I never wanted to be Catholic. In fact, I was convinced that Catholicism was false. Like many evangelicals, I had heard the common criticisms: Catholics worshipped Mary, they added traditions to Scripture, they taught salvation by works. They were not truly biblical. I accepted these ideas without much investigation because they were simply the world in which I had been raised.
Ironically, my first entrance into the Catholic Church had little to do with theology and everything to do with love. I was engaged to the woman who would become my wife, and she wanted a Catholic wedding. I reasoned that Catholics were probably Christians, so becoming Catholic was merely changing denominations. I entered RCIA and eventually entered the Church, but I did so with serious reservations. Deep down, I still believed many of the things I had always been taught. Looking back, I can see that God had been preparing me for years, even though I spent much of that time fighting Him. Eventually, the Holy Spirit would have to hit me over the head with what I jokingly call a frying pan.
I grew up in La Puente, California, in a loving family. My parents worked hard and sacrificed much for my sister and me. Though church was not a regular part of our lives, everything changed when my mother decided we were going to attend Sunset Wesleyan Church. My father stayed home to watch football, and if I had my choice, I would have stayed home with him. Instead, my mother insisted that I go. Looking back, I can see God’s providence in something as ordinary as a mother dragging her son to church.
At Sunset Wesleyan Church I met Pastor Gene, a man who would have a tremendous impact on my life. He was genuine, joyful, and passionate about Jesus. I still remember the smile on his face when he welcomed us. Over time my entire family became involved in the church; Sunday mornings overflowed into Sunday evenings and Wednesday nights. We made friends and became part of a Christian community. For the first time in my life, faith became something more than simply believing God existed.
The following summer I attended church camp in Pine Valley. It was there that I made a profession of faith and accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. Soon afterward I requested baptism. I had been taught that baptism was simply an outward sign of an inward reality; it was important, but symbolic. Yet after I was baptized, I felt different. I could not explain it, but I sensed that something profound had happened; it was the first time that I began to question whether baptism was truly just symbolic. That question would remain buried in my mind for years.
Pastor Gene became one of the greatest influences in my life. He would sit with me, answer questions, and talk about Jesus. One thing I admired was how well he knew people. He spent time at the mall food court and knew everyone by name. Workers, janitors, managers, and customers all knew him. He taught me that evangelization had to begin with relationships; people needed to see Christ in us before they would listen to what we had to say. I did not realize it then, but he was living out the words of St. Paul, becoming “all things to all people” for the sake of the Gospel (I Cor 9:22). Even now, many years later, I consider him one of the greatest examples of Christian discipleship I have ever known.
His death was devastating. Pastor Gene suffered a heart attack and died unexpectedly. I was still young, and his death shook me deeply. Yet his funeral spoke volumes about the life he had lived. Hundreds of people filled the church. There was standing room only. People from all walks of life came to honor the man who had touched them with the love of Christ. His influence continues to shape my ministry even today.
As I grew in my faith, I immersed myself in Scripture. I attended church regularly and read the Bible constantly, yet certain passages troubled me. Hebrews 6 seemed to challenge the doctrine of eternal security. If salvation could never be lost, why did the author warn Christians about falling away? 1 Peter 3:21 clearly stated that baptism now saves. That seemed difficult to reconcile with the idea that baptism was only symbolic. These passages disturbed me, but I simply placed them on a shelf in my mind. I assumed someone smarter than me had already figured them out.
At seventeen I joined the Army and became a Chaplain Assistant. That experience exposed me to different faith traditions and challenged many of my assumptions. One Sunday while stationed in Savannah, Georgia, I attended Mass because I was working in the chapel. I expected ritual and very little else. Instead, I was shocked. There were readings from the Old Testament, the Psalms, the epistles, and the Gospels. The priest preached a powerful homily centered on Christ and His love for us. I heard Scripture everywhere. I heard the Gospel proclaimed. Everything I had been told about Catholics seemed wrong. Though I was far from becoming Catholic, some of my prejudices began to disappear.
Years later, after a painful divorce, I met Allysia. She quickly became the love of my life. When we became engaged, she expressed her desire to marry in the Catholic Church. I agreed and entered RCIA. Unfortunately, I entered for all the wrong reasons. I was doing it for her and not because I believed Catholicism was true. Looking back, I see how dangerous that was. Faith cannot be borrowed. Eventually each person must decide what he believes.
Things became complicated when we discovered that because of my previous marriage we could not immediately marry in the Church. I was furious. I misunderstood annulments and thought they were simply Catholic divorces. At the same time, I was medically discharged from the Army due to severe knee injuries. Losing the military was painful because I genuinely loved serving. Everything seemed to be collapsing at once.
Eventually I went through the annulment process and discovered that the Church was not trying to punish me. Rather, the Church took marriage seriously and sought to determine whether a valid marriage had existed in the first place. After the annulment was granted, Allysia and I had our marriage recognized by the Church. During the Easter Vigil in 2006, I entered the Catholic Church.
But although I was Catholic outwardly, inwardly I remained Protestant. I rejected the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. I doubted purgatory. I rejected the Assumption of Mary. I attended Mass, served in ministry, and participated in parish life, but intellectually I was somewhere else. I kept these struggles hidden because I wanted my wife to be happy. Eventually, however, those doubts led me into a full-scale rebellion.
I began searching for truth everywhere except Rome. I spent time among Baptists and was eventually ordained in a fundamentalist Baptist organization. Later I became involved with Lutherans and served in a small Lutheran denomination. I believed God had called me to ministry, but I assumed that embracing Catholicism would somehow prevent me from fulfilling that calling. I could not have been more wrong.
