How I Became Catholic Part Three: The Good

Jun 02, 2024

My ex-boyfriend and I talked until 6 a.m. on that June night in 2020 — the first real conversation we had ever had. Days later, I wrote in my journal that nothing romantic was going to happen between us. That was until the two subsequent entries, where we quickly went from friends to something more, practically overnight. And for the first time in years, I felt God’s peace.

I only realized in hindsight that all three of the moments in my life where I felt true peace involved this Polish Catholic man. That fact scared the hell out of me. Anyone who has truly been in love knows what I mean — true love leaves you defenseless because you want to give yourself completely to another. The war between this desire to give my then-boyfriend all of me and my desire to preserve myself caused immense tension in our relationship.

To my shame, this tension spilled over into the religious question. I ribbed my boyfriend semi-regularly about his Catholicism. In my mind, he was a goody two-shoes altar boy who dutifully followed the rules that I could or would not. I felt like he was judging me when he did his prayers at night. My reaction to his outward faithfulness was a mix of admiration and disgust, and I was afraid I was a harlot who was corrupting him, a man too good for me.

Despite my insecurities, I knew in my bones that we would be married. Because of that, I would have to get cool with a couple of things, chief among them that our children would be raised Catholic. In 2020, I set a goal that by the end of the next year, I would convert. I knew that it would make things easier for my future kids and would help me ingratiate myself with my in-laws. My erstwhile Protestant heart was not going down without a fight, however.

I had a bone to pick with nearly everything the Magisterium taught. At the beginning, I did not have the right understanding of papal infallibility, nor the Eucharist, and I could not reconcile the apparent tone shift between the Old and New Testament god. The Virgin Mary was completely foreign and I unintentionally offended my boyfriend with my blasé tone when I asked about her. I was still struggling with the Problem of Evil and wondered if the Bible was even reliable. Thankfully, most of my hang-ups were misunderstandings that were cleared up rather easily, usually through my boyfriend’s Googling.

Even after understanding the Church’s teachings more fully, they were difficult to accept. I was annoyed that masturbation was considered a mortal sin. I was also frustrated by closed Communion, partly because I figured people would assume I was in a state of mortal sin because I always remained in the pew. Theology aside, the smells and bells at Mass freaked me out — it was all just so much. The Church was too old, too massive, too overbearing, too nosy. Worse, She had something to say about everything.

Amidst my tug of war, a setback came. I was out of state for a summer internship and my boyfriend was visiting. One Sunday, we stumbled into the last Mass of the day at a local country parish and it happened to be a Traditional Latin Mass. To this day, it is the worst Mass I have ever attended. Part of my reaction was subjective, as I was still terrified of messing up the rituals and sticking out like a sore thumb. Well, stick out I did — I was the only woman without a veil (specifically, a white one) and everyone knew we were visiting.

To make matters worse, the choir was objectively terrible and so was the priest’s homily. He ranted about Dr. Fauci and the COVID vaccines, the obligations of women, and other things that had nothing to do with the scripture readings. The church had “fundamentalist undertones” and I was dismayed that misogyny existed in the Catholic Church too. The veils just confirmed it for me — women were second class citizens here.

I couldn’t live like a veiled doormat, I told myself. It was bad enough growing up when the women in our church were subjected to the yearly sermon on Ephesians Chapter Five, while the men received no such “instruction.” It was a double whammy to hear politics from the pulpit, something I had previously not seen at the Catholic Church. Let’s just say we ran, not walked from that parish, and I was grateful that Rite of Christian Initiation (RCIA) classes were starting in the fall, which was still a few months away.

a large stained glass window in a cathedral — Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

Despite some lackluster experiences and a lot of misunderstanding about the Latin Mass, I could not fail to recognize the truth and good in the church: a healthy, non-Puritan understanding of sexuality, a very charitable view of women, the old Latin hymns and stained glass. The Catholics I met also helped tremendously to assuage my fears that they were all judgmental prudes or doormats. In fact, just the opposite — they all readily admitted that they were sinners and the women had a quiet strength that I admired.

Still, there was one Catholic person that I was determined not to meet. That was Bishop Robert Barron. It seemed that everywhere I went people were recommending him to me. “I can’t really answer your question, but there is this bishop, have you heard of him?” After what felt like the fifty-third mention, it was starting to drive me nuts, as I am the unfortunate type of person who digs her heels in even harder when she is recommended the same thing over and over.

