A Fundamental Baptist Crosses the Tiber, Part 3

The first person i told about my desire was, of course, Kaylee. She, after all, had been the one who had introduced me to the Catholic Faith. She was ecstatic, to say the least. She told me that I had to talk with either Father Nick or the Director of Religious Education, Lois, about RCIA and the conversion process. The idea of a conversion “process” was completely foreign to me. The reason is that the Evangelical Protestant communities I had been associated with previously are somewhat like used car salesmen. It sounds harsh, but I think it accurate. When dealing with an Evangelical “Soul-Winner,” you will be pressured to “accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior” at that very instant. When i met with Lois I discovered a different way of doing things.

Lois explained to me that I would have to go through the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults, which would not start until September, and would run until Easter, when I would be fully accepted into the Church. EASTER!!!! But it was only MAY!!!! I did not want to wait almost a year to say I was Catholic. I wanted in NOW! Let me say next that I am grateful for the RCIA. Let me say that i am grateful for the “process.” As much reading as I had done, and as much as I had thought I had known about the teachings of the Church, RCIA taught me how much I didn’t know. I was ready to accept without fully understanding, but faith increases with understanding. I learned about the role of the Blessed Virgin and the Saints. I learned that the Holy Eucharist really is the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Christ, and not merely a symbol. Most importantly I learned that the Bible was not the entirety of Divine Revelation, but was only part of it. My prayer life deepened as I truly sought God’s will for me in the Church. Upon examining moral theology, I saw the consistency of the teachings of the Church. I was discovering that my beliefs had always been Catholic, but I just didn’t know it. Through all of this, I figured out what was missing in those other churches: the Holy Eucharist. Something many Protestants fail to understand, particularly in those communities without a liturgical form of worship, is that they have misplaced the focus of worship. We aren’t there for each other, we aren’t there for the pastor, and we aren’t there for ourselves. We are there to be in the presence of the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world. This is where I belonged.

At the Easter Vigil, on 27 March 2008, I entered into full communion with the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. My story does not end here. If you recall, my family is Protestant. As a child, church attendance was not important. Things had changed. My parents and all but one of my siblings had started attending different churches during the interim. As the lone Catholic, there were questions that needed answering, most notably about the Mother of God and the Holy Eucharist. I had to become something of an apologist out of necessity. And my defense of Marian Dogmas was pitiful, putting it charitably. I was finishing my BA in History at Ohio State in December of 2008. On the Catholic Answers Forums, someone had asked how to become an apologist. The answer recommended taking some theology courses at Franciscan University of Steubenville, in Steubenville, Ohio. As of this writing, that is where I am, and I continue to learn about, and as a result love, the Catholic Faith more and more each and every day.

Barbara McGuigan: A Future Saint

First I would like to thank Matthew Warner over at www.fallibleblogma.com for the opportunity to participate in this year’s “Support a Catholic Speaker Month.” I am still quite new to the blogosphere and as such, I am still trying to figure out what in te world I’m doing, and if anyone is actually paying any mind to what I have to say.

But this isn’t supposed to be about me. This is supposed to be about Barbara McGuigan. Faithful listeners of EWTN Radio may recognize her name. She is a host on the “Open Line” call-in show every Tuesday. Anyone who has listened to her call in show knows that she is humble and is gives all glory to God. In addition she has a two hour program every Saturday, “The Good Fight.” This program not only gives the life story of one of the many Saints and Blesseds to be found in the Church, but also highlights the work of a “Future Saint.” This theme in conjunction with the title of the program brings to mind 1 Timothy 6:12:

Fight the good fight of the faith; take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses.

The inspirational stories of both the canonized saints and the work of people in the Church today can only have a positive effect on any who hear the broadcast. What is more, is that in all of this work, she takes no credit on herself, but gives all glory and honor to God.

In addition to her radio duties, Barbara is the president and CEO of Voices of Virtue International, a lay apostolate dedicated to the Pro-Life movement as well as the cultivation of the virtues and battling of vices. Through Voices of Virtue, Barbara conducts retreats, serves as a keynote speaker, and gives presentations to teens, parents, and teachers.

This little blog barely scratches the surface of the great work for the Lord that Barbara is doing. For more information about Mrs. McGuigan’s amazing work, you can get more information by going to her website, http://www.voicesofvirtue.org or by calling 1-888-496-8880.

