Authors: Marcus Grodi
Tags: #Catholics -- Biography; Coming Home Network International; Conversion, #Catholics -- Biography, #Coming Home Network International, #Conversion
In June 1997, somehow I received grace to forgive more deeply
the Evangelical "system" that had wounded me. It's a pivotal issue
in the Christian life: our need to forgive other Christians who
fall short and, beyond that, to be reconciled to God, who doesn't
go along with our simplistic expectations. Afterward I realized
it took the same kind of grace for me to forgive Evangelicals
as it would take anyone to forgive Catholics for their faults.
Somehow I found myself with more courage to face how badly we
sincere Christians botch things -- and with clearer faith in God's
ability to work beyond human and institutional flaws. It was all
the more obvious to me that God had never lost the Catholic Church.
I guess my conversion happened in three general phases: First,
my heart recognized God at work in the Catholic Church and was
drawn to Him. Second, my mind had to be satisfied that the theology
was sound. Third -- again, a heart issue -- I had some hard lessons
to learn about God and reconciliation.
Interesting timing: Shortly after that time of forgiveness, David
asked if I would be interested in taking whatever class people
take when they want to become Catholics. I think he was hoping
that more exposure to Catholics would disappoint me and I would
finally let go of this inconvenient interest.
My phone call to the local parish church led first to the discovery
that our wonderful priest, Father David Dye, is also a convert
from a Protestant background. From him, I learned about the Coming
Home Network International, a ministry that helps non-Catholic
clergy come home to the Catholic Church. I don't know if you can
imagine how alone I had felt in this whole process, how I had
wondered at times whether it was God drawing me or whether I had
"lost it." I had lost my mind and the Catholic Church looked like
the true Church to me, at least I wasn't entirely alone anymore!
The decision to become officially Catholic was still not a painless
one. For every other step I had taken "in obedience to God," I
had received lots of encouragement and affirmation from Christians
all around me. I hadn't realized that approval had always been
an important part of the bargain for me until it was missing.
There were many reasons why joining the Catholic Church would
be impractical and difficult, but I didn't think they were supposed
to be my criteria for deciding. I worried because I did not want
to divide my family, didn't want friends to feel hurt or confused,
and preferred to avoid misunderstanding and criticism. Yet I also
sensed that God wasn't worried -- that He was delighted and even
amused.
It's a challenge to help Protestants understand, because Protestants
change church membership for reasons different from mine: usually
because of disagreements, disappointment, or even preferences
in doctrine, practice, or music. From that framework, my decision
can seem like a rejection or even a rebellion.
But my entry into the Catholic Church came because of what I grew
to believe about God and about the nature of the Church. It was
a response to the greatness and mystery of God -- not a search
for greener grass, but an acceptance of how big the lawn is.
At one point, our Presbyterian pastor told me, with characteristic
warmth and concern, "We just can't let you do this -- we can't
let you join the Catholic Church!"
And I thought:
The only way for me to not become a Catholic would
be to believe again that God is smaller, and to shrink my heart
in the process.
The friends who have reacted most negatively to my news have been
ex-Catholics or those married to ex-Catholics. They sincerely
feel that they did not find God in the Catholic Church and instead
experienced guilt, manipulation, dead rituals, legalism, and so
forth.
I understand the once-burned reaction. The irony is that I know
folks from every imaginable Protestant background who express
similar frustrations of their own. Again, I am convinced that
the problem is not with the Catholic Church itself but with human
beings. The Protestant movement seems to me, to some degree, to
be a quest for a congregation and leaders who will not disappoint.
We Christians so easily hurt each other as we stumble after Jesus;
we can't survive if we don't practice reconciliation.
The Catholic Church rejoices over God's work in Protestant congregations,
even though she considers their message incomplete. She sees them
as part of God's family, as "separated brethren." The gospel is
powerful, and God blesses us as we submit to as much of it as
we know. In contrast, many nominal Catholics do not know or live
the fullness of the truth that the Catholic Church teaches. It
was a Catholic convert, G. K. Chesterton, who wrote, "It's not
that Christianity has been tried and found wanting, it's that
it has been found difficult and left untried." It is left untried
not only by non-Christians but also by many of us who call ourselves
Christians, whether Catholic or Protestant.
Today, at least weekly, I go to Mass by myself. On rare occasions
my husband or daughters come with me, but they really don't "like"
Catholic Mass, so it's usually just me. Becoming Catholic was
my decision, not theirs.
Until the past couple of years, at least weekly, I attended worship
services at the PCA congregation where my husband has become an
elder. I did some volunteer work at my parish, but most of my
volunteer work was at my husband's church, and I looked for ways
to serve where the doctrinal differences were not an issue. Like
any congregation, it has its flaws, but I know God is at work
there and I was happy to cooperate.
I followed this arrangement as long as our daughters were young
enough to live at home, and for a few years after that, until
a terminally ill family member came to live with us. At that point,
my husband and I were empty-nesters, and with someone at home
who needed care, I just didn't have enough time to continue to
attend both churches. Now, I attend Mass and my husband attends
his church, and occasionally we accompany each other.
Catholics ask if I've heard anti-Catholic teachings in my husband's
congregation. The teaching pastors there rarely say much about
the Catholic Church in their sermons, but when they do, it's nearly
always disappointing: a replay of misinformation passed to them
by teachers they trusted. A few times over the years, I've approached
afterwards, sometimes face to face and sometimes in writing, to
question and to offer more accurate information.
These have been good conversations. Once, I respectfully asked
the senior pastor to consider halting attempts to represent what
the Catholic Church teaches, unless or until he was able to put
a significant amount of time into reading what she actually teaches,
not books by Protestants about what she teaches. He hasn't granted
that request, but it was still good to request.
