For 30 years, I was an atheist. I thought Christians were fanatical
extremists. My soul was so dark, I couldn't understand why some
people objected to abortion and euthanasia. I had never heard of
the Culture of Death, although I was drowning in it.
I have only one childhood memory of attending church.
When I was a child of seven, my sister Linda and I held my mother’s
hand and walked into St. James Episcopal Church in Jackson, Mississippi.
I don’t remember what the church looked like or anything about
the service, because I was too busy admiring my shiny, black shoes.
Soon afterward, I overheard my mother and father
arguing about God. My father said, "I forbid you to take the
kids to church anymore."
My mother said, "They need to learn about God."
"There is no God," he said.
Mother said, "Yes, there is a God."
"There is no God," my father shouted,
"And if you take the kids to church, I will teach them to be
atheists."
From that moment on, there was no talk of God in
our home. We did not go to church. We never prayed. Christmas was
about Santa, not Jesus. I barely knew the story of the Christ child.
The only time I ever looked at a children's Bible was in the waiting
room of my doctor's office. As a child, I sometimes prayed to "Dear
God or Jesus or whoever you are." But soon I stopped this practice,
no longer believing a Creator existed.
The Closed Door of My Soul
For thirty years, I did not attend church, except
for a short time as a teenager, when I sang in a Presbyterian choir.
Singing about the "good news" of Christ’s birth,
the words were hollow and meaningless to me. Church was mind-numbingly
boring; the rituals empty.
When my high-school friend Kathy, an Irish Catholic,
railed about the evils of abortion, I was clueless. I truly believed
a person did not become human until the moment of birth. I remember
saying, "It wouldn’t have mattered if I had been aborted,
because my soul would have jumped into another body." A vague
belief in reincarnation hovered at the edges of my darkened mind.
Because I love history, I majored in ancient Greek,
Roman, and medieval history in college. One day, I asked my Jewish
professor of Roman history, "Did Jesus really live or was He
a myth?" He answered, "Yes, Jesus really lived; there’s
no doubt about it. Why don’t you read the Gospel of Matthew?"
I did, but the Word of God fell on the closed door of my soul.
Another Jewish professor instructed me well in medieval
history, otherwise known as the history of the Catholic Church.
The historial significance of the Catholic Church as the original
Christian church impressed me deeply. I once remarked to my husband,
"Well, if I ever were to become a Christian, I probably would
become Catholic."
After graduating, my dabbling into the history of
Christianity ceased. I became antagonistic to Christianity, refusing
to let my Catholic husband hang a crucifix on our wall. I felt disdain
for those who believed in God. I grew up to be a bitter, angry woman,
always quick to judge others.
The Door Opens a Crack
My journey towards Christianity took two years,
beginning in November 1995. It started, oddly enough, when I heard
Charles Sykes, author of Dumbing Down Our Kids, explain why many
kids can’t read or spell. He recommended reading Why Johnny
Can’t Read by Rudolph Flesch.
Until reading this book, it never entered my mind
that some people guess at new words and don’t know how to sound
them out. Now I learned that most American public schools stopped
teaching phonics (the 44 sounds in the English language and the
70 common ways to spell those sounds) back in the 1920’s and
that millions of kids have been taught to memorize whole words rather
than sound them out.
Determined that my children would be good readers,
I began teaching phonics to Rebecca, then five, and Kevin, then
three. Sure enough, within six weeks, they were reading. Now I was
convinced of one truth — that phonics knowledge is essential
to reading — and slowly, my mind opened to the possibility
that there might be other "truths" out there.
I met many Christians in the education reform movement.
Most of their words of faith fell on deaf ears. But a few words
sneaked through my defenses, especially those of Bob Sweet, founder
of The National Right to Read Foundation, a pro-phonics organization.
First through his actions and later with words, Bob planted the
seeds of faith in me.
The first big step in my Christian walk came when
my husband Tom and I enrolled our children in a phonics-based school
in September 1996. The only phonics-based school we could afford
was a Christian school. We were both worried our kids might become
"religious fanatics," so I carefully studied the Christian
curriculum used at the school and was relieved to discover the textbooks
were factual and rigorous.
The decision to enroll Rebecca and Kevin in a Christian
school was significant, because as they learned about the Bible,
so did I. My sister Pamela, a Christian for seven years, gave them
a Beginner's Bible, which I read cover to cover. I'm embarrassed
to say most of the stories were new to me.
For many months in 1997, I felt pulled towards church
but I resisted. My husband and children were already attending Catholic
church each Sunday, but I stayed home. I liked sleeping late on
Sunday mornings. And I did not like church (so I thought).
On Sunday, October 6th, 1997, I stopped vacillating.
At the time, our children attended a Christian school, so I decided
to try the non-denominational Protestant church attached to the
school. For the first time in my life, I felt something spiritual
and uplifting while in church. The pastor's powerful sermons and
music inspired me.
The Door Flung Wide
I started reading the Bible as a historical document.