A Fundamental Baptist Crosses the Tiber, Part 2

After I left Hyles-Anderson, my spiritual life floundered. I attribute this to fully separating myself from God. My Scripture reading, which had previously been a daily ritual, fell off rapidly. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was self-absorbed in the arrogance that is all too common among so-called “Bible Christians”: no one, and I mean no one, could tell me what the Truth of God was. If any held an interpretation of the Scriptures that was contrary to my own, it was a foregone conclusion that it was they who were not interpreting the Word of God correctly, because it couldn’t have been me! How could it have been me? I was guided by the Holy Spirit! Eventually I had gotten away from reading the Scriptures altogether. Even though according to my Baptist theology I was still “saved,” I was still essentially the same person I had been before my baptism. I was wandering, lost in the wilderness and enslaved by sin. I fell back on my old favorite sins. My nights were filled with strip clubs, alcohol, and pornography. This period of floundering wnt on for many many years. Occasionally I would attend a Sunday morning church service. Mostly I investigated other Baptist communities, Christian Missionary Alliance churches, and occasionally the United Methodists.

These wanderings were unfruitful and, in the end, disappointing. No matter where I went something unidentifiable was missing that I couldn’t identify. It was nothing physical, but something that went deeper. I knew I needed a community to worship with, but everything I had experienced was missing a truly spiritual connection with God. I didn’t know what to do. Like before, I did what I had always done. I retreated into the “Church of Carl,” a congregation of one person.

It was during this time that I was working a series of bad jobs. I worked at restaurants, video stores, minimum wage factories, hotels, liquor stores, and so on. It was during one of my sporadic periods of unemployment that I found an office set up by the county to help low-income workers go to college. I had tried college before, both at Hyles-Anderson and a short stint before that at Ohio State. I walked in, and I soon discovered I was still in the system at OSU, and to start classes all that I needed to do was to register.

Looking back, my return to Ohio State can only be described as providential. This return to my education was God working in my life, although Satan would try to use this as an opportunity to drive what little faith remained far from me. I returned to school in March 2005. The following fall, I became involved in theatre at the Mansfield campus of the Ohio State University. The play itself was an ultra-liberal “if you make money you are evil” kind of production. One of my fellow actors in the production was unlike anyone I had ever met. She was quiet and studious. She never swore. She honored and respected her parents. She treated everyone with respect. She exuded a holiness I had never experienced before. I asked her where she went to church. Her reply: “Most Pure Heart of Mary.” Uh-oh. She was Catholic. My latent anti-Catholicism kicked in, a vestigial remnant from my Fundamentalist days. In my mind Catholics weren’t even Christian. They were some kind of unholy amalgamation between paganism with a few Christian elements. I mean they worshiped Mary, and held all kinds of beliefs contrary to Scripture, most of which were invented by the Church in the middle ages. But her life showed me that something was real. I had to find out.

I went to my first Catholic Mass. I had been in Catholic Churches before, but never with an open mind. I was enthralled by the beauty of the Church. I was impressed by the quiet before Mass. I didn’t realize it then, but I was in the presence of Jesus Himself, in the form of consecrated hosts kept in the tabernacle. My friend from school, Kaylee, showed me my way through the Missal. Reading the days selection caused my preconceived notions about Holy Mother Church to come crashing down. I saw the Liturgy of the Word. More Scripture was to be found in this part of the Liturgy than any three services I had attended as a Baptist. Then I saw the Liturgy of the Eucharist. I was dumbfounded. The Scriptures permeated the ritual from beginning to end. At that instant I made a decision. Everything I held previously was no longer valid. The misinformation given to me about the role of Scripture in the Catholic Church immediately made everything else I was told suspect.

So my inquiry into Catholicism began. I approached the faith with an open mind, reading books explaining the Faith, listening to Catholic radio (I was a regular listener to Catholic Answers Live), and watching EWTN on television. Several months passed of attending Mass somewhat regularly and learning about the Faith. I decided I wanted to be Catholic.

To Be Continued….

A Fundamental Baptist Crosses the Tiber, Part 1

Every Catholic has a conversion story. Some are riveting tales about a search for Truth. Others are from people raised in the faith that have an epiphany, realizing that there is more to being Christian than taking up space in a pew during Mass. Still others are not unlike the Parable of the Prodigal son, where the spiritual traveler has come to an end and realizes life changes are in order. Some are fairly direct routes, while others are meandering journeys, on the order of travelling from New York to Paris by way of Shanghai. Most seem to have certain aspect s of all of these. My own story falls into this last category.

I will not bore you with the mundane details of my childhood, other than those things that relate to my faith. I was born and raised in a typical Midwestern small town in north central Ohio, with an economy based on a mixture of industry and agriculture. It was a typical American community that had parades on holidays, fireworks on the Fourth of July, Little League Baseball, and a church on every corner. Truthfully, there were no less than six churches within walking distance from my house when I was growing up, and rarely went to any of them. In fact, the only times I really recollect going to church before I was twenty-one was when I was a Boy Scout, and we held our meetings at the Lutheran Church just down the street. My Uncle Harley took me to a church a handful of times before I even started kindergarten, but I have no lasting memories from these excursions to Sunday school. This is not to say that my parents had no faith in God, quite the contrary was true, in fact. But this was the 1970’s and I believe that my parents just fell under the sway of the general apostasy that swept through the country during that particular debacle of a decade. While we were most decidedly Christian, we were in no way Catholic, but this also brings to mind an incongruity regarding my maternal grandparents. As I said, my family was decidedly not Catholic, and I believe my mom’s parents were Baptist, although I cannot be sure.

