Obedience: my reversion story (part 3)

I was in serious depression when I was 19. I had moved out of my parents’ home and was living with a few roommates. I had nothing meaningful in my life. All I wanted to do was run away from the world. But then something happened to me that changed my life forever. I met my wife.

My wife was friends with my roommate. She would come over a few times a week. She was so beautiful. And she wrote poetry and sang. She struggled with many of the same issues I did. She was even a fallen away Catholic who read Carlos Castaneda and was into Native American spirituality. What were the chances? We became good friends first, but it didn’t take long before we fell in love. We both were sort of broken inside—spiritually and emotionally—but we had each other and that made us both stronger.

We got married in a Catholic Church with a full Mass. I didn’t realize there were other options. We had our first child about a year and a half later. We had her baptized in the Catholic Church. We weren’t practicing Catholics and we certainly didn’t have a parish, but in the chance that we were wrong about the necessity of religion we didn’t want to risk our child’s soul. Most of the parishes in the area wouldn’t baptize our daughter because we weren’t practicing Catholics. But one parish had a very kind Sister who felt that somehow the grace instilled in our child would one day help us. When our oldest son was born three years later, we had him baptized as well. The same Sister was there and was still holding out hope for us. It wasn’t long before her hope came to fruition.

The year or two after my son was born was an incredible time. It was if God aligned all of the planets just to bring us home. We now had two kids and needed a bigger house. I received a very timely promotion, which allowed us to buy the house we’re in now. During the process of moving I found the old four way medal my Nonna gave me on my confirmation. I started wearing it again.

The promotion allowed me to work side-by-side with a man (my boss at the time) who was a very faithful Catholic. I gave him all of the speeches against organized religion I gave everyone else in high school. Except instead of cheering me on (which is what I was used to) he argued with me—and quite well. His responses were so good in fact that I had to research better responses. But something funny happened, my research proved him right—not me. He even had rebuttals for my purely philosophical arguments. Eventually I began to change my argument. “Well…” I would say, “Organized religion isn’t necessarily bad, but it isn’t necessary either. Some people need it and that’s great, but I don’t need it. I can pray to God wherever I’m at.” My arguments continued to change but they never got any better.

I began to realize that my boss had something I didn’t. He had a very definitive notion of what God was, what the purpose of life was. He knew the Magesterium was the teaching authority established by Jesus through the apostles. It gave him confidence and comfort. All I had was my own unfounded ideas. I eventually stopped arguing with him and started admiring and defending him and people like him. I admired my non-denominational aunt and uncle because they had conviction. They lived exactly how they thought Jesus wanted them to live. I admired my Catholic boss. He too lived exactly how he thought Jesus wanted him to live. I wanted what they all thought they had. I wanted the truth. I wanted to know God’s will and abide in it.

I had always known there was a God. And now my arguments with my boss convinced me that there was an objective truth—I just had to find it. Someone had to be right. But I still didn’t believe it was the Catholic Church.

to be continued…

part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4

Why John C. Wright is not a Deist

I have yet to read any of John C. Wright’s books, but I have become a huge fan of his blog—thanks to Mark Shea’s frequent links to it. Until recently, John was a devout atheist. He is now a faithful Catholic.

So what happens when you ask a brilliant writer why he went from atheist to deist? He answers in writing.

“I was asked a good question:

‘I suppose I still don’t really understand why you flipped from fervent atheist to Christian. Not Deist, but *Christian*. Meaning you went from not even believing in God – and I assume all supernatural elements – to believing in a very specific story about Jesus.’

Well, I don’t like talking about this, but it would be dishonorable if I avoided answering. I am Christian because I had a religious experience with specifically Christian elements in it, albeit the mystical unity of other religions was not absent. What I saw was as simple as Love itself, and as mysterious. It was not some vague light or misty sensation I met, but people to whom I spoke, a ghost, an apostle, the Madonna, the Paraclete, the Messiah, and the Father. The Holy Spirit entered my soul, I felt it happen, and something changed inside me: grace was poured into my like wine into a tin cup, alchemic wine that turns tin into gold.
I was taken on a journey outside of time, and saw the fine structure of the universe, encountered a mind infinitely superior to my own, as well as infinitely loving, and also was shown the secret roots of thought, the somewhat Platonic place ideas live before they pop into human awareness as ideas. I have had prayers answered. I saw millions of spirits, a choir as large as a galaxy and as intricate as a formal dance, bending all their efforts to save just one soul. The list just goes on and on. I should say experiences. Plural. Not one, but six, over a period of months, and continuing to the present day. I have seen visions and experienced miracles, seen prayers answered, and had things even stranger happen. One supernatural event would be enough to convince an honest atheist that there was something in the universe which could not fit into the materialistic, scientific model. I have had half a dozen such experiences, each one different in nature, duration, and kind from the other: An embarassment of evidence; overwhelming; overkill.

You might think I am exaggerating or that I am very much out of my mind: I do not blame you.”

