On Conversion, Part I: Five Things that drew me into the Catholic Church.

Well friends, if I haven't told you yet, my personal journey of faith has taken some interesting and dynamic turns over the past year. Though I have grappled with the despair of emotional pain and experienced exhilarating joys, the love of God has provided me an unshakable foundation that has kept me afloat through all of it. It surprised me at first the shore that I saw as I emerged out of the metaphysical obscurity of emerging adulthood, but as I embraced this journey, I have found a richness that I'm only now beginning to put down into words. 

On January 26 I was formally initiated into full communion with the Roman Catholic church, when I received my sacraments of Confirmation and Eucharist. I join millions ahead of me in a firm tradition where the people of God welcome those into the fold, with echoes of the rituals practiced at the very beginning amidst a fledgling people in the first-century Church. As I begin to recount this journey towards this very visible and dynamic expression of my faith, I want to write a few of the key characteristics of the Roman church. These are five things that are instrumental in drawing me to this particular expression of my love for God. 

1. Theological precision and a richness of language and description

Any cradle Catholic will tell you how thick the Catechism is, and I suspect that few of you would willingly crack open one of the church's systematic documents that comprise Vatican II, papal encyclicals, or the historical proclamations of the Church Fathers and successions of Ecumenical Councils that established the authority and unity of the church during its first few hundred years. Although I've barely begun to get a sketch of the early church, this rich account of theological knowledge, philosophy, and a love for the deeper things of God are incredible for a mind thirsty for meaningful words. I love the ability to dive into a richer imagination of God that includes ways to describe faith, and the perspectives of the church over the past two thousand years reveal just that. Just as the Credo takes a permanent place at the Mass to iterate in language established by the Council of Nicea in 325, so do we as the people of God affirm the need to define what believe. The simultaneous desire to understand why we believe this lends this written tradition to develop hand in hand with philosophy, and has undoubtedly influenced all of Western Thought through empirical science, scholarship, and interdisciplinary study. Even astronomers and geneticists were compelled to reach to the heavens and peer inside the human cell because of their vocation and desire to reach deeper into the mind of God! Some of these documents read like poetry. The beginning of the expansive Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, better known as Gaudium et Spes, reads thus: 

The joys and the hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the men of this age, especially those who are poor or in any way afflicted, these are the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the followers of Christ. Indeed, nothing genuinely human fails to raise an echo in their hearts. For theirs is a community composed of men. United in Christ, they are led by the Holy Spirit in their journey to the Kingdom of their Father and they have welcomed the news of salvation which is meant for every man. That is why this community realizes that it is truly linked with mankind and its history by the deepest of bonds.

Though the church is often lampooned for being stagnant and out of touch, her heart is beautifully and dramatically expressed to a deep commitment to progress, dialogue, and truth, with Christ, the first Word, at the very center.

2. A prominent call to social engagement and justice

Tied hand and hand with her firm articulation of the articles of belief, teaching, and dogma, the church has developed a keen and steadfast desire to speak to the kingdom calling to behave and engage in social, civic, and moral life in a way that advances the truth of the Gospel and binds the powers of death. Catholic social teaching is centered around the dignity of humanity, and a recognition that before mankind sinned and alienated itself against God, we were created in His image and imbued with a reflection of the divine identity. Thus the church, so often engaged in its stances against contraceptives and abortion, is equally committed to a perspective on the whole life of the individual, from conception to death. Thus the death penalty, euthanasia, and population control are firmly protested because of their violation of that understanding that only God has the creative force and authority over life. The church's perspective on life is a "seamless garment" that encompasses all threats to its protection. Moreover, there is a strong Catholic tradition of nonviolence, including the detest of war, genocide, and poverty that give us some incredible witnesses for justice and peace that the world has ever known. Ultimately, we believe that the call of God's people to mission is a call into community because, as a triune God, He Himself is a community and weaves his essence into the cosmos, even into the midst of our humanity. 

3. A place for beauty

Most people are familiar with this legacy of the church, especially throughout history. Step inside a medieval cathedral or a quiet chapel and witness the power of beauty and the work of our human creativity to communicate the majesty of God. I can hardly describe some of these places that touch me the most. I think the Sagrada Familia Basilica in Barcelona, or Velasquez' Christ Crucified are some of these powerful images that hold deep meaning for me. Still, there are wonderful modern examples that echo the best of these artistic traditions. Here, I'm thinking of John Nava's wonderful tapestry work in the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles. The church realizes that sometimes words are not enough to convey God's truth, something that may bother Protestants committed to the written Word of God.

