Navigating Faith

As I participate in the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults (RCIA), I find myself at a unique intersection of deep faith and academic rigor. With a Master’s in Biblical Studies, my journey into the Catholic Church has been enlightening but, at times, perplexing. Recently, during an RCIA session, I candidly shared my experience with Father. I expressed my love for the Church but also my struggle with the curriculum, which I found, frankly, quite boring. I mentioned my need for rest and healing from past traumas, hoping for understanding. His unexpected response was, “No! No! I will talk to God, because you need to be in the Catholic Church and to be able to take communion.” In that moment, I felt a mix of admiration and frustration. While I respect his authority as a priest, his insistence highlighted a deeper, often unspoken hierarchy that permeates religious spaces. The idea that communion—the essence of divine grace—could be confined to a specific ritual and institution felt limi

As I’ve been exploring Catholicism, a recurring question has surfaced: Does being Catholic make you more of a Christian than being Protestant? Catholicism claims to hold the "fullness of faith," but what does that mean? And why is there so much emphasis on becoming "Catholic" rather than simply being a follower of Christ?  What Does the "Fullness of Faith" Mean? Catholic teaching asserts that the Church possesses the "fullness of faith," which includes not only the Bible but also sacred tradition and the authority of the Pope. Through apostolic succession, it claims to preserve everything Christ gave to the apostles — from the sacraments to doctrines. For Catholics, this is why they believe the Catholic Church holds the most complete expression of Christian faith. But for me, this raises an important question: Does this focus on the "fullness of faith" somehow imply that other Christians — those who don’t identify as Catholic — are lack

Tomorrow night marks the third session of my OCIA journey, and I find myself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. A sense of dread looms over me, mingling with a nagging question: what have I gotten myself into? The biggest query, however, is whether I should continue on this path. As I reflect on the past year away from my church, it becomes clear that I need a period of rest and reflection to heal from the wounds I’ve experienced within that community. After a year of silence from my pastor, I received a brief message on Facebook expressing sympathy for the loss of my beloved dog, Biscuit. Twelve months without a word, and this was the outreach I received? In contrast, during my brief absence from another parish, the priest reached out to check in after just two Sundays. This disconnection has left me questioning my place in the church and the support it offers. Just tonight, a fellow OCIA participant called me, struggling to understand the Catechism. I was happy to help her; in f

Yesterday, I poured out some of the reservations I have about the Catholic Church and what it means for me to become Catholic. I’ve wrestled with a variety of concerns—from the theology surrounding communion to the daunting idea that some might be deemed less worthy of heaven. There’s also the worry about my role in leading a Bible study if I’m not yet Catholic. Despite these concerns, I’ve been feeling a strong pull to simply rest this year. Resting, in this context, isn’t just about taking a break from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It feels like a call to spend time in prayer and in God’s presence without the pressure of formal affiliation or joining another church. It’s as if God is nudging me to focus on nurturing my spiritual life in a more personal, introspective way. The comments and advice I’ve received recently have been well-intentioned, but they’ve also triggered some of my past religious trauma. I’ve learned that religious trauma can profoundly affect how we relat

In late 2023, I embarked on a significant journey of faith, prompted by a profound disillusionment with my previous Methodist church. The split within the Methodist denomination, centered on issues such as homosexuality, same-sex marriage, and LGBTQIA+ inclusion in leadership roles, left me deeply troubled. I chose to abstain from the vote on the split, unable to support a decision that would marginalize a part of the Christian community based on their identity. My commitment to love and inclusivity guided this decision, leading me to leave the church when it aligned with a more conservative stance. For nearly eight months, I was away from any church community. This period of absence was marked by a lack of outreach from my former church or its leaders, which was disheartening and left me feeling disconnected. My spiritual journey took an unexpected turn when a dentist friend invited me to attend Mass with him and his wife. What began as a single visit quickly became a regular practice