Finding the Fullness of the Faith

A few days ago, I promised that I would one day soon share the story of how I became Catholic.  I should forewarn you all that it isn't really an "exciting" conversion story - I didn't find God in the midst of drugs, rock n' roll, or any other scandalous activity, just grew up Christian and found God more and more along the way... but I hope that the following inspires and gives glory to Him who calls us all by name.

I was born and baptized into the Congregational church, under the guidance of two loving, Christ-like, God-fearing parents.  We went through brief stints of going to other churches (mainly a Baptist sort of one) but mostly I grew up within the relatively liturgical UCC.  This was mostly prior to when the UCC went noticeably nuts with the whole inclusive language, ordaining women, sort of thing... though I'm sure my parents could see such coming.  I didn't; I just knew it as the church that we went to, that my grandparents went to, and even when I sometimes didn't want to go to church on Sundays, I knew it was something that we did every week as a family, non-negotiably.  Of course, it didn't hurt that my dad woke us up every Sunday morning to breakfast in bed (usually donuts from the local bakery!).  I remember attending Sunday school as a young child, loved singing songs, making friends, and learning about Jesus; I also remember being told at the Baptist-ish church that I needed to accept Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior, or else I would go to hell (I think I was all of 5 or 6 when that happened).  Strangely, at that age, I sort of agonized over the decision - it was of huge import to my young self, but I remember finally deciding that I didn't want to go to hell, and saying in my head, "I accept you..." etc.  I didn't really understand how that little act made all the difference, but I did feel peace afterwards.

As I grew, I became more involved in the Congregational church; my best friend and I sang in the choir, I went through the Confirmation class taught by my dad; attended various "ecumenical" events with the local Methodist and Catholic churches, but had no inkling that I would ever be anything but what I was. Not that I saw other church as non-Christian; I just didn't see any reason to go anywhere else.  At the same time, I do remember noting one fact from the Confirmation class: my dad showed us a drawing of a tree with many branches, all labeled different denominations of the faith, with the dates when they had all divided from the "trunk".  I remember noticing that the "trunk" was the Catholic church, and sort of wondering why all these denominations were necessary, but I didn't explore the question much further.

At the same time, my older brother and I were being home schooled by our parents (K-12, as a matter of fact).  It was homeschooling that actually changed everything - more specifically, a Bob Jones University Press history textbook.  My mom, being the good ecumenical Congregationalist that she was, was rather appalled at how anti-Catholic the textbook she was using for my brother's history of the middle ages, etc, was.  So she decided, quite innocently, to supplement the curriculum that year with the writings of the early Church Fathers.  Of course, as many who have started down the same path know, you cannot read those Fathers too carefully without endangering your Protestantism!  So she and my brother read more and more, and slowly dialogues began happening within our house, books on tape and books in print with debates about Catholicism, and then books like Scott Hahn's Rome Sweet Home.  She and my brother attended the Episcopalian Easter Vigil, came home smelling like incense and describing the liturgy in glowing terms; meanwhile, I remained relatively untouched and unimpressed.

Regardless of my outer attitude, the seeds were slowly growing within.  From the time I was very small, I naively held the belief that the communion that we were given once a month (even prior to when I was taking communion, I believed this) was actually Jesus.  Not just in a vague metaphorical sense, but that it was actually His body and blood (I'm not sure if I believed that His soul was present there, too, but I though it was actual flesh and blood, just "veiled").  After all, the ushers said "the body of Christ" and "the blood of Christ" as they handed it out, and I was very literally minded.  I also was fascinated with the idea of worship, of sacrifice, and before I began taking communion, I would pray on those Sundays, after church, that the bread and grape juice I drank would literally "be" Jesus for me; sometimes I would even go up to our attic, put those elements in a little wooden box with some burning incense and cover it up with a towel, praying before taking it out.  I'm not sure where I got those ideas - possibly from the Bible, possibly from some of the historical fiction my mother had read to use (such as Stephen Lawhead's Arthurian Chronicles, or Glastonbury, whose author I have forgotten).  Regardless, a belief in the real presence was there, long before I had actually seen that Presence in person.

Time went by, and before long, my mom decided she was ready to convert.  My response wasn't particularly positive - something along the lines of "fine, but don't expect me to go with you."  I'm not sure where my antagonism came from - maybe my inherent hatred of transitions and change, or maybe I sensed the waves of conflict that this would send through staunchly Protestant extended family (there really is nary a Catholic to be seen on either side, until you go back many generations, or into the second cousins and "once or twice removeds").  Regardless, I was happy to stay where I was, go to church with my dad, not leave the place I'd grown up attending.

I'm not sure when my attitude softened.  Lots of changes were taking place at the same time; the best friend that I had at the church and I began to grow apart, as she went off to a high school full of boys and dances and popularity, and I continued on the homeschool trajectory.  I do know that at some point (either before or after I stumbled on my mom's rosary and secretly prayed it, just to see what all this Catholic stuff was all about... I didn't really get it then, viewing it as some sort of magical prayer device, but I understand using it to meditated on Scripture a lot better now) I decided I would go to Mass with her one time.  I didn't expect it to change anything - I was a bit curious, and a bit feeling like I "should try and see" just to be fair.  Little did I know that that one time would change the whole direction of my life (and likely determine the man that I would eventually marry!)

That day, I met Jesus in the Eucharist.  There was a presence in the church that I had never felt anywhere else - a presence of peace, of love, of calming, and more importantly, a presence that I could feel was personal.  I knew it wasn't going to be easy, that there would be opposition, but that I wanted to keep going to that church where His Presence was, for the rest of my life.

I began attending RCIA that fall, and was received into the church at Easter Vigil of the following year, shortly before my 16th birthday.

Since then, everywhere I've traveled, and everywhere I've lived, I've never walked into a Catholic church and not felt His presence.  I have, however, walked into several Protestant churches and been shocked at the emptiness that I never felt before.  Don't get me wrong - these churches are full of joy, of witness, of song and praise - but there is still something missing, something still and small, and a place inside my heart that fills every time I see that tiny, flickering sanctuary light.

In the last 13 years, I've learned a lot about our Faith that I didn't know in the beginning.  I've learned a lot about myself, too, as the Sacraments have pushed me to grow.  In the same church where I made my profession of faith and received the Sacrament of Confirmation, my husband and I stood to be married, 12 years later; now we have a daughter to raise in the Faith, and hopefully more children to come.  I'm so glad to be Catholic, to have the Sacrament of Reconciliation, to receive the Eucharist, to worship every week at Mass!  There are many things I miss about being Protestant, still; I have yet to find a Catholic church where the music is as good, where the people are as friendly, where reading the Bible is expected and where living certain aspects of Christianity is just taken for granted.  Jesus wasn't joking when He talked about the wheat and the chaff within the Church!  However, all of these things are superficial next to the richness that is present.

I wouldn't change one step of the process, and am very grateful to see the Church through the eyes of conversion (though truthfully, every Christian sees the Faith through the eyes of conversion - we all stand in need of converting more and more every day, and I believe that basically everyone who passionately seeks after Christ could in some way classify as either "convert" or "revert" at work).  More than that, I am profoundly thankful to Jesus for revealing Himself in the Eucharist - for calling to my heart in such a way that I could hear.  Blessed be His Name!