics told not to read the Bible? Didn’t Catholics constantly take the Lord’s name in vain? Didn’t Catholics believe Jesus died again at every Mass? Didn’t Catholics care more about a “haze of saints” than Jesus? Didn’t the Catholic Church burn heretics at the stake and sell indulgences to get to heaven?

Was Luther wrong? I grew up thinking I’d forever be a Missouri Synod Lutheran. “Here I stand, I can do no other.” What were we doing going to a Catholic church?

I’d never been inside a Catholic church. My Aunt Betty (my father’s older sister) had scandalized the clan by wedding a Catholic man and had converted in order to get married in his parish. Then she became the parish’s organist.

The only thing I knew about the inside of a Catholic church was it had racks of votive candles and weird statues. The women wore doilies on their heads, no one took off their coats, the priest spoke in Latin, and Catholics were taught a “works-righteousness” salvation.

Now, echoing in my head was this statement, “Someday we’ll all be Catholic.”

I learned later that Fr. Rugel and my father had led a parallel pastoral existence. Both had been ordained in July 1960; both had immediately been dispatched to the hinterlands of northern New Jersey as greenhorn missionaries, sent to build parishes from the ground up; and both had a devotion to the Eucharist as their respective faith traditions taught and practiced.

Despite my trepidation that night, the Catholic service wasn’t bad. The church building wasn’t eerie. The accoutrements inside weren’t off-putting. I survived the evening.

However, not long after this ecumenical service, the storm clouds rolled in to rain fire and brimstone on my father. The semi-Fundamentalist wing of the Missouri Synod had surged to power. Their goals included ridding seminary professorships and the pastorates of “Evangelical Catholics,” and what they considered to be theological and/or political “liberals.” Dad’s bunch of Evangelical Catholics fell within their crosshairs.

In 1972, we moved from New Jersey to northwest Ohio. In 1973, Dr. Piepkorn, who had served on the panel of theologians making up the official Lutheran-Catholic Dialogue — where, by all accounts, he was the dominant force on it — was scheduled to face a heresy trial for allegedly teaching “false doctrine.” The purge was on, as was the exodus. Eventually Pastor Neuhaus would swim the Tiber. So would Professor Wilken, who by then was serving as a Patristics professor at the University of Notre Dame.

By 1974, my father was trying to hold on within the Missouri Synod. He accepted a call to pastor the twin Missouri Synod parishes in far-off Crawford and Harrison, Nebraska. We became Cornhuskers.

Even though the administration of the Missouri Synod was in turmoil, I was completely happy being a Lutheran. Dad’s high-liturgy style moved me; his preaching moved me; his Bible teaching moved me; Luther’s Small Catechism moved me; receiving Lutheran holy communion moved me; the intelligence of the Lutheran pastors Dad was rubbing elbows with moved me. I remained loyal to Missouri Synod Lutheranism.

Dad’s willingness to stay in the Missouri Synod continued even when the higher-ups were monitoring the content of his sermons. In the fall of 1976, the hammer fell again. The “too-Catholic” accusations were heaped onto the allegation of an error I’d never heard of: “unionism.” This meant worshiping or praying in a ceremony with non-Missouri Synod Lutherans. In Dad’s case, his ultimate malfeasance had been saying the opening prayer at a high school baccalaureate.

Dad was shown the door. The synod removed my father’s name from the “call” list, meaning they would no longer allow him to pastor a Missouri Synod church.

In the years that followed, my father wandered in the employment desert. He worked the night shift as a security guard; he taught high school; he obtained a Master’s degree in guidance and counseling. In 1993, the ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) Synod offered him a parish in Edon, Ohio. He accepted, although he was honest with the parishioners that he’d give them Piepkornian Missouri Synod Lutheranism.

The “someday” that “we’ll all be Catholic” never arrived for my father. He died in 1995, on the Eve of the Feast of All Saints, as the popular pastor of St. Peter’s Lutheran Church.

As for me, it was with great heartache that I jumped ship in September 1982. During law school in Lincoln, Nebraska, I became a member of the AELC (a short-lived synod of purged Missouri Synodians that, in 1988, was absorbed into the newly-formed ELCA). I was a faithful attendee at All Saints Lutheran Church until my law school graduation.

In May 1985, I joined a law firm in Rapid City, South Dakota. In the Black Hills, there were no AELC parishes, and my father was back in Ohio, so I sat on the sidelines. I became rudderless. Although I never lost my faith in Christ, I descended into an unchurched, non-sacramental existence. On Sunday mornings, I lamented the loss of “going to church,” but not enough to join an ELCA parish. Those who are familiar with the Dakotas know that a large Scandinavian-heritage population lives there, and they tend to be Lutherans. This means there are many ELCA Lutheran parishes. On the other hand, there are also many Native Americans (Lakota Sioux) there, and they are Catholic. So there are also plenty of Catholic churches.

I ignored them all. I was determined not to dabble in non-Lutheran Protestantism. That was easy for me. As a Missouri Synod Lutheran, I shared much in common with Catholic doctrine, but little with Calvinist or Zwinglian doctrine. They didn’t believe in a true Real Presence, and they had a different set of the Ten Commandments.

In 1988, I married a divorced woman with two unbaptized children. I asked my father to trek the 1,100 miles from Ohio to go South Dakota to perform the nuptials and baptize the kids. My Catholic aunt was willing to play the organ for us. A local Congregational parish in the Nebraska town we used to live in rented me their church building for the festivities.

I worked hard to make the wedding ceremony perfect. I bought the communion hosts. I built a processional cross. I typed the bulletins. But that’s about as “religious” as I got. I never prayed about our situation. My fiancée and I didn’t go through pre-marital religious counseling. We didn’t scout for a parish to join after we became man and wife.

The wedding ceremony Dad led us through was highly liturgical. It included the kids’ baptisms as well as holy communion. My bride and her family constantly joked about our religiosity. Afterward, Dad lamented that he shouldn’t have married us because of the low state of our chronically non-religious life. He was right. My wife and I didn’t even make it through two years before we were divorced.

God wasn’t to blame. I knew I had to get God back into my life. But even then, I didn’t feel compelled to become “churched.” I thought I’d just read the Bible, plus books by or about Luther and Lutheranism.

In 1990, I met a lapsed Catholic woman with three baptized kids, and I began a serious relationship with her. The woman’s parents, as well as her brother Paul, were devout, but she was not.

During our three years together, we didn’t attend church. Not even Christmas or Easter. Also, I didn’t get to know Paul during that time. By early 1993, our relationship was failing.

The time had come for me to pray, “God, help us!” I hatched a plan to get my girlfriend to become Lutheran: “You’re Catholic and I’m Lutheran. Let’s alternate every Sunday.” I was being devious. I had no intention of becoming Catholic. I figured I was Catholic enough by virtue of my father’s “too-Catholic” habits. My girlfriend agreed to my plan. I suggested we start at a Lutheran church.

You’re Catholic and I’m Lutheran. Let’s alternate every Sunday. I was being devious. I had no intention of becoming Catholic.
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We picked an ELCA parish, and one Sunday we headed there. The parish was holding a “modern” liturgy service, without holy communion. As the “contemporary service” unfolded, I thought to myself, “I don’t recognize this. Where is any semblance of the Lutheran liturgy?”

The next Sunday it was my girlfriend’s turn. During the week, my benign anti-Catholicism (which I hadn’t realized I had) reared its head. Much of it ran through my thoughts: Tetzel and the sale of indulgences (“Into the coffer a penny rings; out of purgatory a soul springs.”); worldly cardinals and popes, some of whose rich overly-secular families had purchased ecclesiastical stature for their boys when they were under five years old; priests who couldn’t read and who’d fathered illegitimate children while wagging fingers at the parishioners not to commit fornication; the papacy is the anti-Christ; Church councils had erred; burning heretics at the stake; they’d chained Bibles to tables; forbade Catholics from reading the Scriptures; then there was the Inquisition and Galileo. I dug out my tattered copy of the Book of Concord, the official set of Lutheran doctrinal writings, and read.