The rest of the story is definitely worth reading: Why I am not a Deist by John C. Wright.

Obedience: my reversion story (part 2)

I lost my faith when I was 18 years old. I lost it when I made my confirmation. I didn’t feel anything. But it wasn’t a sudden thing. It was a process that probably started when I was about 12 years old. If only my memory was better, I could probably tell you that my own drifting coincided with my dad’s. I know I mimicked many of his complaints such as, “The Church is only interested in money”, “Jesus’ apostles wouldn’t make people kiss their rings”, “I don’t need to follow rules created by man”, and so on. But, what does it matter anyway? I had free will. My dad’s issues didn’t have to lead me away. I chose to leave on my own.

I decided to attend public school for 8th grade. It was quite an experience for a “good little Catholic boy.” My new friends did things I never did before. It wasn’t long before I was doing them too. I’m too ashamed to share those things with you now, but back then those things made me feel good. They made me feel accepted. And I didn’t feel quite as sad when I was doing them. It was if they were filling a void inside me, though very imperfectly. It’s strange to me that I ever thought those things could do anything but harm me, but I guess maybe part of the “healing” quality was that I was becoming my own person—even if that person was someone I’m ashamed of today.

Eventually I began to thirst for some sort of spirituality. But because I was so disenchanted with the whole idea of organized religion (especially the Catholic Church), I began seeking solace in other less “restrictive” religions and philosophies. I became fascinated with the writings of Carlos Castaneda, Native American spirituality, and Eastern spirituality. I incorporated my newly found interest in psychology, anthropology, and all of the “natural” schools of spiritual thought into my own quasi religion. I didn’t know what it was called then, but I had basically become a New Age Christian. You see, though I had lost my faith in the Church I never stopped being a Christian. I loved Jesus and prayed to Him every day.

By the time I was 16 I was a full-blown anti-Catholic, “artsy fartsy”, “damn the man”, hippie. I wanted to do nothing but philosophize, socialize, and just be free. I had always been artistic and creative by nature, but I never really had an outlet. But in high school being artistic became my identity. I signed all of my drawings, paintings, and poems “FreeDom” (nice, right?). I would tell people how “pompous” the Church was. I would tell them the only real church any of us needed was to be out in nature among God’s creatures. I was writing poetry. I was painting. I was considered a poet by everyone and I loved it. But by the time I was 18, I was starting to sink into serious depression.

Nothing I had learned to hang my hat on was working any more. If I went out to a party, I only felt worse the next day. If I read one of Carlos Castaneda’s books, I became scared and depressed. The only thing that really made me feel better was writing, and that was only a temporary fix. Even my feeble attempts at prayer only left me feeling emptier (except for one quite amazing experience I might share one day). Depression is a hard thing to explain when you’re no longer depressed, but I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I was completely willing to never wake up again. All I felt was sadness. And I wanted to leave.

to be continued…

part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4

Catholic Wallpaper: Benedict XVI

I created this Pope Benedict wallpaper to go along with the John Paul II wallpaper I did a while back.

I hope you enjoy it.

Obedience: my reversion story (part 1)

I’m going to try to tell my reversion story after all. I think it will do me some good. And hopefully someone else. It will no doubt take me several posts to tell the full story, but I will do my best to keep it brief.

My ancestry is diverse. We’re basically European mutts. And primarily cultural Catholics. Everyone in my extended family is baptized Catholic, but most do not go any further than that. My immediate family was different though. My dad and his parents were practicing Catholics for much of my early childhood. My dad made sure my two brothers and I went to a good Catholic school. He had us say grace with every meal. And he said prayers with us every night he could. He taught me about the saints and how to say the rosary. He worked afternoons back then so I would wait up for him to get home so we could look at the stars and say the rosary together. I don’t know how many times I said the rosary with my dad, but I remember falling asleep every time I tried. My Nonna and Nonno were also very influential to me. I stayed at their house as often as I could. We would say the rosary together every night and go to mass together. So despite coming from a family that was largely Catholic only by name, my immediate family was very Catholic and taught me how to be one early on in my life. Sadly, however, things did not stay that way.

My Nonna has maintained her strong faith to this day and my Nonno maintained his faith until he died, but my dad slowly lost his. I’m not sure exactly what happened to him or when, but at some point he stopped attending mass. Initially he would go to mass but wouldn’t go any further than the doorway. By the time I reached middle school, he no longer attended Mass with us at all—though he continued to make my mom, my brothers, and me go. My dad was always an obnoxious hotheaded Italian that was difficult to get along with, but my relationship with him started to deteriorate quickly from that point on. And so too did my relationship with the Church. By the time I moved out when I was 18, I was no longer a practicing Catholic. I remember going to mass once in a while, but I no longer felt like I was “getting something out of it.”