As a student of ancient and medieval history, I felt the story presented
in the four Gospels was compelling. What a revelation for me to
read the Gospel of John, especially when Jesus says to Doubting
Thomas: "I am the Way and the Truth and the Life. No one comes
to the Father but by me. If you had known me, you would know my
Father also; henceforth you know him and have seen him" (John
14:6). As soon as I read these words, I wrote them down and memorized
them. Now I saw the Bible is not just a historical document, but
the repository of the Truth. After reading the rest of the Gospel
of John, I said to myself, "Jesus Christ is the Son of God."
But thirty years of atheism were hard to shake off.
I was beginning to know God through the study of the Bible, but
I did not love him and I certainly did not serve him. I was clinging
to a ledge of logic and reason, afraid to let go. I wanted to surrender
to God and His will, but I didn’t know how. I needed faith;
I had heard the word, but I had never experienced it. One night,
after hours of Bible study with my sister Pam, I lay in the dark
and prayed for the first time in thirty years, "Lord, send
me faith. I want to believe in you." I opened the door and
God poured faith into my yearning heart. As Jesus promises us, "Behold,
I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens
the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me"
(Revelation 3:20). Faith was God’s merciful gift to me. Without
faith, how could I believe in things not seen?
For about six months, I attended the Protestant
church attached to my children's school. One Sunday, as I sat in
my Bible study class, my teacher began disparaging the use of commentaries,
claiming the Holy Spirit reveals the true meaning of each Bible
passage to each individual. I said, "Each person says the Holy
Spirit tells him what a particular passage means, yet each interpretation
is different. Who is right? They can't all be right, since the Holy
Spirit is God and God cannot contradict himself. Why are we trying
to re-invent the wheel? Certainly in 2000 years of Christianity,
others have already correctly interpreted the Bible. Why don’t
we look at what St. Augustine has to say?"
My teacher responded, "St. Augustine is a little
too Catholic for me." These words revealed the anti-Catholic,
anti-historical bias pervading his thinking. He thought he could
discover some truth about the Christian faith that others had not
already discovered centuries ago. I knew I was no match for the
magnificent theologians — St. Augustine and so many others
— who had spent 2000 years refining the Christian faith.
On This Rock
A friend loaned me the book, Surprised by Truth,
edited by Patrick Madrid, which describes the conversion stories
of many who asked the same question as I: Who has the authority
to interpret the Bible? The answer came in the words of Jesus as
He gives His disciple Simon a new name:
"And I tell you, you are Peter and on this
rock, I will build my church, and the powers of Death shall not
prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of Heaven,
and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever
you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven" (Matthew 16:18
- 16:19).
The new name Jesus chose for Simon means "Rock."
The word "Rock" is "Cephas" in Aramaic, the
language Jesus spoke. When the New Testament was written, "Cephas"
was translated into Greek as "Petros," which was later
translated into English as "Peter." So what Jesus said
to Simon is, "I tell you that you are Rock and on this rock,
I will build my church…." Jesus here is speaking about
one church, not many churches.
In ancient times, a king handed keys to his prime
minister to show he was giving authority to that minister over all
others. When Jesus handed the keys to Peter, He gave authority to
Peter, the first Bishop of Rome, over all other Christians. When
Jesus gave Peter the power to "bind and loose," He gave
Peter the authority to make binding decisions.
Only one church has existed since Jesus spoke those
prophetic words to Peter in the Gospel of Matthew: the Catholic
(which means "universal") Christian Church, with the Bishop
of Rome, also known as the Pope, at its head. All other Christian
denominations are splinters of the original Catholic Church, or
are splinters of splinters. None of these denominations recognize
the Bishop of Rome as its head. Once I realized Jesus made Peter
(and his successors) the earthly head of His Church, I said to my
husband, "I may have to become Catholic."
I immersed myself in Catholic apologetics and theology.
I listened to Scott Hahn's tape series, Our Father's Plan; listened
to Father John Corapi's tape series, The Teaching of Jesus Christ;
and read Karl Keating's book, Catholicism and Fundamentalism. On
Easter day 1998, we attended Mass at the Basilica of the National
Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, D.C. During the
processional, tears came to my eyes as I watched the priest swing
the censer, for I remembered our prayers are like incense wafting
up to Heaven. As we sang the glorious hymn Jesus Christ is Risen
Today, love for God filled my heart until it hurt. For the first
time, I understood what was happening during Mass. The Mass is not
just a Protestant service with priests; the Mass is the hour during
which Jesus Christ becomes present on the holy altar — body,
blood, soul, and divinity — under the appearance of bread and
wine.
I Was Blind, But Now I See
Each morning I opened my eyes, saying to myself,
"This is the day that the Lord has made, let me rejoice and
be glad in it." Through study, I was beginning to know God;
through the Mass, I was beginning to love God. Now I wanted to serve
God by keeping His commandments. As the scales fell from St. Paul’s
eyes, so the scales fell from my eyes. I saw how corrupt my life
was in the light of the 10 Commandments. I began a massive purge
of rock music, videos, TV shows, and books that glorified stealing,
lying, adultery, fornication, homosexuality, masturbation, secular
humanism, and atheism. The most objectionable items I threw away;
other items I gave away. It was a pleasure to trash my CDs by the
rock singer Madonna, whose song Like a Virgin is one of the most
offensive ever recorded; I can’t believe I ever listened to
that junk.