Regarding Mary, yes, she is rightly called Mother of God; yes, she was perpetually virgin; yes, in heaven she prays for us. But in the Apology to the Augsburg Confession, there is criticism of Mariology as the desire to employ “magic.” A specific example is cited: at a monastery, a statue of Mary was manipulated by puppet strings to nod Yes or No to parishioner’s prayers to her. The Catholic Church, I was convinced, had rejected Luther when all he wanted to do was preach the gospel and bring education to the masses.

“Protestantism” meant “Protest-antism,” and it was the Catholic Church that was being protested. “Reformation” meant “reform-ation” to us Lutherans, but to other non-Catholic faiths it meant “re-form-ation.” It was, of course, the Catholic Church that was being “reformed” or “re-formed.” Despite having little in common with other non-Catholic faiths, I was sure that, since 1517, in spite of the Council of Trent, the Catholic Church hadn’t been re-formed. It still taught a works-righteousness salvation, and it was filled with the traditions of men.

With these thoughts spinning inside my brain, my girlfriend and I headed to Rapid City’s Cathedral of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. As we drove there, I was filled with trepidation, and I tried to calm myself: “whatever happens, don’t run out in mid-service.”

With shaky knees, I started walking up the entrance steps. Suddenly a voice inside me announced: “once you go in, you’ll never come out.” The locution literally stopped me in my tracks. My girlfriend looked at me like I was bailing on her before we even went inside. I was stunned! Were the words a warning or a prophesy?

We walked in. I nearly hyperventilated. There were holy water fonts that people were dipping their fingers in. Everyone had their coats on, maybe because there was nowhere to hang up their coats. We walked into the nave. The biggest thing in the sanctuary wasn’t a hanging cross or crucifix, but an icon of Mary holding the infant Jesus. It looked enormous — especially Mary. I worried: “during the service, will there be worship of Mary?”

We walked in. I nearly hyperventilated. There were holy water fonts that people were dipping their fingers in.
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My girlfriend and I sat in a pew far in the back. I nervously scanned the other pews and made mental notes of where the exits were. “There are more people here than I expected,” I gulped as the liturgy began. The processional hymn was familiar. I’d grown up singing it. The priest and altar servers solemnly processed behind a crucifix, just like we used to do.

I began to calm down. I suddenly had the odd feeling I was “home.” The parishioners were singing, even if not nearly as loudly as we Lutherans did. There was no worship of Mary. The liturgy was virtually identical to the Lutheran “high-liturgy” I’d been raised with. Some of the wording was different, or not in the same order, but at no point during the service did I feel I was in the wrong place.

When it came time to leave, I didn’t want to. “Let’s come here next week,” I said to my girlfriend. And we did.

But it didn’t save our relationship. It dissolved soon afterwards. Nevertheless, I kept going back to the cathedral. The next thing I knew, my girlfriend’s brother, Paul, was inviting me to stay between the Sunday morning Masses for coffee and donuts in the basement. The locution I heard was right: I went in and never came out. I never went back to a Lutheran church. As I kept attending Mass at the cathedral, I became closer with my ex’s devout brother and his family. I still had no intention of becoming Catholic, though. Enter Tim — now known a well-known Catholic professor and apologist. At that time, he was a high school religion teacher at the new St. Thomas More High School in Rapid City. Tim also taught a Bible study class. Paul invited me to attend with him. A Catholic Bible class? I didn’t know such a thing existed! I’d been through many boring Bible study classes, and I already knew the Bible well enough. When I was 11 years old, I came in second in a New York City radio station’s Bible Quiz show. I begrudgingly told Paul I’d give it a try.

Wow! I’d never heard the Bible opened the way Tim did it. My “Lutheran Bible- interpretation eyeglasses” flew away. Tim laboriously fed us hot meat instead of the lukewarm milk of the “What does this verse mean to you?” style of Bible studies I’d grown weary of. He walked us through Covenant Theology and delved deeply into the linguistic nuances and what the early Church Fathers interpreted the verses to mean. I was putty in Tim’s hands.

Tim fed us hot meat instead of the lukewarm milk of the: What does this verse mean to you? style of Bible studies. He walked us through Covenant Theology and delved deeply into what the early Church Fathers interpreted the verses to mean.
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But I wasn’t spineless about it. I became committed to immersing myself in reading more Lutheranism than I ever had. I pored through the Augsburg Confession and the other writings contained in the Book of Concord; I read parts of Martin Chemnitz’s four-volume set on the Council of Trent; I read this Lutheran book and that. I also had numerous long-distance phone chats with my father. I tried hard to remain Lutheran.

Despite my research, I was drifting in the undertow of Catholicism. I doubled down on my commitment to Lutheranism by firmly gripping onto the life raft of sola Scriptura. I reminded myself that one reason Luther was so Scripture-oriented was because of the lack of holiness and worldliness of the popes and cardinals of the early 1500s. Their scandals inspired in me no confidence that they spoke for God. Indeed, the gates of hell seemed to be prevailing. As to sola fide (i.e., “faith alone” — “the doctrine by which the church stands or falls”), I couldn’t see any way that doctrine could fall.

Tim’s comprehensive and kind Scripture teaching offered a better life raft. I learned that Tetzel was a rogue; the pope wasn’t the anti-Christ; the Church taught that “ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of Christ”; there weren’t any puppet strings manipulating statues of the Virgin Mary; and rightful Mariology carried out the prophecy (Luke 1:48) that all generations would call her blessed.

Sola Scriptura sank when I realized a bunch of leaks: we Lutherans had our own extra-Biblical Magisterium, “lover of the Bible” Martin Luther wasn’t thrilled with a number of New Testament canonical books; the Catholics hadn’t added books to the Bible, but rather the Protestants had removed them; during the Catholic liturgy, the Gospels are so revered they are held aloft and often incensed prior to their reading; the Lutherans used the same Bible readings in their service that the Catholic Church did; we both held to the Three Creeds, those being the Apostles Creed, the Nicene Creed, and the Athanasian Creed.

Sola fide foundered more quickly: I no longer had to believe a tortuous reading of James 2:24 (“not by faith alone”); in comparison, the words of St. Paul should be read in context with, and in comparison to, the words of Jesus, not vice versa (2 Peter 3:16 talks about those who misinterpret Paul’s words); even the Athanasian Creed ends on an anti-faith-alone declaration.

Gulp!

My “someday” had arrived. It came as a thief in the night the evening Tim taught on Matthew 16:18, where Jesus makes Peter the head of His Church. If it were true that Peter was the first pope — Jesus had made Simon His prime minister and had given him the keys to the kingdom of heaven, promising that the gates of hades would never prevail against the Church founded upon him — I knew I had no choice. My conscience compelled me to come into full communion with the Catholic Church.

Double gulp! How will I break the news to my father? How do I join? How will I “get” things like Marian devotion?

I swallowed my pride and plunged into the turgid waters of the Tiber. In 1993, at age 34, I began RCIA. My ex-girlfriend’s brother Paul was my sponsor. The priest who ran the classes later became Wyoming Diocese’s Bishop Steven Biegler. Nine months later, I was confirmed by then Rapid City Diocese’s Bishop Charles Chaput.

During my confirmation, I had another religious experience. Within milliseconds of being anointed with the oil of the Sacrament of Confirmation, I was struck with an overpowering urge to teach Bible study. When Tim moved on from Rapid City, he asked me to take over his Bible study class. I met with Bishop Chaput about it, and he approved it. During our discussion, Bishop Chaput asked about my background. I told him about my father. Bishop Chaput said his favorite Scripture professor at the University of San Francisco had been a Lutheran, Dr. John Elliot. I said I’d ask my father if he knew him. I called Dad that night to inquire. His response was, “Jack? I graduated from seminary with him.” I taught Bible study in Rapid City from 1994 to 2014. I had to stop at age 55 because of a stroke.