4. Stories, Stories, Stories

One of the most fundamentally misunderstood aspects of Catholic spirituality has to do with the communion of the saints, and particular devotional practices of veneration. The Catholic tradition affirms a strong place of including the ongoing intercession and participation of those no longer bodily present among us, yet because of the truth of eternity and the promises of glory that resound through scripture, are valid still. Mary is chief among these, since hers was the most intimate human encounter with divinity of all, as she was the very vessel chosen to bear the incarnation among us. She deserves special recognition for her role in the life of the church, yet did not lose this role when she left us (or was "assumed," as the church teaches). Mary and the saints are venerated, not worshipped, precisely for the same reason that you would ask a trusted friend, pastor, or elder to pray for you. We recognize the power of community to activate our prayers. This does not stop in heaven. This does not stop for us, either, once we sit in the presence of God. In no way does their presence in the community distract from our love and honor of Christ. All that the saints and Mary represent point us to Him, as a body that we are all enjoined to. Without Christ, the saints have no place in the picture. 

Yet more compelling for me are those stories of powerful witnesses to the kingdom who were able to show Christ to the world in a particular way. These saints have no single "type." They glorify God because they have become fully themselves, as Thomas Merton would say. My familiarity with Catholic examples such as Dorothy Day, Cesar Chavez, Oscar Romero, and Henri Nouwen (none of whom are officially canonized) mirrors the popular Christian "sainthood" of Martin Luther King, Jr., C.S. Lewis, Theresa of Calcutta, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and others whose lives give us compelling examples of what it looks like to believe in Jesus. No one would question that these men and women were "saints" with eternal contributions to the kingdom. It's funny how the door swings both ways, so to speak. It follows that Saint Francis and Saint Ignatius of Loyola became particular companions of mine in this journey. I was able to find kindred hearts in their desires to see their wounds transfigured, and gave incredible life to the church in their time. I rock a San Damiano cross and an image of Francis around my neck as a cherished reminder of the community of faith. Francis has even become my unofficial "confirmation saint" as I attempt to absorb my own popular Catholic traditions! 

5. Worship centered on the Word: the real presence of Jesus

In my early understanding of what it means to be a Christian I often understood that the most important thing was what I believed. Thus it follows that best church or community is one whose values, teaching, and preaching reflects this belief. We put much emphasis on scrutinizing the "salvation theology" that comes from the pulpit even if it changes our behavior little, nor improves our ability to proclaim the good news to the world. I got the lingering suspicion that a new convert is pretty much perpetually under suspicion until they are able to profess or sign the dotted line ascribing to an orthodox understanding of Christ, the Trinity, and Scripture. 

Yet there is much in this foundation that brought me an understanding that God operates on a profoundly mysterious, sovereign, and intimate level. We prioritize our experience in worship and our ability to connect to the music and emotional dimensions of faith. Many of us younger folks even came to faith at the culmination of a powerful worship set during a middle school or high school camp. Being "born again" is a process linked with transformation and conversion away from conventional understanding and opening up to the mystery of faith. Another way we like to understand it is that Christianity is an identity of relationship, and not of merely belief. God calls us and compels us as Lover, Brother, Father, and Mother.

Catholics usually point to a particular passage in John 6 for their apologetic for a Eucharistic relationship, that is, one centered on the tangible interaction with the Body and Blood during communion. My acceptance of this relationship is much simpler. When I was in the midst of my transitional period my prayers became pointed and anguished. I sought understanding for my experiences, understanding of my pain, and an understanding of the God who was leading me through this. I realized how senseless and futile my efforts at grasping for such things was. In fact, only in embracing the mystery and vastness of God, largely in an extra-sensory way, that I came to understand that it was only in a surrender to this Mystery, this Other, this Great one over whom I have no control whatsoever. I came, through the grace of the Lord, to an understanding that God would no longer fit in my box. The consolation in this struggle was that Christ was offering me a way to interact with him that sustained my existential longing. By focusing on the presence of Christ in the Eucharist, I was being invited to literally put Jesus at the center of all I was doing as a believer. No longer could I be okay with ideas, beliefs, and concepts held up by theology or specific interpretations of scripture. I found peace in the baffling presence of Jesus at the very center of Catholic worship. What once barred me from the table became the emotional center of my desires. Long before I was accepted at the table I saw the profound modesty of the celebration of communion. Protestants tend to be put off by the ceremony and ritual associated with this part of the liturgy. I found my heart's desires inflamed, for isn't all that is good in community, family, love, and identity found at the table? With the simple modesty of bread, and the poignant pouring of wine, I was invited into the great, unending Sacrament that, honestly, still confounds me a little. Most of all, this journey forced me to act in order that I believe. Believing was not enough. The Eucharist, and all that is good and just about the Catholic heritage, embraced me with the tender and rapturous love of a Father beyond all brokenness, barriers, and hurt. 

My conversion, like all in the community of faith is ongoing. I am by no means an exclusivist, and accept with beleaguered resignation those points of doctrine and attitudes within the church that keep others from the table. I do not disown my heritage as a biblically-grounded evangelical believer. I now straddle the world of "both" in the same sense that my blood reflects the mysterious mixing of European and Hispanic ancestry. This mystery that comes so naturally is now expressed quite concretely. Thank you so much for your love and support as my family. I am so grateful to God for all of you.