Catholics ask if my husband has any significant interest in Catholicism,
and the simple answer is, so far, no. He serves well in his congregation,
and I think his impression is that God has enough for him there.
Catholics ask if my Protestant friends ask me about the Catholic
faith, and the answer is no, only rarely. Perhaps they are uncomfortable
asking, perhaps they think I would be uncomfortable being asked,
or perhaps (what I think is most likely) they just have enough
on their minds already and it doesn't occur to them. I've been
Catholic for so many years now that when we meet new people, they
seem to assume I'm a cradle Catholic.
Still, over the long haul I've had many great conversations, as
well as a few that didn't go well. A few people are positively
curious about the Catholic faith; a few others have strong negative
reactions to the subject.
Over many months, one Protestant friend asked me lots of good
questions about my new Catholic faith, thought about the answers,
kept coming back with more good questions. I had the honor of
being her sponsor a couple of years later when she decided to
become Catholic, and not too long afterward, her husband took
that step as well.
On the other side, there have been a few discussions in which
I realized the other person perceived me as pushy and insensitive,
when from my perspective I had only been speaking with enthusiasm
about what is dear to me, and had meant no judgment of them. Real-life
opportunities to learn humility.
In all the years of my journey into the Catholic Church, there
wasn't anyone trying to force it on me or actively convince me.
I was curious about it, I asked questions, and along the way I
met Catholics who warmly listened and responded. Since I've become
Catholic, I love talking about my faith, I love being asked about
it, and I love seeing people's surprise when they realize Catholic
faith is more beautiful and reasonable than they had realized.
Catholics ask how my husband has responded to Catholic apologetics.
In general he has expressed frustration over the apparent "triumphalism"
of many Catholic converts and apologists. I agree that Catholic
apologists sometimes sound like they think they've got all the
answers, that Protestants just aren't thinking clearly, and so
on. Attempts to use humor in apologetics can particularly end
up coming across as cutting and uncharitable.
But David and I have also talked about the phenomenon that whenever
people speak with passion about what they believe and why, whether
they are zealous about religion, politics, or vegetarianism, it
can easily be
heard
by people of other viewpoints as arrogant,
condescending, narrow-minded. People with opposing views often
speak
at
and
about
each other, in ways that distort and insult.
What is it that enables people with different viewpoints to be
able truly to hear each other without distortion? What enables
people to express their views without provoking the defensiveness
of their hearers? The best I know to do is to try keep letting
go of anything within myself that could keep me from truly hearing
another person, and to try to speak about my convictions in a
way that communicates respect.
One of the things I love about Mother Teresa is that people who
disagreed with her beliefs still knew that she loved them. Hey,
Mother Teresa, please pray for me, that the same can be said of
me!
Chris Robinson works in educational technology at a small college
in metro Atlanta. Her husband, David, also works in educational
technology.
former Missouri Synod Lutheran
SCENE 1: "WE KNEW WHAT WAS RIGHT"
SCENE 2: ONCE SAVED, ALWAYS SAVED?
SCENE 3: "THAT ALL MAY BE ONE"
SCENE 4: THE SURPRISING POPE FROM POLAND
SCENE 5: AMID THE CRUMBLED FORTRESS
Well, this is going to be a great story, I thought. I was in Denver's
Mile High Stadium, and it was August 12, 1993. Ninety thousand
young people from all across the globe, worked up to a fever pitch,
erupted with thunderous cheers as they first spotted their hero:
Blessed Pope John Paul II, just arrived to open World Youth Day
officially.
My wife, Joan, was nearby with a group of Catholic young people
from Scottsbluff and Gering, Nebraska, where we lived and worked
at the daily newspaper. She was there as a participant, a cradle
Catholic taking advantage of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to
see her spiritual leader. I was plying my trade.
I jotted down impressions in my notebook as John Paul toured the
stadium, then began his greetings to the numerous nations represented
in Denver. Nothing unexpected for a world leader, I thought, as
the Pope began greeting the non-Catholic Christians in the audience.
"Most of you are members of the Catholic Church, but others are
from other Christian churches and communities, and I greet each
one with sincere friendship," he said. "In spite of divisions
among Christians,
'all those justified by faith through baptism
are incorporated into Christ ... brothers and sisters in the Lord.'"
The Holy Father shook up my life in that moment. It may be difficult
to understand why ... unless you've grown up Lutheran.
I had just heard a statement echoing the key battle cry of the
Reformation, the one cited by Martin Luther and all Lutherans
after him as the doctrine on which the Church stands or falls:
"For by grace you have been saved through faith; and this is not
your own doing, it is the gift of God -- not because of works,
lest any man should boast" (Eph 2:8 - 9).
And it had come from the
Pope
: the successor of the man who had
excommunicated Luther nearly five hundred years before. Well-versed
Catholics will recognize that John Paul merely quoted
Unitatis
Redintegratio,
the "Decree on Ecumenism" from Vatican II. But
I didn't know that. It was one of many things I didn't know -- one of many things I wouldn't have believed only a few years before.
My mind raced back nearly six years to the day, back to the rectory
at St. Agnes Catholic Church in Scottsbluff. I thought I wanted
to marry Joan, but I had to be sure. I asked my most burning question
point-blank to her pastor, Father Robert Karnish: "What is the
way salvation is obtained?"
Without hesitation, Father Bob answered: "Faith in Jesus Christ,
which is totally unmerited by us."
His answer backed up what Joan had been telling me -- that she
believed what I did when it came to justification. Because he
answered that way, I stood before him to marry Joan a few months
later.
And because the Holy Father said what he said at that moment in
Denver, God eventually led me into the Catholic Church.