Before my stroke, I had vigorously worked to return the favor to God and His Church for my newfound blessings. During the spring semesters of 2003 and 2004, I taught religion at St. Thomas More High School. From 2003 to 2005, I served as Religion Consultant for the Emmy Award-nominated CBS-TV drama series, “Joan of Arcadia.” (It was a 21st century version of a Joan of Arc style girl hearing God’s voice and trying to act on His messages.) In January 2005, I was a guest on The Journey Home. From 2001 to 2006, I served on the Board of Directors of the Center for Catholic and Evangelical Theology. The chairman was former Lutheran Dr. Robert Louis Wilken.

Today, I love being Catholic. It saved my spiritual life. In a way, it also saved my physical life. When I had my stroke, in the ICU I “coded out” seven times. When I emerged from a coma, a priest was seated at my bedside giving me the Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick. When I opened my eyes, he nearly jumped off the chair. I remember hearing him say, “I’ve gotten this far, so I may as well continue.”

It saved my spiritual life. It also saved my physical life. When I had my stroke, in the ICU I coded out seven times. When I emerged from a coma, a priest was seated at my bedside giving me the Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick. When I…
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Ten weeks later, I was discharged. I was told I’d be in a wheelchair for life. Lots of prayers later, I advanced to a walker, then to a cane. Even though I stagger, I walk. I rarely use a cane. I drive. I work full time.

However, I didn’t get off scot-free. I’m permanently unable to swallow, and my right leg is semi-paralyzed. But four doctors have told me I’m a miracle. I thank God.

I still cherish my Lutheran upbringing. It helped lead me to the Church that Jesus Christ founded. Jesus has certainly been with me as I have stumbled along with fear and trembling.

“Someday we’ll all be Catholic.” I went in and never came out. Hallelujah!

The post Damascus Road Traveller appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

The post Kenneth Calvert – Former Lutheran, Congregationalist and Episcopalian appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

For the next several years, growing up in a small town in Kansas, I listened to Kansas City Royals games on the radio every night and dreamed of becoming a Major League Baseball play-by-play announcer. Little did I know, that first Royals game 43 years ago would bring me to Royalty — at the feet of the cross of Jesus Christ and His Church.

My parents met at a small college in Winfield, Kansas, where my dad taught and my mom, fresh off the train from Michigan and wearing a sweater in 100-degree August heat, was a student. There was no scandal. From what I’ve gathered, it was pretty much love at first sight, and they were quickly married. St. John’s College was a part of the higher education system of the Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod (LCMS). The name is somewhat misleading because there are LCMS churches in all 50 states. The denomination got its name from the German immigrants in the 1830s who settled south of St. Louis.

My dad later became a school administrator in Independence, Kansas, my hometown since age 4, where my mom and sister still live. My three siblings and I all remained Lutheran into adulthood. In fact, my oldest brother is a Missouri Synod Lutheran pastor. I was the only one, it turns out, who strayed from “Missouri.” We went to church every Sunday of the year. That was non-negotiable. Independence is sort of a Norman Rockwell kind of town in the Midwest: A quaint downtown, a great fall festival and smart, thoughtful people. Missouri Synod Lutherans — conservative, well-mannered, dedicated — played an important role in the faith community of Independence. And it has been my experience, during my 40 years as a Lutheran and since, that the people of the LCMS are the salt of the earth. It was a wonderful church to grow up in, in a wonderful town to grow up in.

I was a good enough student and had a flair for the dramatic. At age 12, I was cast in the fall festival musical and went on to participate in some 25 plays and musicals growing up. That love of the theater, along with this fascination for baseball, got me thinking. Maybe broadcasting. Maybe sportscasting. Maybe I could be the play-by-play announcer for the Royals… At age 16, I landed a job on weekends at the local radio station that carried Royals baseball games. Both of my brothers had worked at the station part-time. For me, it was the start of a career. I ran the board during Royals broadcasts and waited for my chance to say, “This is KIND AM & FM, Independence, Kansas” at the top of the hour (live!). And then I’d wait an hour to do it again. I was having a great American childhood and thinking about the important things in life, like friends, and girls, and high school football games, and that one hour a week at Zion Lutheran. God was good to me. I was… cordially aware of Him.

There are more similarities than differences between Missouri Synod Lutherans and the Catholic Church. Lutherans are, by and large, liturgical. Most churches have stained glass, and their clergy wear vestments. The LCMS only ordains men, is pro-life, strong on traditional marriage and holds solid confessions on the Holy Trinity, Baptism, sin, death, and the Resurrection. Martin Luther, the Augustinian monk who kicked off the worldwide Protestant Reformation, didn’t throw the baby out with the bath water. He kept many elements of the Mass, a veneration to the Blessed Virgin Mary that few Lutherans realize today, and held to a “real presence” of Christ in the Eucharist (in, with and under the bread and wine — consubstantiation, not the transubstantiation of the Catholic Church).

And Lutheran kids go through confirmation, just like Catholics.

I started the two-year confirmation process that eventually led to our first communion. Some Lutheran churches let kids commune closer to age 7 or 8. But down through the years, getting to take part in the Lord’s Supper was the result of finishing confirmation. I always say the following with a little tongue in cheek, but in Lutheran confirmation class, we primarily learned why were weren’t Catholic! To be fair, confirmation in my day was structured around Luther’s Small Catechism, the part of the Lutheran Confessions that are considered the “correct exposition” of the Bible, with a heavy emphasis on orthodox Christian teachings that Catholics would have no disagreement with: Obedience to the Ten Commandments, the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds, the bodily resurrection of Jesus and the reality of heaven and hell. Yet throughout, Luther’s protestations against the Church in the 16th century, however justified, served as the theme of confirmation. We knew why we were Lutheran. We knew good and well why we weren’t Catholic.

Baptized as an infant, I was now a confirmed and communicant Lutheran. But what I mostly cared about was whether the Royals were going to win the division. Or at least finish the season above .500. Church was a comfortable part of my idyllic Midwestern upbringing. But baseball…

One development did start to chip away at that cordial, comfortable Lutheran upbringing: other Christians. Many of my friends were Evangelical. They attended Baptist and Pentecostal and non-denominational churches. They were much more vocal about their faith. They held Bible studies. I used to tell them that confirmation class was kind of like a Bible study because it was too hard to explain otherwise. I hung out with their youth groups. They prayed and talked about Jesus. We didn’t do that so much in Lutheran circles. But I didn’t mind it; I was kind of intrigued.

I became convinced of basically this: That if I say I believe this stuff, I need to live my life like I truly believe it. And not just for an hour a week. My spiritual awakening...was real.
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At that time in my life — and I gather this is somewhat typical — I started to question my faith. Not the Christian part; I was being drawn by something other than the predictable comfort of the Lutheran experience. As wonderful as it had been, I was seeing from others that there was more to this God, Jesus and the Bible thing than what I knew in that old brick Lutheran building. I went in a couple of different directions on the high-low church scale, attending both my friend’s Episcopal church, where his dad was the priest, and the local Nazarene church. I met evangelicals in college and started to connect. Then, through a series of conversations with my girlfriend at the time, whose entire family had left the Catholic Church to become Baptist, I became convinced of basically this: That if I say I believe this stuff, I need to live my life like I truly believe it. And not just for an hour a week. My spiritual awakening, akin to what an evangelical might describe as “being saved,” was real. I was on fire for the Lord for the first time in my life. I started really praying and reading Scripture, attending Bible studies and youth groups. It wasn’t at an altar call, but it was certainly real. I can even name the date: December 28, 1988. That day changed my life forever. It was like going to that first Royals game 12 years earlier, because both led me home to the Catholic Church.

The Lutheran Church taught me the great truths of the Christian faith. Evangelicals and other Protestants taught me how to relate those truths to others. And at this point, I hadn’t given Rome much thought. Except I had. Throughout this spiritual journey, I still seemed drawn to liturgy, structure, history and — this is key — sanctuary. Over the course of the next few years, I tried to have it both ways, celebrating zeal for my faith with a structure that came with a liturgical and confessional church. I stayed Lutheran. In fact, right after college, and probably seeking some comfort after the break-up with my girlfriend, I spent a weekend at Concordia Seminary in St. Louis, where my brother had studied. Was God calling me into the pastoral ministry, too? By this time, I had fully melded this new zeal for Christ with a growing desire for something. Something more, something eternal. Sound familiar?

