Navigating Faith

Ever wonder if faith comes with a support team? Good news: it does. And it’s way cooler than you might think. The saints aren’t dusty old statues or characters stuck in the distant past—they’re real people (now in heaven) who lived real struggles, asked real questions, and now walk with us as companions, guides, and prayer buddies. Saints: Not Just Old Heroes—But Soul Friends When you hear “saints,” you might picture solemn portraits in stained glass. But saints were humans like you and me—made of breath and dreams and big questions. They fell in love with God in all sorts of ways: Some leapt boldly into mission (think St. Joan of Arc) Others whispered quiet devotion every single day (St. Kateri Tekakwitha) Some were scholars, kings, moms, artists, caregivers, martyrs… the list goes on! What makes a saint a saint isn’t perfection. It’s this: they kept turning to God—even when life was confusing, scary, or just plain exhausting. Why We Talk to Saints You might wonder: Why do Catholics ...

  Priest, me, my sponsor Today, I was   received into full communion with the Catholic Church. And if you’ve spent any time around church culture, you already know the responses: everything from the well-meaning (but deeply uncomfortable) “welcome home”… to the confused, “Why weren’t you received at the Easter Vigil?” So let’s talk about it. Not just what happened, but   why it happened the way it did. A Little About Me (Especially If You’re New Here) My name is Rai. I’m Southern Baptist by upbringing, a theologian by education, and I’ve served as a Methodist lay minister. My story isn’t one of spiritual emptiness—it’s one of a long, complicated, very real relationship with Christ. It’s also marked by church hurt. I’ve walked through pastoral failure, denominational fractures, and the kind of disillusionment that comes when the Church doesn’t live up to what it proclaims. And then, in December, my mom died. Grief like that changes everything. It strips away what’s perform...

A little over a month ago, I lost my mom. I won’t lie—losing her has been the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. Some days, it feels like I’m moving through fog, trying not to collapse under the weight of it. Grief has a way of reshaping everything, including how we see our place in faith communities. Recently, my priest returned from a month-long vacation. Before he left, he asked me to tell him my confirmation date when he came back. I told him I would pray about it—and I did. I prayed really hard. But tonight, the first time I saw him since he returned, he asked again. I told him I didn’t know, because honestly, I don’t want to be confirmed. His insistence left me feeling frustrated, ashamed, and exhausted. The truth is, I was verbally attacked by members of OCIA leadership during dinner one evening. That moment has stayed with me and made me realize I don’t want to join the Catholic Church. I just want to sit in a pew and be present quietly, without anyone telling me where I bel...

 I ’ve been thinking a lot lately about Communion — the Lord’s Supper, the Eucharist — and who it’s for. Most churches teach that it’s for   Christians only.   Some go further: it’s for baptized, confirmed, and in good standing Catholics only. If you’re not in the club — even if you believe in Jesus — you’re asked to stay seated. Or walk up for a blessing. Or make a spiritual communion instead. And I can’t help but ask:   Is this really what Jesus intended? Because I’ve read the Gospels. I’ve read about Jesus breaking bread with tax collectors and sinners, feeding thousands with no theological questionnaire, and saying things like: “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” —   Matthew 11:28 That doesn’t sound like a Savior who fences off grace. The Language Problem: “This Is My Body” A lot of debate about the Eucharist centers on the word “is.” Jesus said,   “This is my body.” But in the original Greek (ἐστιν) and the Aramaic J...

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...