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Noah ... and a Flood of Grace Ed. note: Jessica, age 23, joined Miles Jesu in December 2006 and is a member of the ladies community in Chicago. Her unique path to the Catholic Church began when at the age of 13 she saw a T.V. documentary on Noah’s ark. Young though she was, she set off an a search for the truth, where Science inspired Reason to find Faith.
I grew up going to a place every Sunday called the Unitarian-Universalist Church. In its beginnings, the Unitarian faith was about as “Protestant” as one could get—it took the Reformation one step further and renounced belief in God as Trinity (hence “Unitarian”). Nowadays, the Unitarian-Universalist Church is synonymous with moral and religious relativism. The church we went to every Sunday was, as i grew to understand, just a meeting place for people who espoused whatever belief system they liked. There were atheists, agnostics, pagans, Wiccans, Buddhists, fallen-away Jews, and many fallen-away Catholics, all sipping coffee together after the service. One side-effect of such disbelief in the existence of absolute truth is a lack of morality. Unitarians will say that they have seven principles which govern their lives, and that these form a type of morality. But these principles are never explained. Thus, while a plaque in the Unitarian foyer told me i needed to respect each person’s human dignity, i had no idea what that meant, and was never held accountable if i “broke” it. Thus, as a Unitarian, it was very easy to form one’s own idea of morality, which can be far away from the truth. If God was spoken of, it was always in the context of “spirit” or “higher being.” During the Christmas service, for example, the D.R.E. wouldn’t let the youth choir sing any songs with “Jesus” or “God” in them. Thus, while still remaining a kind of religion, the faith our parents raised us in was more secular than spiritual. The Unitarians i knew spent their lives searching for truth without really wanting to find it, and i would be among their party today had not God found me. I wasn’t looking for Him. As a young teenager with little instruction in morality, i only cared about myself—i was a bad friend, thought i was “all that,”…and yet i felt like dirt. My conversion came as much of a shock to me as it did to the people i knew. This may come as a surprise to those valiant parents who prohibit their children from watching too much T.V., but that tube saved my soul. One day when i was 13, my dad was watching a news program on a major station when i happened to walk into the living room. The news lady was saying that some scientists found Noah’s Ark on the top of a mountain. I didn’t know many things about Judeo-Christian tradition, but i did know what Noah’s Ark was. Immediately, and without thinking anything else, what came to my mind was, “Oops. I guess it’s all true. I better go read my Bible.” I had thought about God before, and if He existed, but never in depth about Christianity. But this news program kindled something that probably was beneath the surface of my consciousness for a long time—here was proof in the existence of something the Bible said, and not proof about just any biblical story, but proof of the truthfulness of a wild story like Noah’s Ark. I looked at the screen, bewildered. I listened for a few more moments before leaving, so that my dad wouldn’t get the impression that anything had happened. Then, i nonchalantly walked upstairs to search for a Bible. (As a Unitarian, i didn’t think we had one.) I had this intense inquietude and i needed to find a Bible as fast as i could. If that news program was true, then it had just proved that the Bible was inspired by God. After a few moments of scouring our shelves in the study, i found it—the New Revised Standard Version—unobtrusively mixed in with novels and science books. Over the next few days and weeks, i started to read while nobody was around. I would shut the door in my room so that i could have time to hide the Book if footsteps drew near. Or, i would keep the Book under my pillow together with a flashlight at night so that i could read while everyone was in bed. I even learned how to read in the dark without the aid of a flashlight. Maybe because i grew up in a very secular environment, surrounded by spoken and unspoken biases against Christians, i was afraid of what would happen if my parents found out their daughter wanted to be a Christian. But it wasn’t only because of that news program that i wanted to read the Bible. If i was going to go to the trouble of being Christian, i wanted to be the right one. Although i came from a relativist religion and had been told all my life that there was no one, true faith (except, of course, Unitarian-Universalism), now that i believed in God, i knew that there had to be one. And i needed to find which brand of Christianity it was. I did know some things about Christianity already. The main point i knew was that there were two kinds—the Catholics and everybody else. Growing up Unitarian gave me bad impressions of both groups, and i laughed a little at both options. Either i would become a Bible-thumping Protestant fanatic who hunted for the souls of sinners, or that as a Catholic, i would profess a belief-system that Protestant-America laughed at and called un-biblical. Now that God had literally shown me that the Bible was inspired, i