I also had that budding broadcasting career. My time in radio led me into newspaper reporting in college. I came back from that weekend at seminary convinced that God, indeed, was not calling me into the pastoral ministry — at least not then — and I went after my first TV job. It happened soon after graduation for me as a sportscaster at a tiny station in Kansas, then on to a successful run as a co-host of the first morning show in the Pittsburg, Kansas/Joplin, Missouri market. From there, on to the Lynchburg/Roanoke, Virginia market and eventually back to Kansas City (home of the Royals!). At this point, I had no designs on working for the Royals and no thought of becoming Catholic. But then I got the call.

The Royals wanted to know if I would be interested in hosting a charity gala for the club. It turns out they identified me as a “friendly” media man in the local media, always saying something nice about the team. These were the very, very lean years. The Royals were losing a lot of games.

Mike Sweeney...was a five-time All-Star for the Royals, a devout Catholic, and a prince of a man. Weeks after I started with the Royals, Mike invited the entire front office to a Mass being said at the stadium by the local bishop.
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If you spend any time in Catholic sports circles, and any Catholic circle, really, you’ll eventually come across the name of Mike Sweeney. Mike was a five-time All-Star for the Royals, a devout Catholic, and a prince of a man. Weeks after I started with the Royals, Mike invited the entire front office to a Mass being said at the stadium by the local bishop. That was so Mike. He didn’t care if people were Catholic or even believers. He just wanted to include everyone. Out of respect, I attended. And so did plenty of others. I should mention that, by this time, my Christian attitudes had become more and more oriented toward history and liturgy. And my curiosity about the Catholic Church had certainly grown. A fan of comparative religion studies, I had watched EWTN for years. That included many episodes of The Journey Home. I was fascinated by the stories of those who had left other faith traditions to become, of all things, Catholic. Or those who had returned to the Church.

One day, in my office, a few months after that stadium Mass, The Journey Home popped into my head. It was the off-season and pretty slow around the old ballpark. So yes, I’ll admit I was doing this on work time — God forgive me. Actually, I believe the prompting of the Holy Spirit moved those next several mouse clicks. In the course of the following half hour, I learned about Marcus Grodi and his conversion from Protestant pastor to Catholicism and about his fellow convert, Scott Hahn. I saw the conversion stories on the Coming Home International’s website and found, simply by the title, one written by a Missouri Synod Lutheran. His name is Todd von Kampen, he lived in Omaha, Nebraska, and he and I have been in touch ever since then. His personal story of conversion hit home with me, and I felt numb for the next two days. Could I really be considering this?

When I tell my story these days, I’m very aware that it involves a lot of “cool” features. Baseball, broadcasting, a dramatic moment where everything changed. But my story also included for me some very real theological considerations.

Luther said the Reformation stood on

Catholic teaching of faith and works being opposite sides of the same coin made so much more sense to me.
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Finally, that sanctuary I was looking for became glaringly obvious when I understood the Eucharist and its primacy in the history of Christianity. I found sanctuary in the Real Presence of Our Lord.

I think it’s fair to say I had become “as Catholic as I could be without, God forbid, becoming Catholic.” The Masses at the stadium had started up again, and I attended most of them, the only non-Catholic there. I’m not sure I got a special dispensation, but I ended up being the sacristan. I even kept the Mass kit in my office. Mike dubbed it “The Toby Tabernacle.”

Of course, I wondered what I was going to tell my Lutheran family about all of this. Oh, and what would I tell my dear wife, Barbara, the girl that I was supposed to be with all along, whom I met after the ugly breakup?

Barbara and I have just celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary. We have five kids ranging in age from elementary school to college (see, we were Catholic all along!). Barbara has always been a Christian and had her own spiritual awakening in college. She agreed to be married in the Lutheran church, and we raised our kids in Lutheran schools. Her journey had taken her from Disciples of Christ to a Baptist church and now the LCMS. And I was about to lay this on her: “I’m wondering if I’m supposed to become Catholic?” I would eventually have the guts to ask her. When I did, she basically said, “Well, maybe.”

One Sunday morning, after trying to figure out a way to skip church for the first time in my life, I was reading Stephen Ray’s Crossing the Tiber, and he was describing a friend who had come to believe he was Catholic in his head. Stephen told him to take the next scary step and actually go to Mass. Right then, I told Barbara, “I gotta go to Mass.” She said, “Go.” It was just as beautiful as Stephen’s friend described in the book. The next day, I called a local parish and told a priest that I was investigating whether God was calling me home to the Catholic Church. His reply: “What a holy quest!”

The next Sunday, I (sheepishly, secretly) attended my first RCIA class. Barbara told me she wasn’t there yet in her heart but approved my attending. I brought the materials home. She came with me the next week, and we never looked back. At Easter Vigil 2008, our entire family came into Holy Mother Church. During RCIA, our fourth son was born. He was baptized that night. We joke that he became Catholic 25 minutes before we did.

Better than winning a World Series in 2015, better than just about anything, becoming Catholic been the greatest thing that’s ever happened to us.
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Better than winning a World Series in 2015, better than just about anything, becoming Catholic been the greatest thing that’s ever happened to us. A few months into our lives as a Catholic family, we had been sitting in church. Barbara smiled and leaned over to me. “We’re home,” she said. She was right, I thought. “Safe at Home.”

The post Safe at Home appeared first on The Coming Home Network.

Bags of candy! This is what I remember most about my upbringing as a Lutheran (Evangelical Lutheran Synodical Conference of North America – Missouri Synod). At the end of the Christmas concert, after we kids had performed our songs and recited our lines for the Christmas pageant, we children received bags containing peanuts, hard Christmas candies, and oranges wrapped in green tissue paper. When I got my Christmas goody bag, I was happy and “in heaven.”

It Was Nuts, and Eggs

But it was nuts and eggs that brought me close to heaven (in a different sense) a number of times; as I was a severe asthmatic having many, many allergies — nuts and eggs being high on that list, along with grain dust and animal hair. Because of an asthma attack I would often be taken, for medication to relieve the symptoms of the disease and restore my breathing, to the doctor’s office or the hospital run by the Sisters of Charity, in Trochu, Alberta (Canada). The hospital was seven long miles from our farm out in the country. Back home, I would kneel by my bed time and pray once again to God to take away my asthma and allergies.

Unfriendly, Cold World

This may sound funny, but I remember being born (1955) — coming from a warm and safe haven into the extremely bright lights and unfriendly, cold world. I was upset by this intrusion; I was born angry. But I was welcomed by a loving family, baptized and later confirmed into the Lutheran faith. My parents, Albert and Frieda, participated in the life of St. John’s Lutheran Church and encouraged us kids to do the same. As I grew up, I had the opportunity to read and study the Bible, pray with various devotionals, and attended Sunday school and vacation Bible school during the summer. Being the only son, over time I became very self-centered and introverted. I had three sisters, whom I teased and irritated, but for the most part loved. And I remember my grandparents on both sides of the family fondly. Grandpa August thought it would be a good thing to give me a little brandy when I was wheezing to help ease the stress of my asthma; but soon, alcohol would be my crutch for dealing with anger and depression. And God, well, He became more distant to me as I grew older and chased after pleasure and self-indulgence.

Lost in Worldly Diversions

In my second year of university (1975, University of Alberta, Edmonton), my girlfriend Gwen (who is a cradle-Catholic and would later become my wife — now of 43 years) and I became pregnant. We were married in St. Andrew’s Catholic Church, mostly due to the arranging of Gwen’s parents, Norman and Mildred, especially by her father. Unfortunately, life at this time consisted of financial struggles — and my infidelity. I continued to anesthetize my anger, depression, and chaotic lifestyle with alcohol. There was more stress, at that time, from unemployment, and raising four children. Gwen attended Mass with the kids, but I was still living a singles’ married lifestyle, caught up in my own sin and worldly diversions. My prayer life was negligible. I felt I was in control. After all, I was doing what I wanted, when I wanted to do it. In hindsight I was so wrong, I was so lost.