My Nonna knew my dad had fallen away and didn’t want the same thing to happen to me. I suspect she realized I was falling away too. She did everything she could to keep me in the Church. She signed my cousin and me up at her parish to take confirmation classes. My Nonno was my sponsor. My Nonna was hers. I enjoyed the classes, but mostly because I liked my cousin’s friend. I was eventually confirmed. My Nonna and Nonno were so proud. They gave me a four way cross necklace to commemorate the occasion. My cousin got one too. I wore mine for a while, but I eventually lost it.

My confirmation was ironically the moment I officially left the Church. I remember waiting to feel something when I was confirmed. I thought I would be able to feel the Holy Spirit and everything would make sense. But I felt nothing. And so I left.

to be continued…

part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4

My reversion story is long and detailed

I’ve set out to write my reversion story many times. Each time I try to keep it concise. I try not to include too many superfluous details or back-story. But no matter how many times I try, my story turns into a never-ending narrative detailing every single moment of my life and every single character I have ever known. For a while I thought it was because I was a poor writer. At times I thought that maybe my story just wasn’t that interesting to begin with. But today, I had a realization.

The reason my reversion story is so long and detailed is because my reversion was long and detailed. God was working on me my entire life. My childhood, my teenage years, my twenties, and now my thirties—every thing that’s ever entered my consciousness—every person I have ever met—has helped me on my journey to the Catholic Church.

I came back to the church seven years ago. For the twenty-five years before that I was on a journey. And though I have reached a huge milestone, my journey is not complete. I am tempted, tested, and helped each day. But unlike the first twenty-five years of my life in which I felt helpless, alone, and lost, I have spent the past seven years with the knowledge that I am not alone. And though I may still be helpless, I am no longer lost. I am headed in the right direction.

My reversion story is long and detailed already, and it still isn’t finished.

Jesus can change Obama’s heart

I was bummed when Obama won. I knew he would win so I wasn’t surprised, but I was bummed. I wasn’t upset that the man, Obama, won, but because the man’s policies won.

I disagree with most of Barack’s policies and I hate the rest of them. Those I disagree with I can live with, but those I hate I cannot live with. I don’t want to see him unravel all of the progress the pro-life movement has made in the past 30 years. So what can I do? What should I do?

I could continue to mope around, but I don’t like moping so I’m going to do something about it. And here is what I’m going to do. I cannot change the fact that he won. Heck, I tried to stop him by voting for someone else. But the fact is that he will be our president. I want to start making the most of it.

Obama is a natural leader. He is a tremendous communicator and he has a “supernatural” ability to inspire people. He has all of the tools to be one of this country’s greatest presidents. The country that once treated African Americans like animals has now elected an African American into the most powerful position in the world. That is just—I can’t think of a better word—its just awesome! Come January 20th, 2009 we are going to have a great man as president of the United States of America. Now we need to start bending his ear and changing his heart.

Imagine how magnificent it would be if Obama suddenly realized the evil of abortion. If such a great communicator—if such an inspiring leader—became pro-life, he could sway the country’s views on abortion. It is no easy task to change Barack Obama’s positions, but I know just the man for the job—or should I say God-Man.

Jesus makes all things new. Jesus can change Obama’s heart. I’m going to pray every day for Obama to become pro-life. I’m going to pray for his conversion. And please pardon the phrase; I will not give up hope.

Barack Obama was created in the image and likeness of God just like the rest of us. He should be treated as such. So I’m going to treat him with respect. I’m going to encourage and champion his strengths. And most importantly, I’m going to pray for him.

Below are some like minded posts by some like minded brothers and sisters…
A Bit of Silver Lining
A great day for America!
Christians should honor and pray for Barack Obama
Hope
10 Ways to Pray for Barack Obama

Bring back hometown pride

One of the problems with the country today is that many of us have forgotten hometown pride. I’m not talking about the type of pride that “overpasses the rule of reason.” I’m talking about the kind of pride that inspires us to protect and love what is ours.

It’s been tough here lately, but I’m no longer going to perform the mental debate as to whether I should leave Michigan out of economic fears or because it is exceedingly in opposition to my political and religious beliefs. Instead, I am going to dig in and rediscover how great it is to live here in Michigan. And if it aint great, I am going to make it great by getting involved—starting as small and as local as possible.

Though it would seem that not a single one of my voting decisions amounted to squat, I really enjoyed researching and voting for the local offices and proposals. I took great pleasure in voting no on Proposal 2 and smiled when I voted against every mileage increase. I felt good about making sure every single candidate I voted for was “in your face” pro-life. I felt like I was doing my part to make my city, district, county, and state a better place. Nothing went my way, but I still made a difference because I sent a message. And I’m going to keep sending them.

I have decided to recommit myself to my hometown. I am going to rediscover all of the great things about my city, county, state, and country. And I am going to do whatever I can to make sure they’re all worthy of the Judeo-Christian roots they sprung from.

Its time we silent majority stop being so silent. It’s time we take our homes back!

I think a pick-me-up is in order

Fr. James Martin, S.J. shares some saintly humor.

Laughing with the Saints Part One

Laughing with the Saints Part Two
Laughing with the Saints Part Three