wanted to read the Bible to see if the Catholic viewpoint had any credibility. Without a real religious background, amazingly enough i had heard three things about the Catholic Church—that Catholics thought their Pope was a trustworthy leader because he was the successor of Peter, that they believed the Communion they received in church was actually Jesus, and that Mary was somehow important. If the Bible was inspired by God, then i would believe whatever i read in it and whosever doctrine made the most sense. I started with the Gospel of Matthew. I would try to read a half hour each day (in secret of course). I was finally able to read about Jesus—the real Jesus—and picture his interactions with the people around him, what he did for them and what they thought of him. Jesus was no longer a distant image; he was becoming more real. After a while, i got to the part (Mt. 17) where Jesus asked his disciples who they thought he was. Simon stepped up and told him, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” Jesus then told Simon something that i memorized ever since that first reading, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And so I say to you, that you are Peter and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld will not prevail against it.” Jesus had just changed Simon’s name to Peter, which meant “Rock.” My unbiased Unitarian opinion was that if Peter (that first Pope) was the “Rock”—and like a rock was dependable and durable—then today’s Pope must have this same gift of trustworthiness. After reading those lines i can’t describe the joy and even victorious satisfaction i felt. Right then, i could have believed anything the Catholic Church said, no matter what it was. I had found that the Catholic interpretation was the right one. It gave me an intense joy to know that i had finally found absolute truth and not anybody’s opinion. Even though already convinced, i kept reading to see what the Gospel had to say about the other two points. It was a blessing that the Gospel was set up chronologically, and that Matthew’s passage on the Last Supper came towards the end of his descriptions on Jesus’ life and miracles. In reading the Gospel, i took note that whenever Jesus did anything, it had both a physical aspect and a spiritual one. Whenever he told a story, he based it off of something tangible that people could relate to (a seed, a fig tree, or gathering the harvest), and then compared it to a spiritual reality. Or, whenever he healed someone, he always forgave them their sins first. So, when it came time for the Last Supper, and Jesus took that bread and told his disciples, “This is my body,” it made sense to me that communion was his actual body and blood, because it fit the way he did everything else. The physical piece of bread Jesus blessed had a deeper spiritual reality—it was Jesus himself. I had to wait many weeks until the end of John’s Gospel to find out what Catholics really believed about Mary. At the end of this Gospel i read that while Jesus was hanging on the cross, his mother was standing there with him, along with John. Then, from the cross, Jesus said to Mary, “Behold your son.” Jesus then told the disciple, “Behold, your mother.” As i read these words, i thought that Jesus was speaking directly to me: “Behold your mother.” I had a realization that John wasn’t just standing as himself, but that he was representing all Christians, including me. At that moment, i felt Mary become my mother. After discovering in the Bible the truth of these three fundamental Catholic beliefs that many said were not biblical, i wanted I didn’t really have a “dogma filter,” because there was no actual human being to teach me. But looking back, God protected this seed of faith, despite the fact that i couldn’t go to Mass and had no community of believers to assist me. Whenever i started to doubt the validity of Catholicism, God looked after me. For example, a year into my conversion, God sent me a great Catholic lay-apostle in the form of my high school history teacher. This man required excellence from his students. But he also gave us another gift—since the Catholic Church is linked to the majority of European history, he talked often about Catholic doctrine. He presented the Church’s teachings with such accuracy that he confirmed me in my original biblical interpretations and was a main reason for my perseverance. Another year later when i doubted the truth of the Church’s teachings, and even started to look into Mormonism, God used this situation to rebuild my faith. Through continuing to research more about the Church’s beliefs, God gave me much more conviction that Catholicism was the right path. After that faith struggle, wanting to enter the Church became my greatest desire. My dad, who grew up Catholic, but had fallen away, came back to the Church when i was 16. He asked me one Saturday evening if i wanted to go to Mass with him. It still is a marvel why he asked me this. I tried to hide my joy while telling him yes. He then qualified his question, saying that i wouldn’t have to do anything, i could just sit there. I told him, “okay,” while thinking that of course i was going to participate. We went to a church that was quite pretty—one which modern architectural design never touched. At Mass, i absorbed all of the priest’s movements, along with each genuflection and prayer of the congregation. There