A Healing Miracle

Prior to joining the Catholic Church, I experienced a miracle in my life — the healing of my asthma! Early in our marriage, Gwen attended church with the kids and was involved in “churchy things” with her Catholic and Protestant acquaintances. Gwen invited me to attend a healing service at the church of one of her Protestant friends. Now concerned more about harmony in our marriage, I agreed to attend; willing, yet all the while not at all comfortable with things of religion. We attended the healing mission two nights.

It was on the second night that I went forward for prayer, was slain in the Spirit (though I did not know what was happening at that time), and after getting up off the carpet, I felt a greater peace and serenity than I had felt for a long, long time. To verify this healing, I decided to test the results, and what God hopefully had done. For the first time in my life, I cooked a 3-egg omelet. Then I ate it to see if I would have an allergic reaction. (Remember, I could have a violent reaction to eggs.) Praise God, I had no allergic reaction! From that moment, I was completely healed of my allergies. Now I can eat eggs — over easy, sunny side up, deviled, scrambled, and even egg salad. All kinds of nuts, as well. God is good! I was very grateful, but alcohol and anger continued to be part of my life. I also battled with loneliness and depression. To me, God was “out there,” and not in my heart. I felt I had to fight the battle of this life on my own.

One Thing Needed Doing

Life is filled with consolations and desolations, hills and valleys. Many times, my alcoholism brought me to my knees, but so did life’s circumstances. After teaching for a number of years, I returned to university to complete a second degree. Upon convocation (1982), I applied to 64 teaching positions, and only God knows why I did not gain work at that time. Being unemployed, Gwen and I and our children moved into the basement of her parents’ farm house, where I worked as a hired hand. I was demoralized, depressed, humiliated, and wondering why all that I had been trying to achieve was going so badly. Well, there was one thing that needed doing yet.

One weekday, after running the tractor and cultivating a field on my father-in-law’s farm, I was appreciating nature, the colors of the early evening sunset, the clouds, the breeze, the fresh smell of the overturned soil, even the fumes given off by the equipment — which only a farm kid can appreciate. As I walked past the cultivator toward the pickup truck, I felt a need to kneel, pray, and give thanks to God. The Holy Spirit inspired me to pray a prayer of thanksgiving, which moved me to tears, and then to surrender. Right then and there, I gave it all to God, my sins, my unemployment, my wife, my children, my cares and worries. There, kneeling in the stubble and dirt, the dirt from which I was created, I surrendered to God; I let go and let God, I surrendered all to Jesus.

In the Struggles of Life

But God was not done with me yet. In a recent Angelus address, Pope Francis spoke of God’s infinite love for sinners: “He wants to tell you that you are precious in His eyes, that you are unique .… God always waits for us, He doesn’t tire.” Yes, God never tires in offering His love and mercy. In grade school, I took piano lessons from Sister Mary Francis (Sisters of Charity) in the convent attached to the hospital in Trochu. I remember seeing and hearing Catholic things during my summer asthma convalescences, and while at piano lessons. The Holy Spirit was gently drawing my heart back to Jesus.

In an effort to be further reconciled with Gwen and restore our marriage, we attended a Marriage Encounter weekend retreat, where I finally decided to be part of the marriage, as a husband and a responsible and loving father to our children. I had much to make amends for; I was being given another chance.

The second retreat that I attended with Gwen (1984) was called Live In and Get to Know Jesus. This also was a Catholic-based retreat, where I experienced the love and mercy, charity and forgiveness of Jesus. I would have much rather have spent the weekend drinking and listening to rock music than take in another retreat. I struggled with being in crowds and making small talk. I wrestled with doing what I wanted to do and what others would rather have me doing. To top it off, Gwen and I travelled five hours by car to the city the Live In was being held with her “churchy friends,” and I did not appreciate or readily welcome all their enthusiasm and the gusto they had for their mutual friend, Jesus Christ. When we arrived at the school where the retreat was being held, Gwen and I seated ourselves on a bench by a wall. Two men, coming from opposite sides of the gymnasium, came together in an embrace in front of me, calling each other “brother,” and I was ready to leave. This was too intimate and intimidating for me.

But God always has another plan, a better plan, the best plan. And since home was five hours away, I stayed at the Live In, got to know the mercy and love of Jesus Christ, and committed my life to Jesus as my Lord and Savior on my knees at the altar call. A particular Scripture from the New Testament really touched my heart, soul, and spirit. It is found in the Gospel of Mark, chapter 10, beginning with verse 46, and relates the story and healing of a man named Bartimaeus. In the story, at the point when he is healed and throws off his cloak, I also was eager to spring up and come to Jesus. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner,” my heart and soul cried out. I, too, desired to follow Jesus on the way.

“A Capable Wife Who Can Find?” (Proverbs 31:10)

Gwen had been praying Psalm 1:1-3 for me for seven years to this point in time; inserting my name, “Ed,” for the “those” and “their” in the verses — “Happy is Ed who does not follow the advice of the wicked …. Ed’s delight is the law of the Lord …. Ed is like a tree planted by streams of water …. Ed’s leaves do not wither …. In all that Ed does, Ed prospers.” God is good. As a couple, Gwen and I were asked to read the Responsorial Psalm at the closing Mass of the Live In, and yes, you guessed it, it was Psalm One. What a confirmation of God’s loving care and attention. What a blessing my wife is!

When our fifth child was born (1984), I joined the Catholic Church. I became a Catholic because I was then committed to bringing unity into Gwen’s and my marriage, and our family; and because I wanted to be closer to Jesus in the Eucharist, the “source and summit” of the Catholic faith. I was still seeking God in the struggles of life as best I could; but on my own, without His help and believing I could still do it with my own power, will and determination.

Healing My Heart

The good Lord continued to heal my heart. In the Lutheran Church’s Order of the Holy Communion, during the distribution of the bread and cup, the minister would say: “Take, eat; this is the true body of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ …. Take, drink, this is the true blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” Thus, it was not a far move from the communion I experienced as a Lutheran once a month, to understand that what the Catholic Church offered in the Eucharist. The Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ was what I truly desired. And I could receive Jesus daily! During my formation in the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults program (1983-84), I became more aware of the history of the Catholic Church. I was drawn to the “roots” of faith as established by Jesus Christ Himself. I no longer desired to be part of a dissident group formed by rejecting the authority of the Church of Peter. I consciously and freely sought the living God, being willing to enter the way of faith and conversion as the Holy Spirit opened and healed my heart.

Living With Sobriety

In my journey to the Catholic Church, God would take me up one hill, only to show me that there was another one in the distance that He would gladly accompany me to. I needed help to deal with my infatuation with alcohol and the disease it brings. Combined with my drinking, my anger boiled over one fall weekend. When I sobered up from this drinking binge, I made a resolution to stop drinking. For seven years I did not drink; but I also did nothing to deal with my disease — alcoholism. As a member of the Catholic Church, I was doing a lot of good things: Christopher Leadership courses, Live-In retreats, Life in the Spirit Seminars, music ministry, and adult serving; but not serving with charity of heart the Jesus whom I acknowledged as my Lord and Savior.

As a child of God, I was still resisting God’s call to my heart. I was experiencing what Alcoholics Anonymous calls a “dry drunk,” and not living with sobriety. I still harbored anger and resentment, I was still self-centered and blamed others for my personality faults. I got so smug, in fact, that after seven years of “sobriety,” I thought I could handle drinking once again. So, I did! I had taken my first step on the “slippery slope.”