Because I loved history, I decided to enter seminary. I had a specific goal. I wanted to study Church history and prove that the early Church Fathers were not Catholic. I had heard Protestant apologists argue that Catholics misrepresented history, and I was determined to expose those errors. What I did not know was that God was about to use Church history to destroy my arguments.
One of the first Church Fathers I encountered was St. Ignatius of Antioch. I was struck by his emphasis on bishops and Church unity. It sounded far too Catholic for my comfort. Still, I pressed on. Then I encountered St. Justin Martyr. Reading his description of Christian worship in the 2nd century was one of the moments when the Holy Spirit picked up the proverbial frying pan.
Justin Martyr described Christians gathering on Sunday, reading Scripture, hearing a homily, offering prayers, and celebrating the Eucharist. In other words, he described the Mass. Even more shocking was his insistence that the Eucharist was not ordinary bread and wine but truly the Body and Blood of Christ. This was not medieval Catholicism. This was Christianity only a few generations removed from the apostles.
Then came St. Irenaeus. His writings shattered my assumptions. In arguing against heretics, he appealed to apostolic succession and pointed to the Church of Rome as possessing preeminent authority. He insisted that all churches should agree with Rome because of her apostolic foundation. I had entered seminary hoping to disprove Catholicism, and instead I was discovering that the earliest Christians sounded remarkably Catholic.
Nothing, however, transformed me more than the Eucharist. I returned to Scripture and read John 6 with fresh eyes. Jesus repeatedly insisted that His flesh was true food and His blood true drink. When many disciples objected, He did not soften His language or explain that He was speaking symbolically. Instead, many walked away. If they had misunderstood Him, why did He let them leave?
The Last Supper also became impossible to ignore. Jesus said, “This is my body.” He did not say, “This represents my body.” The Passover meal, the manna in the wilderness, and the Bread of the Presence all pointed to something greater. Christ Himself was the true Passover Lamb who offered His body and blood for the life of the world.
The writings of Ignatius, Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, and Augustine all testified to the same reality. The symbolic understanding of communion simply was not present. The early Church believed in the Real Presence. I realized that I was the one who had departed from the faith of the apostles.
Questions about authority also became unavoidable. I had always believed in Scripture alone. Yet history showed me that the Church existed before the New Testament was completed. The bishops preserved apostolic teaching. The canon of Scripture itself came through the Church. Christianity had never been based on private interpretation. The early Christians looked to apostolic authority, bishops, and Church unity. Suddenly, Catholic claims no longer seemed unreasonable.
Confession was another obstacle. I had always wondered why Catholics confessed sins to priests. Then I encountered John 20, where Jesus gave the apostles authority to forgive sins. I also discovered that Christians had practiced confession from the earliest centuries. After years away, I finally went to confession. I broke down crying before I could even speak. Father Schupert greeted me warmly and joked that after six years I should have brought lunch. His kindness and humor calmed my fears. Walking out of the confessional, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. I was finally home.
Purgatory also became understandable. I had once ridiculed the doctrine. Yet Scripture taught that nothing unclean enters heaven. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians spoke of believers being saved through fire. The practice of praying for the dead stretched back to ancient Judaism and early Christianity. I came to understand purgatory not as a second chance but as God’s final act of purification.
Marian doctrines were perhaps my greatest stumbling block. I had rejected them outright. Yet as I studied Scripture and biblical typology, I saw Mary in a completely different light. She was the New Eve and the Ark of the New Covenant. Everything about her pointed toward Jesus. Honoring Mary did not diminish Christ; rather, it magnified Him. The more I understood Mary, the more I appreciated the greatness of her Son.
One Sunday during Mass everything finally came together. As the gifts were brought forward, the words of Justin Martyr came rushing back into my mind. Suddenly, I realized what I had been searching for all these years. The Church founded by Christ had been sitting right in front of me the entire time. I had spent years looking for it while attending Mass every Sunday. It was as though the Holy Spirit was shouting, “Do you understand now? This is the Church you have been looking for.”
The next day I texted my wife and apologized for all the years of pain and uncertainty I had caused her. She told me that she had trusted God and knew I would eventually find my way home. Through it all, she remained patient and faithful.
Looking back, I learned several important lessons. First, no one should enter the Catholic Church merely to please another person. Faith must be rooted in truth. Second, questions are not enemies of faith. God often uses them to draw us deeper. Third, Church history matters. The writings of the Fathers reveal what Christianity looked like before the divisions of later centuries. Fourth, pride can blind us more effectively than ignorance. My greatest obstacle was not lack of evidence, but my unwillingness to accept where the evidence led.
Most importantly, I learned that God is patient. Even during my rebellion, He never abandoned me. He pursued me through Scripture, through history, through the witness of the saints, and through the love and prayers of my wife. Eventually, the Holy Spirit used all of those things to bring me home.
My journey was messy. I entered the Church for the wrong reasons. I doubted. I rebelled. I searched everywhere else. I became Baptist. I became Lutheran. I studied history hoping to disprove Catholicism. Instead, history proved me wrong. Scripture convinced me; the Fathers testified to the truth; Confession brought healing. The Eucharist became the center of my spiritual life. Through it all, the Holy Spirit patiently pursued me, even when I fought Him every step of the way.
I spent years searching for the Church founded by Jesus Christ. Eventually, I discovered something astonishing. I had been sitting in it all along. I was finally home.