was something beautiful about the fact that everyone in that one place was doing the same thing together; they shared the same rituals and the same Faith that made these rituals important. My dad was probably surprised that i was participating, let alone that i knew many of the prayers. The next week, we went to Mass together again. The following week, i was planning to tell my mom of my desire to become Catholic. As we were getting ready Sunday morning, my mom came into the room to let me know that we were going to leave soon for the Unitarian service. I told her, “I’m not going to the Unitarian Church anymore. I want to go to Mass with dad.” She replied, “But we didn’t raise you to be Catholic!” The conversation turned into a flat-out refusal for me to become Catholic. Although it was hard to live with my mom’s refusal, it became a blessing. God used those two years before i went away to college to force me to develop a deeper relationship with Him, one in which He increased day by day the desire to enter His Church. I continued to pray and read the Bible (and watch EWTN) while no one was looking. I hid my faith so well that my mom thought i forgot all about Christianity. After two years, God’s time came; and He acted pretty quickly. The day after being dropped off at college, some dorm friends and i went in search of some much needed college decorative items. While out, the girl who lived opposite my room was talking about some Catholic classes that she was taking in town. “Catholic classes?” i asked. “Can i come with you?” She had a funny expression of surprise, but she then smiled and gave her agreement. We became good friends and we started preparing to enter the Church that Easter. She and i would go to the R.C.I.A. classes together every week, pray the Rosary, attend Mass, and in general support one another. She was even there (sitting helplessly in the back seat) when i told my mom i was taking classes to become Catholic. My mom’s initial response, by the way, was, “As long as you don’t become a nun.” The R.C.I.A leaders, together with my Christian friends at college became the faith-family i never had. Funnily enough, the same news-special that shot off my conversion years before also had played a significant role in the conversion of a couple of my friends. Going home for Christmas was very special that year. Though i couldn’t receive Jesus in Holy Communion, i was happy to The long months before Easter, i thought often about being baptized. If i was sad, thinking about being baptized would be the only thing that could make me feel better. And so, i spent many a bus-ride back home after a tough basketball game daydreaming about the waters of baptism instead of talking with my teammates. April 10, 2004 came too quickly. God brought me through five years of preparation, but i still didn’t feel ready for such a great gift. I still remember our parish priest, walking down the dark aisle of the Church and stopping every so often to raise the Easter candle and sing “Christ is our light!” I was the last to be baptized, and had the priest waited any longer i would have had a heart attack. At that font, below a hanging statue of the Divine Mercy, God made me His daughter, and i got off scot-free from 18 years of sin. The parish i spent the next three years in was and is very faithful to the teachings of the Church, and active in the Pro-Life Movement. Through their example and willingness to include me, the parishioners gave me a sweet taste of what God’s Church, as family, will be like in Heaven. While in that parish, God taught me to appreciate more the temporal gifts that He gives, especially the gift of life. My twin-sister and i had been “miracle babies,” not only because while in the womb we had a life-threatening syndrome that our parents didn’t know about, but also because we were immersed in a life-threatening situation that our parents did know about and had a very important role to play in. My grandfather, God rest his soul, out of ignorance counseled my mother to abort us even after we were “viable.” I’m sure that this truly lovely man who helped raise us (and who taught me to play ball), was afterwards thankful that he got the chance to know us. Thanks be to God that our mom chose life. Knowing that God thus called me even from my mother’s womb makes me think of all those children whom God is calling to the Catholic Faith but who never will get a shot This coming Easter i will be five years old (spiritually). The Catholic Faith is the greatest gift that anyone could have. It is beautiful to recite the same Creed with my brothers and sisters each Sunday. It is beautiful that i can live and worship God without fear. It is beautiful that God would give me a family (in Miles Jesu) that actually loves Him and wants to help me save my soul and other people’s souls. It is even beautiful that instead of being afraid to make the Sign of the Cross, i’m instructed on how to make it with more devotion. Often during the day, and especially at Mass, God brings to my mind everything He did in order to bring me to this point, and i think, “i can’t believe i’m here; i shouldn’t be here.” But thanks be to God that i am. |
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Copyright 2012 Miles Jesu. All rights reserved. | |
After playing basketball for most of
one’s life, a person starts to see sports analogies almost everywhere—one’s own 