Three months after having my “first drink,” I found myself in the local police drunk tank with a number of charges over my head. I needed help, and once again, I knelt and prayed to God to take away my alcoholism. With encouragement from friends in the AA program, I joined Alcoholics Anonymous. I admitted I was powerless, that my life was unmanageable, and I received the tools to live a life of sobriety. At this time in my life, I sought that Power greater than myself that would restore me to sanity. I made a free decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of God as a member of AA. I thank God every day for His love and mercy, and especially every 12th of May, when I celebrate my AA Birthday, which has been taking place for over 22 years.

Up One Hill, Continuing to Another

There was yet another hill that God would accompany me on my pilgrim journey — the mountain of the Permanent Diaconate! What was really the “mountain” was the application process; piles of paperwork, reams of forms to be filled out, interviews and appointments to meet with this person, this doctor, this clergyman. I went through this eight-month regime because, for two years prior, Gwen and I felt I was being called to serve the Catholic Church as a permanent deacon. The Lord seemed to be putting people and opportunity in our path to light the way. At retreats, I would meet priests who lauded the service of their deacons. I would attend a workshop and be placed in the table group with a permanent deacon who would share his story and journey with me. A pilgrimage to Israel, to walk in the footsteps of Jesus, helped me to ponder and reflect deeply in my heart the vocation that God was leading me to. Gwen, my parish priest, and my fellow parishioners encouraged me to this end.

On our most recent return from the Holy Land, Gwen and I discussed the possibility of my serving as a permanent deacon. We both agreed that we would not know God’s will unless I applied … so I did, and I was accepted. After four years of study and formation, climbing up one hill and continuing to another, I was ordained a permanent deacon (2018) in the Catholic Archdiocese of Edmonton, Alberta (Canada).

I am currently serving in various ministries: retreats, prison ministry, seniors, youth, RCIA, vacation Bible school, adult Bible study, and Song-and-Scripture. Each day holds a promise of increased faith, continued hope, and an opportunity for service in charity. The journey will never be over in this life; there are still a few more hills to climb, I suspect. In my heart of hearts, I know that, with God, all things are possible!

Attractions I Could Not Resist

There are a number of aspects of the Catholic faith that attracted me and ultimately drew me to the Church. The first aspect was my wife’s witness of the Catholic faith and her devotion to Mary and praying the Rosary. Initially, I was not that interested in the repetitive nature of the prayer. But when I realized the focus was on the intercession of Mother Mary to Jesus on our behalf through the various mysteries, I was attracted and drawn to the Virgin Mary’s protection, help, and intercession. Since this time, Gwen and I have co-edited a booklet entitled The Rosary — With Scripture and Reflections. Gwen was responsible for the Scripture selections and writing the reflections; I was responsible to supply colored illustrations for each decade of the four series of mysteries.

Secondly, what attracted me to the Catholic Church was the music itself. After piano, I took up guitar, and seeing the music ministry playing the guitar and singing lively hymns of praise and thanksgiving in the Catholic Church was something I could identify with. I wanted to be part of the music ministry, and was eager to be tutored and to participate in melody and song and worship.

A third attraction for me was the Catholic Church’s history and future. This came to light with greater illumination as I continued on in the study and formation program for the diaconate. Founded by Jesus, the Catholic Church has been given to Peter and successive Popes to continue building on the four pillars of faith: the Creed, the sacraments, the Ten Commandments, and the Lord’s Prayer. We Catholics are encouraged to read and study the Holy Bible, given to us by the Church, and the Catechism of the Catholic Church, which is the definitive book of the Catholic Church on faith and morals, explaining the official teachings and how I, as a Catholic, can live out the Bible today. Most encouraging to me are the words of Jesus who, referring to the Catholic Church, assured Peter that the gates of the netherworld will not prevail against it. The Church’s future is secure; as is the truth found therein. Sacred Scripture, Sacred Tradition, and the Magisterium of the Church ensure that God’s divine revelation is handed on to successive generations; He promised that the message of Jesus will be preserved until the end of time. It is wonderful to acknowledge that this divine revelation has been passed down through the centuries and has been entrusted to the Catholic Church — the Church established by Jesus Christ Himself!

My Help Comes From the Lord

During my employment career, my jobs have taken me from living on the prairies to settling in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. I had always appreciated Psalm 121, which speaks of the hills — “the mountains” in some versions. I have taken this psalm to mean that I can eagerly and hopefully raise my eyes toward the mountains, witness God’s glory in creation, all the while appreciating the magnificent work of His hands. In this deliberation, I sense that God is not confined to a place or a time, and that my every step is guarded night and day as God, through the Holy Spirit, directs, protects and guides my every movement as my Guardian. Truly, my help comes from the Lord, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, the maker of heaven and earth.

Yes, I faithfully do believe in one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. I freely confess one Baptism for the forgiveness of sins, and I eagerly look forward to the resurrection of the dead, and with joy and hope, to the life of the world to come. It is good to be home!

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Yet those Nazarenes were conservative and fundamentalist. Secular music, certain aspects of science, and anything other than a literal interpretation of the Bible were considered dangerous. My parents also separated and divorced during my early teen years, prompting me to cling more tightly to faith in Jesus. But it also left me less connected to my church home.

A high school friend attended a youth group at an Assembly of God church, and I visited an event there with volleyball and other games one night in 2002. I was surprised at how many people, both youths and adults, were attending. Continuing with the youth group, I began to attend Sunday services there.

This congregation was much larger than the Nazarenes, with full bands for both youth group and Sunday service. People spoke in tongues. Fortunately, no one pushed me into speaking in tongues, and my faith continued as before. I even joined the youth group worship team.

College and Questions

When I moved on to college, I entered a difficult period in my Christian walk.

Where before things were black and white, all of a sudden I was in a world where most people had different conceptions of truth, many doubting that it even existed. What was taught in class often didn’t fit into my previous conservative Evangelical worldview.

The liberal stance of this ELCA Lutheran college was my first exposure to the diversity of Protestant Christianity. I encountered doctrinal differences I didn’t know existed. Finding a Christian community I was comfortable with was difficult, so I tried to maintain my faith through personal study, seldom joining in community worship. It was a lonely time.

That particular college was a poor fit, so I returned to my hometown, took a break from school, worked multiple part-time jobs, and along the way met a young man, JP, who later became my husband. Meanwhile, I was losing my moorings in Christianity. I still had faith, but my practice of it gave way to “more important things” in life.

JP and Catholicism Enter the Picture

I really liked JP, except for one thing: he was Catholic. Thankfully, my mom didn’t seem to think JP’s Catholicism was anything to worry about. Besides, he was much too handsome to pass up. His “incorrect denominational choice” could be fixed later. I was sure that once the errors of Catholicism were explained to him, it would all work out.

To be fair, my understanding of the errors of Catholicism was mostly based on misconceptions. As I was growing up, I had absorbed a number of anti-Catholic attitudes and arguments, all one-sided, of course. The Protestant–Catholic debate remained our most frequent point of contention throughout our dating, engagement, and early marriage.

I attended part of an RCIA (instruction) class during our engagement but, following my predisposition, dropped out.

We did have a Catholic wedding — ceremony only, no Communion — on May 26, 2007 at Old St. Joe’s Church at St. Norbert College. It was a good compromise, since by then I had no home church, and our relationship had developed around the St. Norbert campus.

We had no inkling how difficult it would be for us to remain divided in our faith. Our first two years together, we wrangled over church issues, often going to two Sunday services, first to Catholic Mass, then to a non-denominational church.

How Can We Do It?

I prayed a lot for unity in that time. We knew that we wanted children, but how were those children going to understand that we both worshiped the same God if we went to separate churches each Sunday?

I began researching other denominations, trying to find some middle ground. When I came upon the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod, I thought it might work. I shared the Lutheran theology with JP and drew him a tree of the early Church, suggesting that maybe truth had followed the Lutherans at the time of the Reformation. LCMS seemed to have a lot of the “good” stuff of Catholicism but none of the things I took issue with. We tried a nearby congregation and there encountered some lovely people. Maybe my prayers for unity had been answered.