With God’s grace, I eventually relented. Through Bishop Barron’s podcast, which appeals to former agnostics like myself, I was introduced to other influential Catholic thinkers, especially the Church Fathers. I was shocked by how… not Protestant the Fathers sounded. Justin Martyr, Ignatius of Antioch, Augustine, Irenaeus of Lyons, and Clement — I couldn’t get enough. I started to read CatholicAnswers articles, Scott Hahn’s book The Lamb’s Supper, and sections of Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae.

Slowly but surely, the combination of the truth, beauty, and goodness I had been washed in for almost a year pushed me through the door of that first RCIA class. Thankfully, the first topic we discussed was the source and summit of the Christian faith — the Eucharist, the fulfillment of the various Old Testament offerings. For those not familiar with the Catholic belief on the Eucharist, the Church states that the bread the priest holds in the communion rite is transformed from bread into the literal body of Christ, hidden under the appearance of bread. Basically, when Jesus said at the Last Supper, “This is my body,” he was not speaking in metaphor.

I will not give an apologia of this doctrine (Scott Hahn does that way better than I), but I will say that as soon as you believe it with your whole mind, body, and soul, you cannot simply “wait until Easter” to have the Eucharist. And that’s where I was in mid-September 2021. Suddenly, I believed, and I was hungry for the Eucharist. So what did I do? I dropped out of RCIA. Before solving all of my lingering questions, before ironing out all of my gripes, I rushed to my first confession.

I wish I could say I bared my soul completely that day, but I did not quite understand the assignment. I only confessed my misdeeds from the last two weeks, not the last two decades. Oops! Even still, I left the confessional feeling washed in Jesus’ mercy and His approval of my decision. After that, confirmation day was quickly approaching. I invited my mom and my boyfriend, who was also my sponsor. I only knew one Catholic, so the choice was an easy one.

It was a standard Mass on the Feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary — November 21, 2021. I chose Thomas Aquinas as my patron saint as he was the only one I really knew, stood up, said a few words, got anointed with oil, and proceeded to attempt to smell my own forehead (if you know, you know.) After getting confirmed, I received Jesus for the first time. I cried a little bit, but I won’t claim that I felt anything rapturous when I received Him.

After I was a full-fledged Catholic, that is when my journey into apologetics began in earnest. I was Word on Fire’s (Bishop Barron’s apostolate) biggest fan, and I began to learn how to defend my newfound faith. I learned why sola scriptura and sola fide were incorrect, and how to argue against them, and how to dialogue with people who believe there is no objective truth. Importantly, I had to unlearn all of the anti-Catholic propaganda that was shoveled into my ears in public school.

Then, in April 2022, my mother swam the Tiber. Later that month, my brother did too. While the more rotten part of me wishes it could take some credit for their conversions, I cannot, not for any bit of them. However, I was supremely grateful that I was not the lone Catholic in the family. We faced a lot of quizzical questions from family and friends. I likely still cannot answer them all — I’ve only been part of the Church for three years! I have so much to learn, and thankfully, a lifetime ahead of me to plumb the depths of the Church’s mysteries.

Has the fire of my conversion fizzled out? Not even slightly. I still try to spread the Good News wherever I go, but I like to think I have more tact than I did at the start. Even so, I recommend two things to everyone, if they ask: get married and join the Catholic Church. They were and are the two best decisions I have ever made. No regrets.

The world is adrift, especially the Western one in which I live. Never in history has it been so clear that we are spiritually sick. Liberalism, capitalism, wokeism, and any other -ism will be of no avail to us in what is ultimately a spiritual battle between Good and evil. And while Jesus has definitively won the battle, there are so many in the world that have not heard the news. There are myriads who are oblivious to the fact that there is a holy war raging over their soul right at this moment.

I was one of them. I was lost and I did not have the tools to be reconciled to God. But in the Catholic Church, you do not have to rely on yourself to live a holy life — the Bride has Sacraments and Scripture in spades. There is Truth, and Beauty, and Goodness in Her. There is redemptive suffering, not pointless suffering. There is a diverse community of believers — the Body of Christ — who are all trying to be more virtuous, even though they may struggle and fail. Most importantly, there is recourse to Jesus who, in all His humility, is on the altar waiting for you. Loving you.