This irreligious upbringing had a more profound effect than I believe my parents thought possible. By the time I reached high school, I had completely lost all faith. In tenth grade, I wrote a biology paper on human evolution. This paper eventually led me to dismiss any talk of God or even some nebulous “designer” as nothing short of myth. Though I had no faith in God, He had faith in me. I just didn’t realize it yet. Before I go on, I should explain what effect agnosticism and atheism can have on a person. Without God, humans are just apes with a more highly evolved nervous system. If, after death, all that is waiting for us is oblivion, then the only motive for anything is preservation of the species as a whole, and the propagation of my own DNA in the population. It is not to say we are little more than animals. It is to say we are animals. Furthermore, since it would appear that moral behavior does nothing to promote either of these ends, then moral behavior in and of itself is a detriment to the species. This mindset does not come to all atheists, but it does come to at least some. The only actions with permanent consequences are those that lead to death. That is the philosophy I adopted.

I was wrong. When I was 19 I entered a phase of my life that I will title “My Colossally Stupid Phase.” This phase was defined by criminal activity. I was a thief, albeit not a very good one. A word to those who might be considering an illustrious career as a thief: If you do not have a natural aptitude, this is a very poor career choice. If you are not a natural at it, you will go to jail. Let us just say that I did not have a natural aptitude. My pathetic attempts at thievery landed me in the Richland County (Ohio) Jail. My tenure at this facility was, thankfully, far from pleasant. I only spent ninety days there, which by my reckoning, was precisely ninety days more than I was prepared for. What jail did provide was time to think. Not only to reflect on the proximate causes that led to my incarceration, but also the more remote causes. One conclusion I had arrived at is that there had to be more to be more to life than what I had previously concluded. A contributing factor to this conclusion was a prison ministry. I do not recall which faith community sent these missionaries to the jail, but I read their tracts, and the message was something I had neither heard, nor thought about for many years: Jesus loved me. With all my shortcomings, Jesus loved me. The seed had been planted, but the time for it to grow and produce fruit was not yet at hand.

After my short stint in the Richland County Jail, it was time for me to try and find a job, and find one I did. I held the illustrious position of “Crew” at a franchise of a prominent chain of eating establishments. It was not a great job, but I was working. It also inspired me to try and find a better job. After about a year of fast food, I started working with a temporary agency, and I started working in a toy factory. It was here that I met Matt. Matt was a committed Christian with a strong faith. We became friends, even though he knew I was not really a believer at this point in my life. After some time, he asked me if I would be interested in learning karate. I thought, “Sure, why not?” Little did I know that after my first practice my life would change. In some ways the change was dramatic. In others, it didn’t change at all. I was presented with a small tract entitled “The Romans Road to Salvation.” For those of you unfamiliar with this particular sales pitch, it presents the fundamentalist version of the Gospel with a handful of verses from Romans and one verse from Revelation. The notable thing to remember is that in this method of “winning souls to Christ” there is absolutely no indication of the need for true repentance or obedience. Of course it was attractive to me. It was what I like to call a “Get out of Hell Free Card.” I prayed a little “sinner’s prayer” and according to the little tract, I was in. Nothing anybody could do could get me out of God’s hands, and I couldn’t even turn my back away. I was set.

The following Sunday, I went to church. I recall no real specifics; save that it was a fire and brimstone sermon, as they all tended to be at that congregation. But I remember distinctly the altar call. I went forward to be baptized, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Even though I didn’t know it at the time, all of my sins to that point had been washed away, and an indelible mark had been placed on my soul that carried with it a burden of responsibility. This aspect of responsibility only applied in a superficial sense. I was “saved,” and I was told that I wed Jesus my very life, but there was no moral imperative to be obedient to that moral law. I was very explicitly told that future actions had no bearing on my salvation, provided I was sincere. I did however have to face God at the judgment and explain my lack of doing His work. This particular congregation was very legalistic. The basis of what I thought was obedience to God’s Word was little more than my efforts to prove to everyone else there that I really was saved.

