Navigating Faith

This morning’s daily reading from the Catholic lectionary— Jeremiah 1:4–10 —hit me hard. It’s one I’ve read before, maybe even skimmed. But today, I slowed down and took it in. Jeremiah was afraid. He thought he was too young to be used by God. Too inexperienced. Too small. And in response, God didn’t entertain the excuse. He said to him,   “Do not say, ‘I am too young.’ To whomever I send you, you shall go; whatever I command you, you shall speak. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you” (Jeremiah 1:7–8). That struck a chord in me. Later, I saw an Instagram post from a local church. In the photo, a little girl—my former friend’s daughter—was sitting in Children’s Church with her Bible and highlighter on her lap. She looked like she was studying. I don’t know if she was just following instructions or if something deeper was happening in her heart. But either way, I found myself praying for her. In that moment, I understood something: God isn't interested in how q...

I recently found myself in a conversation with someone who was shocked that I wasn’t convinced by a Marian apparition I had seen, and even more taken aback when I said I didn’t feel a personal need to take communion. “If Jesus said you have no life in you unless you eat His flesh and drink His blood,” she asked, “why would you say you have no need to obey Him?” That’s a fair question—one worth unpacking carefully. For many people of faith, especially within the Catholic and Orthodox traditions, John 6:53 is taken as a literal and non-negotiable instruction from Christ: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.” John 6:53 (ESV) This verse is deeply powerful—and understandably, it shapes Eucharistic theology for millions. But how should we read it? Is Jesus giving us a literal command, or is He teaching something deeper through the art of language? Let’s look closer. Jesus and the Art of Hyperbole Jesus frequentl...

This morning after Mass, one of the OCIA teachers walked up to me and asked, “When are you going to do right?” I laughed, caught off guard—I genuinely didn’t know what she meant. She smiled and said,   “We just have to bust down those walls so you can officially become Catholic!” I replied kindly,   “Well, I am a catholic.” She responded,   “I think you mean little ‘c’ catholic.” I nodded and said,   “Yeah, but that’s what Jesus founded—a universal church. I don’t believe it was the capital ‘C’ Catholic Church. That structure came years later.” She kept pressing, and in a moment of genuine curiosity I asked, “If we’re truly apostolic, then why aren’t we Jewish?” Silence. She followed with,   “Well, you have to be Catholic to take the Eucharist.” Then I gently asked,   “Where does the Bible say that?” More silence. I added,   “Ya know, that’s just not important to me. Besides, you can’t prove Jesus was speaking literally when He spoke of the Eucharist. ...

In May of 1999, CBS aired a miniseries about Joan of Arc. I was just a teenager, but something in me knew I had to see it. The cast was impressive—Leelee Sobieski as Joan, alongside Peter O’Toole, Olympia Dukakis, Shirley MacLaine, Neil Patrick Harris, and Jacqueline Bisset. My parents weren’t too eager about it, but I recorded it on our old VCR, expecting a dramatic story about war and valor. What I encountered, though, was something far deeper. Through that film, Joan’s life awakened something within me—something holy. Yes, I knew parts were dramatized, but her courage, her steadfast faith, her willingness to walk into the fire for what she believed—those things stayed with me. Joan of Arc wasn’t just a heroine from a history book anymore. She became a companion in my own spiritual journey. Over the years, I kept returning to her story. And as life unfolded—its trials, doubts, and moments of quiet struggle—Joan’s example began to shine more clearly. She wasn’t just brave on the battl...

I’ve said it many times before, and I’ll keep saying it: being Catholic will always be an experience in my family. That’s not just because of theology—it’s because of my story. I was raised in a traditional Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) church. My maternal grandfather was an assistant pastor at a small Pentecostal/holiness congregation, so my mom grew up in a deeply charismatic environment. Church was non-negotiable. If the doors were open, they were there. My dad’s upbringing was different—his father was a moonshiner, and while they went to church occasionally, it wasn’t regular or structured. In between those two worlds—Pentecostal intensity and Baptist formality—I was raised. But what my parents gave me, more than any creed or custom, was a gift that I now realize was extraordinary: freedom. Not just the freedom to choose my own hobbies or pick out my clothes. It was the sacred kind of freedom—the kind that allows a child to ask hard questions, explore unfamiliar paths, and wre...

In a world that’s often polarized, it’s easy for people to retreat into their own echo chambers, believing their perspective is the only valid one. This can be especially true when it comes to deeply held religious beliefs. One of the most common and damaging responses in these situations is name-calling, especially when someone dares to hold a different opinion. In Catholic discourse, calling someone a "heretic" is one such example—used as a weapon to silence or belittle others who simply express an alternative viewpoint. The act of name-calling, especially labeling someone a heretic, is both immature and counterproductive. It reflects an inability to engage with differing opinions thoughtfully and respectfully. Most importantly, it undermines the very principles of Christian fellowship and communion. What Does "Heretic" Mean? The term "heretic" has deep and serious connotations. According to the Oxford Dictionary, a heretic is “a person holding a belief ...