In the seemingly innocuous Disney video Aladdin,
I noticed the hero is an unrepentant thief who lies; the heroine
Jasmine is a rebellious teenager who disobeys her father and runs
away. In the clearly subversive Disney video Hercules, the heroine
Megara works for Hades, the Greek god of the underworld, lying and
tricking Hercules repeatedly. Why had I ever exposed my dear children
to these twisted messages?
The immorality of most TV shows hit me like a sledgehammer.
I stopped watching Seinfeld not long after viewing the notorious
episode that revolved around which character could go longest without
masturbating. The Drew Carey Show, innocent enough in its first
season, began to center on homosexual themes, using humor to desensitize
me. Nature shows I used to enjoy now assaulted me with blatant humanist
messages: humans evolved from sea slime without the need for a Creator;
humans have no right to intrude into the pristine world of animals.
As a family, we set our TV to Mother Angelica’s EWTN Global
Catholic Network more than a year ago and generally stopped watching
secular TV.
Any book I would not want my nine-year-old daughter
to read had to go. That included most modern romances, science fiction
and detective novels. But surprisingly, it also included a well-known
set of history books by historian Will Durant. A friend had warned
me Will Durant was an atheist; this became obvious when I read the
chapter on the life of Jesus Christ in his book Caesar and Christ.
Yet even an atheist like Will Durant observed that no event has
had a greater effect on millions of people than the life of Jesus
Christ. I vowed not to read history written by atheists. Christ
the King is the Lord of History, as Catholic historian Anne Carroll
demonstrates so convincingly in her book by the same name.
Faith Precedes Understanding
After purging my possessions, I turned to the much
harder job of purging my attitudes and habits. My sister Pam loaned
me a pro-life video showing babies in the womb — alive, kicking,
and sucking their thumbs. When the tattered remains of an aborted
baby flashed across the screen, I knew abortion was murder. But
I still wondered why women who are raped or who are victims of incest
must bear children conceived in those circumstances. But God spoke
through the Catholic Church and taught me no child may be aborted,
whether conceived by force or not. After I accepted that life begins
at conception, it followed that each soul belongs to only one body;
hence, there can be no reincarnation.
The moral teaching I found hardest to accept was
the prohibition against contraception. I read the Bible passage
describing the sin of Onan, who spilled his seed on the ground rather
than risk impregnating Tamar. I was surprised to discover that before
1930, all Christian denominations universally understood this passage
to condemn all forms of contraception, from withdrawal to barrier
methods such as condoms. In 1930, at the Lambeth conference in England,
the Anglican church was the first denomination to allow contraception
within marriage. In the decades to follow, every other mainstream
denomination followed suit — all except the Catholic Church.
I found myself wondering why the Catholic Church
alone stood firm against birth control. What could be wrong with
it? Then my husband loaned me the Feminism and Femininity tape series
by Catholic writer and professor Alice von Hildebrand. For the first
time, I heard a powerful argument against birth control and discovered
Pope Paul VI had prophesied in Humanae Vitae that birth control
would lead to widespread sexual immorality, the acceptance of abortion,
and the decay of the family. Realizing what could happen if we accepted
this teaching, I said to my husband, "I don’t want twelve
children." I was completely closed to life — I didn’t
want even one more child (two were enough, I thought). I was afraid
and didn’t understand why birth control was wrong, yet I wanted
to submit to God’s will. Faith precedes understanding, as the
saying goes. At age 37, I stopped using birth control in July 1998,
expecting to immediately become pregnant. Nothing happened. As the
months passed, I began to yearn for another baby or two or three,
but I haven’t become pregant in more than a year (God has a
sense of humor, I guess).
God is Not a She
Excited about becoming a Catholic Christian, I enrolled
in catechism classes at our Northern Virginia parish. The first
day of class, I got a shock when the Religious Education director
said we can refer to God as she and the Church as he. "But,"
I said, "Jesus told us to pray to our Father, so we should
refer to God as he. Since Jesus is a man and the Church is the bride
of Christ, the Church should be referred to as she." The Religious
Education director reprimanded me for being intolerant.
I soon discovered many in the Catholic Church, including
catechists and priests, don't know the core teachings or they don't
believe them. I was desperate for traditional Catholic teaching,
but I didn't know where to turn. In June 1998, Dick Black, a member
of St. Catherine of Siena parish in Great Falls, Virginia, invited
my family to a Latin Mass. As the priest chanted the prayers, I
felt connected in a powerful way to the ancient Catholic Church,
to the Mass of twenty centuries. After attending services at St.
Catherine's for a month, we asked for and received permission to
switch to that parish. I continued instruction at St. Catherine's
under the guidance of Father Franklyn McAfee and Father Richard
Guest, priests who teach the truth of orthodox Roman Catholicism,
not watered-down, feel-good lies.
After two years of studying early Church history
and the Bible, I am convinced that the Roman Catholic Church contains
the full truth of Christianity and that Jesus Christ gave authority
to Peter as the first Bishop of Rome. On the vigil of Easter, April
3, 1999, I was joyously received into the one, holy, Catholic and
apostolic Church.
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