We were finally able to attend one church together. We also sang and played together on the contemporary worship team at the Lutheran church.

Some of JP’s family took the news of his becoming Protestant kind of hard. His uncles talked to him at a family gathering and overwhelmed us with their concern that he was now living in heresy. Honestly, JP had no idea what he was leaving.

In 2012, after relocating twice, we found ourselves, with one child, in a town in southeastern Wisconsin where there were no young, vibrant LCMS churches. We found it easiest to find a different Protestant church to attend together. We settled on the First Christian Church, where we encountered some amazing and servant-hearted people, with whom we are still friends. But at the same time, I entered into the darkest period of my faith life.

JP and I had been backsliding in our faith. We weren’t reading the Bible; we weren’t praying much. Church had become something we did on Sundays. I was still leading worship, but I wasn’t sure I believed what I was singing. I wondered if this whole Christianity thing was a fairy tale. We were going to church but living as practical agnostics.

We moved yet again, this time to buy our first home in Racine, Wisconsin. Here we had our second child. Traveling distance to our former congregation became an issue, so we switched to a different church, closer to our new home. This one was Baptist. Since leading worship was part of who I was at the time, I inquired about being on the worship team. I auditioned, and everything looked good. We just needed to go through the membership class.

Things Start To Change

The Statement of Faith at this church was only two pages long. It was relatively easy to assent to, and the membership class was very basic. However, there was one point brought up, in which the teacher drew the classic “two cliffs illustration,” where the chasm between them separated God and man. Ultimately, the cross of Jesus fills that gap. (Interestingly, I later found out that this illustration had Catholic origins!) My husband then asked what happens for those who enter a relationship with God but later choose to reject Him. The teacher replied that, once you cross over, you can’t go back. If you have authentically believed, it is irreversible.

This didn’t sit well with us. “Once saved, always saved” just didn’t make sense with our life experience. Both JP and I had genuinely known Jesus from an early age, yet here we were, in our young adulthood, not living our faith. I knew the Bible well and I was familiar with the verse about faith without works (James 2:17). This teacher at our membership class was suggesting that, if we walked away, our original belief in Christ was illusory. JP and I were dissatisfied with the shallowness. How could we base our lives on such a faith?

We later discovered that this Baptist congregation had strong Calvinist leanings. Thoroughgoing Calvinists have a particular belief about predestination, election, and security of salvation, and they tend to be heavily anti-Catholic. These points would come back later to impact the events surrounding my conversion and JP’s return to the Catholic Church.

Faced with these facts, we decided to get serious about our faith. Did we actually believe Christianity was the truth? If it wasn’t, we wanted to stop pretending. But if it was, we needed to take our faith life much more seriously.

We could not sustain this practical agnosticism, this “Christian in Name Only, Church as a social club” lifestyle any longer. We had two children who would be depending on us to anchor them in some worldview that they could count on.

JP and I dug into theology, each in our own way. Timothy Keller’s The Reason for God was very helpful to me, as was C.S. Lewis to both of us. And at the end of our searching, we came to believe in Christ more fully as adults, passionate about doing whatever it took to follow Him.

The Storm

The events that followed helped to create the scenario that led me, as a surprise even to myself, to look into the claims and beliefs of the Catholic Church and, ultimately, to become Catholic.

Now that we knew we were Christians, we sought to live in service to others. Reducing our selfishness would allow us to help our fellow man, Christian or not. We weren’t being super holy in this or thinking we needed to earn our salvation through our own power. We just wanted to be genuinely obedient to the commands of Jesus to feed the hungry and clothe the naked.

The small group that we had joined at our church responded with discouragement when we shared the changes in our lives. We thought we were discerning what Jesus would have us do, but they insisted that we couldn’t do everything, that the purpose of the local church was to take care of each other and that feeding the hungry pagans wasn’t a bad thing to do, but it was not required.

It seemed so clear to JP and me that Jesus was calling His followers to care for the most vulnerable in the world, regardless of their faith. Yes, we as Christian brothers and sisters should take care of each other in times of need, but that does not mean that we are given permission to neglect others. The dissonance was growing between the reality we understood deep in our core and what we were being taught at this church.

Also, as I spent more time on the worship team, I was becoming discouraged with what I felt to be a heavy emphasis on the production value of the worship set each week. We had a stage with fancy equipment, and sometimes worship services were recorded and put on YouTube. People would talk about how you “rocked” a song if you did well. I’m not against making worship beautiful and removing worldly distractions. But the culture of the team and the emphasis placed on secular values made me wonder: Shouldn’t there be a certain reverence to what we were doing, singing, and playing music each week?

These thoughts began to redefine the whole concept of the church services we attended. It felt more and more like we were in a “church” where reverence was neglected and “niceness” was paramount.

Looking back, I know many in the congregation itself at the time would have described its whole culture as unhealthy. There had been difficult transitions, factions, and splits over the years that had left deep scars. I now view it as an example of what happens when you have no central authority that you assent to. If you don’t like something, you leave, or start a new church or, if you’re in a position of authority, you change things to your liking. Now that I am Catholic, I can see how, under such a system, each person becomes his own pope.

In all of this frustration, and in trying to find somewhere to land that would allow me to embrace the depths of my faith, I again started researching different denominations. I asked our small group what the early Church would have looked like because maybe the problem was the Americanized version of Christianity. No one had an answer, and no one thought it was a worthwhile question!

Turning Homeward

One night, I sat on the couch and acknowledged that, amazingly, I was at a place where I felt I needed to take another look at the Catholic Church. I had been to enough Masses and talked enough with JP’s Catholic relatives to know that they had a stronger connection with the early Church than I did. I simply wanted truth, no matter where it came from.

So I determined to re-examine all that I had previously disagreed with and give Catholicism a fair chance for the first time in my life.

JP and I were on a date, one snowy December evening in 2015, when I asked him if he would be interested in attending Mass that Sunday.

He was thrilled! Unknown to me, JP had been reading some Catholic theologians during his commute to work on the train each day. He told me he had been feeling drawn back to the Catholic Church and had been praying for unity in our marriage.

Taking on the Issues

Thus began the final, intense part of my conversion story. Every single bulwark that I previously had built up against Catholicism came crashing down. I tackled things systematically, one issue at a time, leaving my biggest concern for last.

My background was strictly Bible alone, but as I studied and learned, I came to the conclusion that we Protestants were setting ourselves up as the authority for interpretation of Scripture. If the Holy Spirit were really guiding everyone in correct individual interpretation, we would not have thousands of denominations and even more factions within those denominations!

I knew truth is not ambiguous. God has a specific meaning for all He has inspired to be written in Scripture. He has to be loving enough not to leave us with just a book, with no trustworthy means to know what He meant. It didn’t make sense that individual interpretation was the intended system.

Another big issue for me was purgatory. I thought it was a strange belief and imagined that Catholics believed souls just waited around for a while before God deemed them “good enough” for heaven. Besides, how could purgatory be supported by Scripture?

Protestants can easily understand that God sanctifies, or makes holy, those who follow Him in Christ. I also understood that we are sinless when we come into heaven, by virtue of Christ’s redeeming sacrifice and resurrection. But the intricacy of how that process works was vague to me as a Protestant. At the Baptist church we were attending, the belief was that Jesus’ death and resurrection cover over our sins like a sheet. God looks at us and sees a clean sheet. But underneath, we are still totally depraved. The Catholic view, in contrast, is that Jesus’ death and resurrection make it possible for us to actually become clean and holy in God’s eyes, no sheet required. This led me to think about the fact that, at the moment of our death, we are not all equally sanctified. Some people need more purification than others.

1 Corinthians 3:15 speaks of people who will be saved, but as though “through fire.” It’s difficult to let go of sin. Whenever we turn away from sin and choose God’s way, we experience a certain amount of pain. Ultimately, I came to understand purgatory as the process by which God allows our sanctification to be completed, so that we can enter heaven.