After I had suitably established that I was indeed saved, pressure from the pastor, the deacons, and others in the church mounted for me to enter the ministry. So without prayer, without spiritual direction, without anything much more than peer pressure, I decided I was “called” to be a Baptist missionary. And what particular mission field did I feel called to? Canada. Not to the Inuit villages or anything like that, but to Montreal, in the heart of French Canada to minister to all those Quebecois Catholics. I had been associated with the congregation long enough to have been infected with a particularly nasty strain of anti-Catholicism, courtesy of Chick Publications. Through this indoctrination (there is no nicer way to say it), I was taught the “truth” about Catholicism. It was a man-made system of beliefs, synthesized from pagan and Christian beliefs. It was full of Egyptian sun-worship and Palestinian Baal-worship. Catholicism was to blame for the KKK, Nazism, Communism, Masonry, and every other ill that could be thought of. To my shame, I accepted all of it. This was reinforced in the school that was chosen for me: Hyles-Anderson College in Crown Point, Indiana.

I did say “chosen for me,” and this is no exaggeration. To ensure their “preacher-boys” went to a “good” school, all were pressured to attend Hyles-Anderson. I stayed there for a year. I had financing issues, because it was a non-accredited institution, and therefore not eligible for federal financial aid, including student loans. But more importantly I had some theological issues. I was firmly in the Sola Scriptura camp, meaning that all doctrine had to be able to be backed up solidly by the Scriptures. One day at chapel, there was a message that I will never forget. Ironically, I can’t remember the administrator that was preaching, but the main focus of the sermon was that rather than conforming our will to God, God would conform His will to what we wanted. I left the college the next day. I was at a point that I did not know what the Truth was, but I knew that this was not it.

To be continued…

Holiness

Turn on the news, and what do we see? Praise for those who want to take life, and disdain for those who seek to preserve it. Lifting up a lifestyle that is against the natural law. Children having children. Children killing children. Before anyone reading this gets upset about my lacking compassion or whatnot, let me just say that I am not going to go on a tirade about the evils of the world. What good is it to jump up and down and yell and scream about evils that Catholics and other Christians find painfully obvious and the world doesn’t seem to give a rip about. Let me rephrase that. These are evils Catholics and other Christians should find painfully obvious. But looking back at the Notre Dame scandal this past fall, and the state of our CINO (that would be Catholic in Name Only) politicians, I am not so sure we are aware as we should be.

This outbreak of acceptance of evil is not a disease in and of itself, but merely symptoms of a much more insidious malady. Another symptom is the lack of religious vocations. Protestants can listen up too, because numbers of their clergy isn’t exactly busting at the seams. The disease, of which these are symptoms, is a general lack of holiness, and worse an apathy about holiness. I am not going to regale my readers, of which at the time of this writing there are exactly zero, with stories of a glorious Church of the past. Rather I wish to exhort my readers, which, as I noted generally consists of myself, to strive for a kind of supernatural holiness that can only be achieved by the grace of God.

Of course this begs the question: How can I find the Grace necessary? The answer is more simple that you might imagine. Frequent reception of the Sacraments. I am blessed in that I can receive the Eucharist seven days a week if I wish. Confession is made available no fewer than four days a week. I can worship the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar any time of day or night. I know that not everyone has these opportunities. But no one has an excuse not to pray. I don’t remember who said it, but I have heard it said “If you have time, pray an hour a day. If you don’t pray two.” Another platitude I heard a while back was “Instead of planning our prayer time to fit in our day, we should plan our day around our prayer time.” Is it really that hard to talk to God at times when we aren’t in dire straits. Heck, even agnostics will do that. Shouldn’t we, as children of God, do more? Could you imagine only talking to your earthly parents in tomes of trouble? Why do we treat our spiritual Father that way…and our Mother. Do you have any kind of image of the Blessed Mother? If you do, do you tell her “Good Morning?” Do you ask intercession, not just for your own intentions, but also for the intentions of others? What Saint’s name did you choose at Confirmation? Do you ever talk to them. How long does it take to say, “Saint______, pray for me”? At http://www.ewtn.com, you can look up the saints by their feast day, so every day, you can add the saint of the day to your prayers. Shouldn’t we at least give the heroes of the Faith enough attention to let them intercede on our behalf?

But I digress. Though prayer is a wonderful topic, it is not our only avenue to holiness, though it is a component that is absolutely vital. By our very lives, people should be able to identify us as Catholics, and not just because we are wearing a t-shirt with the Blessed Mother. St. Francis of Assisi said “Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words only when necessary.” My own conversion involved the testimony of a young woman who lived the Gospel. She didn’t even invite me to Mass as much as instilled a curiosity in me to investigate Catholicism. If only I could inspire someone in such a way.

If everyone would make a firm commitment to strive for holiness, to dedicate themselves to live for God twenty-four hours a day, three-hundred sixty-five days a year, the problems I mentioned at the beginning of this post wouldn’t even exist. The world would be a different place.

Welcome

I am new to the blogosphere, and I will be using this blog as the Holy Spirit leads to defend I I believe to be authentic Catholic teaching. I am not a priest. I am not a member of any order. I am a simple layman looking to use the gifts God gave me to further His mission. Our Lady of Guadalupe, pray for us!