Navigating Faith

Today is Holy Saturday —a sacred, quiet pause in the Christian calendar. It’s the day Jesus lay in a borrowed tomb, purchased by Joseph of Arimathea. According to the Nicene Creed , it was during this time that He descended into hell , entering the deepest places of human pain and separation so that we would never have to know that finality—if we accept Him as our Savior. “He was put to death in the body but made alive in the Spirit. After being made alive, he went and made proclamation to the imprisoned spirits…” —1 Peter 3:18–19 It’s also the day of the Easter Vigil , the most solemn and sacred liturgy in the Catholic Church. For many catechumens and candidates, this is the night of becoming Catholic. And for me, that was supposed to be today. As many of you know, I’ve been discerning Catholicism for quite some time. I love the Catholic liturgy—the beauty, the reverence, the rhythm of it. I’m active in the Church and genuinely enjoy being there. But the truth is, I haven’t discer...

Tonight, someone called me a heretic. It wasn’t the first time I’ve been part of a heated conversation about faith, but this one left me feeling particularly worn out. The discussion started with concerns I’ve had for a while now: the way some Catholics treat Protestants, especially in conversations about belief and tradition. There’s often a focus on how Protestants speak about Catholicism—sometimes harshly and unfairly—but rarely do I see Catholics pause to reflect on how they speak about or treat Protestants in return. Respect is a two-way street. It has to be. In this particular conversation, I expressed my disagreement with the Marian dogmas—teachings like the Immaculate Conception or the Assumption of Mary. I’ve struggled with them, not out of stubbornness, but because I genuinely don’t see them rooted clearly in Scripture. These doctrines were developed and defined by the Magisterium over time, and while I respect the tradition they come from, I also believe it’s okay to ask que...

I’ve been asked more than once—and often with a puzzled look—why someone with a degree in Biblical Studies, who once aspired to be a United Methodist pastor and abstained from the vote that fractured the UMC, now attends a Catholic church. The answer is both simple and deeply personal. The truth is,   the schism in the United Methodist Church broke my heart . I watched as beloved friends and mentors were caught in the middle—some feeling left behind, others feeling forced out. It wasn’t just a vote. It was a spiritual and emotional earthquake that left cracks in relationships and faith communities that may take years to heal. In the aftermath, I couldn’t bring myself to return to church right away. For   eight months , I stayed away from any church building. Not because I had lost my faith, but because I was grieving. I didn’t know where I belonged anymore. I was still a Methodist in belief and spirit, but my spiritual home had been divided, and I didn’t recognize the rooms an...

I didn’t walk into RCIA (now commonly called OCIA) on a whim. I came with decades of spiritual seeking, theological study, personal sacrifice, and a firm belief in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist—something I’ve held since childhood, even while sitting in a Southern Baptist pew. I wasn’t looking for religion. I was longing for   home . I believed I had found that in the Catholic Church. But as the months passed, something unexpected happened. Instead of being drawn deeper into the mystery and richness I had long admired, I began to feel something missing— a disconnect   between the beauty of Catholic theology and the way it was being presented. In many ways, the OCIA program I experienced felt like it was built for those brand new to Christ—those unfamiliar with Scripture, uncomfortable with tradition, or uncertain if God was even real. But for someone who had lived and breathed the Bible for years, held a Master’s degree in Religion, taught others, and written ext...

Tonight, during my rosary prayers, a thought struck me so profoundly that I couldn’t help but laugh in awe. I have long believed in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, but suddenly, it all clicked in a way I had never considered before.   We read in Scripture that God was in the burning bush when He spoke to Moses (Exodus 3:2-4). He was in the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night, guiding the Israelites through the wilderness (Exodus 13:21-22). These were not just symbols or metaphors—God was truly present in these forms. So, if He could manifest Himself in fire, cloud, and even a bush, why is it so difficult for some to believe that Jesus is truly present in the Eucharist?   For centuries, many have struggled with transubstantiation—the teaching that the bread and wine at Mass become the actual Body and Blood of Christ while retaining the appearance of bread and wine. Some argue that it’s merely symbolic, that Christ’s words at the Last S...

As I continue on my journey of faith, a lot of people have asked me about whether I went to my first confession. The short answer is: I did not. There are multiple reasons for this, but one that stands out is my difficulty with the doctrine of transubstantiation. I just can't seem to reconcile it. I fully believe in Christ's real presence, but I don't see how it all hinges on the specific nature of that presence. Is it consubstantiation versus transubstantiation? What about those who hold a symbolic view, but still acknowledge Christ’s role in the sacrament? For me, my personal belief centers on Christ being present, rather than how that presence manifests in the physical elements. This belief, while meaningful to me, has placed me at odds with certain aspects of Catholic teaching—specifically regarding the Eucharist. The Catholic Church teaches that transubstantiation is essential to understanding Christ's presence in the Eucharist, and my refusal to fully accept this ...

Dear Fathers, I write to you with deep respect and gratitude for the work you do in guiding souls toward Christ and His Church. The journey of faith is a sacred and personal one, and your role as spiritual fathers is invaluable. You pour your hearts into teaching, encouraging, and welcoming those who seek to enter the Catholic Church. For many, the OCIA process leads to the joyous moment of full communion. But for some, after months of discernment, the decision is made to step back. This letter is for those moments—when a catechumen or candidate chooses, for whatever reason, not to enter the Church at this time. Please know that this is not a failure. It is not a failure on your part, nor on the part of the sponsors, the catechists, or the catechumen or candidate themselves. Faith journeys do not always follow a straight path. Sometimes, God calls a person to wait, to wrestle with questions a little longer, or to grow in ways unseen before they take that final step. As priests, you hav...

Faith is rarely a straightforward path; it’s often a winding road full of questions, doubts, and moments of deep introspection. For many, the journey of faith is not about simple answers, but about navigating the complexities of belief, tradition, and personal conviction. Recently, I experienced a painful but enlightening moment that has made me reflect on what it truly means to belong to a faith community and how to reconcile personal doubts with the expectations of the Church. It all started when I decided to abstain from meat and attend the Stations of the Cross. It was an act of devotion, an attempt to connect more deeply with the tradition and practices of the Catholic Church. However, during a conversation with my priest, things took an unexpected turn. He asked me why I wasn’t ready to be confirmed, and I was honest in my response. I shared that I had serious reservations about the doctrine of transubstantiation, particularly in light of the writings of the early Church Fathers ...

Since September, I’ve been on my own journey through OCIA (Order of Christian Initiation of Adults), and recently, I made the decision not to be confirmed this year. This wasn’t an easy decision, but it feels like the right one. Along the way, I’ve noticed that many people, both those who are considering the process and even some who are currently in it, don’t fully understand what OCIA is meant to be. Some seem to view it as a simple formality—just a way to become Catholic without fully committing to what that faith entails.  If you’re unfamiliar with OCIA or haven’t gone through it yourself, it’s important to understand that the process is about much more than just receiving sacraments or going through the motions. It’s about transformation, discernment, and a deepening relationship with God. And, if done right, it’s a path that calls you to live your faith authentically, not just for a day but for a lifetime. What OCIA Really Is OCIA is the Catholic Church’s process for welcomin...

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 o...

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...