Praying to saints was another difficulty for me. I was taught that we should pray only to God. This is one of those instances when Catholics and Protestants use the same words but attach different meanings to them. When Catholics speak of praying to saints, it means we are asking for their intercession, or for them to pray for us on our behalf. Revelation 8:4 talks about the prayers of the saints in heaven. Since they are in heaven, they have no need to pray for themselves. Catholics conclude that they are spending their efforts in prayer for those of us on earth. Through the Communion of Saints that crosses the spiritual and physical worlds, we can ask for their prayers just as I could ask my husband to pray for me.

Priests and Papacy

I also learned more about the words Jesus spoke in establishing a priesthood at the Last Supper and establishing the role of Pope to guide His Church once He ascended. The Pope was always something that had confused me. I didn’t understand how “on this rock I will build my church” made Peter a Pope (Matthew 16:18). But finding ourselves on a road trip at the beginning of my conversion journey, JP and I listened to an audio recording of Scott Hahn discussing the legitimacy of the papacy. The way he described Christ’s words in the original language made a very strong argument that the “rock” Jesus is referring to is Peter.

Another thing I didn’t understand was how the papacy was an inheritable office. Just one verse later, in Matthew 16:19, Jesus tells Peter that He will give Peter the keys to the kingdom of heaven. For all my years of reading that passage, I had no idea of its meaning. Now, I discovered that the “keys” symbol refers to a passage in the Old Testament, where the person who held the keys was second in command to the King (Isaiah 22). The keyholder had royal authority; he acted on the King’s behalf while the King was away. The Old Testament also makes it clear that the “Office of the Keys” is an inheritable office. I then learned about the unbroken lineage of the Popes from Peter, which made sense, given that Jesus intended the Pope to be an inheritable position and that the Pope was meant to act on Christ’s behalf until He comes again.

In all of this, I was learning about the early Church. The early Church writings overwhelmingly support the office of the Pope.

At this point, I had no choice but to conclude that the early Church was entirely Catholic!

And just like that, issue after issue, I kept assenting to the Catholic position. But now I had to approach my biggest concern: the Catholic views on Mary. As a Protestant, we just didn’t think about Mary that often. Statues of Mary were okay to take out during the Christmas season within the context of a Nativity scene, but that was pretty much it.

A Different View of Mary

One thing that helped change my understanding of Mary came through a better understanding of Judaism. Jesus was Jewish, and what He did and said would have had significance for the Jewish people of His time. But 2,000 years later, our evolved culture has lost much of that understanding.

I had never been exposed to the concept of the Queen Mother and its significance in Judaism — until I started exploring the Catholic Church. In Judaism, the mother of the King was highly honored. King Solomon’s mother in 1 Kings is seated at Solomon’s right hand, and he even bows to her! Jesus is known as the King of the Jews. Understanding the idea of Mary as the Queen Mother made a lot more sense to me when I looked at it through a Jewish lens. She would therefore be honored greatly (compare Luke 1:48b). Revelation 12:12 also speaks of Mary. There, she is described as being in heaven and wearing a crown — further supporting the idea that she is highly honored. Again, the Queen Mother had the ear of the King, and the King would take her requests and input seriously. That’s why Catholics are so keen to ask for Mary’s intercession. When the Queen Mother speaks, the King listens respectfully.

To be completely honest, by this time, I had found the Catholic Church’s position on every single issue to be more thorough and logically consistent within Scripture and within the whole system of belief, and I ended up feeling that I had no need to look into the issue of Mary with much scrutiny. I basically acknowledged that if I hadn’t stumped the Catholic Church on anything thus far, Mary probably wasn’t going to be any different. If the Church said Mary was ever-virgin, I was ready to believe it.

Discovering the Eucharist

We began attending RCIA classes shortly after attending that Mass of family unity together. The classes helped me to work through my issues and answer my remaining questions.

During this period, I began to feel drawn toward the Eucharist. The Catholic understanding of the Eucharist wasn’t that difficult for me to accept. The Lutheran Church Missouri Synod believes that Christ is truly present in holy communion, even though they do not believe His presence remains in the elements. Their belief comes much closer to the Catholic belief in the Real Presence than many other Protestant denominations. Having spent some time as a Lutheran, I had already reached the conclusion that, if God wanted to put His Presence in the elements, He was more than able to do so. This, then, helped me embrace a full Catholic understanding of the Eucharist.

Our RCIA class was held on the same night of the week that our parish holds Eucharistic Adoration. I would walk past the sanctuary and look through into the Adoration Chapel. Through the help of the Holy Spirit, I realized that something important was going on in there, and I knew that I wanted to participate. It was definitely a supernatural desire, something I cannot account for on my own. After caring nothing about transubstantiation, here I was longing for Jesus in the Eucharist. This yearning has continued and grown since my conversion.

Sharing the News

The time came for us to let those in our Protestant church know what we were doing. We hadn’t spoken much about it because initially we weren’t sure where we were going to end up. But we also were concerned with how people might respond. We didn’t want other people’s arguments and pressure to impact our honest study. I knew the arguments; I was the arguments. Nothing any Protestant could say was going to surprise me. I wanted to be able to focus, without interference, on seeking the truth.

Sadly, the transition from our Protestant church to the Catholic Church was painful. We lost some friends, and other friendships became strained. We were not allowed to say goodbye to those in our Christian life group; we were told “it would be best” for us not to return. We went from being connected and well-liked to being a dangerous concern. As beautiful as entering the Catholic Church was, it came at a cost. I remember talking to a Baptist pastor in our home, who had come to express his concern that if we were losing this much, and if it was this hard to become Catholic, and I was doing it anyway, this spoke strongly of my conviction. He confided in us that they had never before had anyone leave their church to become Catholic, that they would have much less problem with someone leaving for another Protestant church. Finally, in the view of those who held tightly to Calvinistic views, if we were becoming Catholic, then we were never genuinely Christian in the first place.

Confirmation

And still we pressed on. I was set to be confirmed at the Cathedral of St. Paul, in Minnesota, on Easter Vigil, 2016. I received permission to be confirmed there so all of JP’s relatives who had shared their Catholic faith with me over the years, who had prayed for my conversion, could celebrate with me as I became fully united to the Church Jesus Himself established 2,000 years ago. You can’t get more connected to the early Church than that!

Standing in that beautiful cathedral, during the amazing Easter Vigil service, having just been anointed with oil by the archbishop and facing the congregation, tears in my eyes, I just knew that I was finally home.

One Year Later

March 26, 2017 marked my one-year anniversary in the Catholic Church. Our lives have truly changed for the better over the past year. JP and I learned about the Theology of the Body, which is an extensive work by St. John Paul II, addressing the meaning and purpose of our human bodies. It is a holistic and completely Christian view of sexuality, an icon of our purpose as image-bearers of God. The Theology of the Body taught my husband and me about living our lives as a gift to each other and to those we encounter, and our marriage has become much stronger. Thanks to the teachings of the Church and the Theology of the Body, we reopened ourselves to new life, and I gave birth to our daughter, Mary Charlotte, the day after Christmas 2016.

We now have all these beautiful tools to help us live out our faith: Confession, the Eucharist, Adoration, the Rosary, weekly and daily Mass, and more. We have such a solid set of truths to teach our children and live out in our own lives. We are encouraged to think and dig deep, but discovering ultimate truth is not something that rests only on our shoulders. We have the confidence of correct biblical interpretation and teaching in the Catechism, Tradition, and the Magisterium.

In the short time we have been Catholic, the Church has given us so much that we feel blessed to give back and also to share with others. We have started sharing our own faith story and journey on our blog, This Catholic Family, and we hope to be able to assist in teaching RCIA. I have had the honor of cantoring at several Masses. We want to augment the young adult ministry by starting a small group in our home. Ministering in various ways, knowing that we are part of a Church that values social justice, and serving the most vulnerable and marginalized in society — this is our passion. My mom and stepdad are on their own conversion journey. They plan to be confirmed at Easter Vigil, 2018.

And finally, thanks be to God for the Catholic Church and for His Spirit gently yet persistently, leading me home!

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