The question of why I haven’t joined the Catholic Church this year has been one I’ve been grappling with lately. It’s not an easy question to answer, and when I was asked, I found myself pausing to think long and hard about it. What has stopped me from joining the Church? Why, after all the study, the prayer, and the deep dive into Catholic theology, have I held back?
In many ways, my journey into the Catholic Church was one filled with trepidation but also hope. When I started RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) — now known as OCIA (Order of Christian Initiation for Adults) — I walked into the room with an open mind, even as I carried years of knowledge in my back pocket. I’d already read the Catechism of the Catholic Church, the Catechism of the Council of Trent, and many writings by Catholic apologists. In fact, my knowledge of Catholicism often exceeded that of the laity. I was already writing a blog on Catholic theology, with the permission and blessing of my local bishop, which only deepened my understanding of the faith and its complex traditions. I had hoped that RCIA would be an opportunity to further engage with the Church, maybe even refine my theological perspective within a community that would support and challenge me.
But something felt off. The class I was in wasn’t what I expected. It was made up mostly of people who had been raised Catholic but never baptized or confirmed, many of whom hadn’t been exposed to other forms of Christianity. I came to realize that my intellectual questions, even my deeply held theological perspectives, weren’t being welcomed or engaged with. Instead, the class was primarily geared toward a very basic introduction to the faith, and when I raised my thoughts, there was no room for discussion. It was clear that this wasn’t the space for someone like me who was looking for a deeper theological exchange, or who was comfortable with challenging perspectives.
One of the most significant theological tensions I encountered involved the doctrine of the Eucharist. As someone who had spent years reading and contemplating Catholic teachings, I understand the concept of transubstantiation — the belief that the bread and wine become the actual body and blood of Christ during the Mass. I don’t fully agree with this teaching, though I acknowledge the powerful testimonies and even documented phenomena, like the Eucharistic miracles, that suggest something extraordinary occurs during the celebration of the sacrament. For me, though, the Eucharist represents a state of mind and heart, a spiritual communion that transcends the physical realm. I tend to lean toward the belief in consubstantiation — that Christ is *present* with the host, rather than it becoming the literal body and blood of Christ.
When I expressed this belief, it was met with quick dismissal — not even a moment of pause to discuss why I felt this way, or to dive into where it might be rooted in scripture. There was no room for dialogue, only a flat “you’re wrong.” This left me feeling disconnected from the very process that should have been encouraging my exploration of faith. Instead of deepening my understanding, I was feeling more alienated from the community I hoped would embrace my unique spiritual journey.
On top of this, I was also in the midst of a very challenging year. I had just lost my job of seven years, and the stress and uncertainty of finding new work were weighing heavily on me. My schedule became unpredictable, with long hours and shifts that left me physically and emotionally drained. On top of everything, the spiritual nourishment I had hoped to find in RCIA seemed like it was slipping further and further out of reach. I would leave work exhausted, collapse into my chair, and barely have the energy to even consider attending class. I would sleep through alarms, show up late to Mass, or simply skip altogether. I felt like I was in a perpetual state of survival mode, just trying to get through each day.
As much as I want to be part of the Church, this year has felt more like a year of rest. It has been a time to pause, reflect, and find my feet again after a period of upheaval. I haven’t been able to give the time and attention that joining the Church would require, and I don’t think I can do it in a half-hearted way. So, I’ve given myself permission to take a step back and allow myself the space I need to heal, to regain my footing, and to discern what my next steps are.
This is not to say that I’ve given up on the Church or on my spiritual journey — far from it. But I’ve come to realize that sometimes the path forward isn’t about rushing into commitments, but about finding peace in where you are, even if it’s not where you expected to be. For now, I’m giving myself the grace to rest, to recharge, and to work through the internal and external struggles I’ve been facing. When the time comes, I hope I’ll be in a place where I can approach the Church with fresh eyes, a full heart, and a deeper understanding.
For those who are in a similar place of uncertainty, of questioning, or of exhaustion, I say: it’s okay to take a step back. It’s okay to give yourself time. Faith isn’t about following a prescribed timeline or meeting an arbitrary deadline. It’s about journeying — and sometimes that means resting, pausing, and finding the strength to move forward when you’re ready.
This is my year of rest. And when I’m ready, I’ll take the next step.
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