Early Reflections on the Challenge of my Confirmation

I tend to not get very personal in this blog. Usually I reserve my posts and comments toward far-reaching and more cultural issues. Yet, today I find myself with a strange compulsion to share something of a profoundly personal nature with my readers. This involves my journey of faith--what has brought me here, what my Confirmation means to me, and the many challenges I face as a result of it. I feel the need to write of this because, as the priest who confirmed me once told me, my story has now become part of the Church's story. A new faith strengthens and supports the faith of the Church. With this in mind, I share it.

As many of you are already aware, I grew up in a Southern Baptist household. My father, though Baptist, grew up in a very conservative community of the Central Church of Christ, which is an example of conservative Protestantism if ever one existed. They consider it sinful to worship using musical instruments; many of them have marched along with Jerry Falwell, and tune in frequently to Pat Robertson and Jimmy Swaggart. Overwhelmingly, my father still holds to the practices and beliefs of this faith. My entire extended family on my father's side still practices and worships in this community. He along with my mother have been involved with several Baptist communities for as long as I can remember. Their faith really is a beautiful one, this I cannot deny, but it also carries with it a pernicious strand of anti-Catholicism. My family believes that the Catholic Church is the "Whore of Babylon," and the Pope the Antichrist. They believe that the Catholic Church is a false religion that is being used by Satan to lead the world into damnation, as evidenced by all of the "idols" found in the average church. The sex abuse scandal a few years ago solidified their beliefs and see nothing in the Church but evil, hypocrisy, and anti-scriptural practices. To them, there is nothing good about Roman Catholicism.

I took furtively to the Baptist faith in my younger years. I developed a deep love of God and Scripture. Within God I found a profound source of joy and excitement; within Scripture I found the story that sustained my life. Eventually I came to the realization that I wanted to be a Baptist preacher when I was older, and I had planned on going through with that. Looking back, that is the only career I have ever felt any sort of peace about pursuing. Even in years to come, this remained the cornerstone of how I saw my life folding out, and I had really come to taste the desire of following God in His ministry.

At age 12, I decided to finally accept Jesus Christ "as my personal Lord and savior," and was baptized. Once the glow wore off, I began to sense an uneasiness. Somehow something horrible was missing: going to church began to feel like going to merely sing and hear someone talk for half an hour. There was a deadness to it that I never truly felt comfortable about. No matter how exciting the music was, no matter how energetic the worship, it all felt silly. It all felt like something was very wrong.

Adolescence came on, and by age 15 or 16 I began to feel a very bitter disillusionment about Christianity as a whole. I was not ready to give up on God, but I could not see myself going to church anymore. At this time, I could not wrap my head around several of the things the Baptists taught: once saved always saved, salvation by faith alone, the anti-authoritarian appeals, and the single-importance placed on Scripture. The idea of biblical literalism felt extremely specious, and some of the interpretation arising thereof I found particularly repugnant. This is roughly the time that the whole "Left Behind" phenomenon became a big hit, and as I read these books about the end of days, the ugliness behind much of it reared its head. I could not be Baptist anymore.

It was also around this time that I really began to feel the first heart-tugs from Catholicism. I never could follow through with this in any real manner--my family would have made sure of that. I didn't dare at this time contact a priest or religious to ask the burning questions I had begun to struggle with, and neither could any of my Catholic friends really explain to me what their beliefs or practices were (it took me until college to realize that a quinceanera is not, in fact, a sacrament). My interest went unnourished, and my disillusionment did not. By the time I was a high school senior, I had comfortably come to call myself an atheist.

This is what I went to college with. When I was looking for colleges, I wanted an environment that would not give me the streamlined B.S. found at most public universities. Most of the Protestant universities in my neck of the woods were much too conservative for me: Baylor, Abilene Christian, Lubbock Christian, Southern Methodist, Wayland, etc. In this search I found St. Edward's, a small Catholic university in Austin that [at that time, thankfully] wasn't very religious. So I applied, I got accepted, I attended.

My entire first year of college I remained an atheist. This, of course, was unknown to my parents, as were most of my activities during this time. However, I cannot say that I remained unchanged during this time. I cannot even begin to adequately describe what I mean by that. It certainly had nothing to do with the school: none of my professors had anything to do with a faith-informed perspective. St. Edward's was comfortably secular, and at that time I would not have wanted it any different. I suppose the only thing I can look to is that this longing, this magnetism that I felt toward the Church in my younger years never truly left. Though I thought of my faith as thoroughly extinguished and never to burn again, I ignored the smoldering coals that remained once the flames were gone. They were hungry. They burned in my heart for nourishment and sustenance, despite my obstinacy in tending to them. Once the fuel was gone, and the fire that had once burned within me was smothered, my heart had ceased giving off light. The heat, however, remained, and I spent as much time and energy opposing Christianity as I had spent loving it.

Despite the rampant secularism, the continuing denigration of Catholic identity in all corners of operation, St. Edward's was just sufficiently Catholic enough to spark something new in the furnace of my heart. I eventually "thought" myself back into Christianity, albeit a very impoverished notion of it. If I was to be a Christian, it would have to be in rejection to every single thing I had learned as a child. I had to be smarter than them, I had to be more "enlightened" than them. I could never recess into dogmatism or fundamentalism again, and for the most part, my re-found Christianity was more of a foil to all of this than it was a true love of God.

For this moment, I think God had all he needed in order to work within my heart. I encountered a certain kind of openness--not one that can be described as an openness of mind, but more an openness of spirit. This means that I eventually came to open my whole self to the person of God and to His will and His word. He began to speak to me in a very mysterious way: I could feel His presence in ways I never would have imagined before. Gradually, more and more, I began to sense a great chasm between myself and Him despite all of this. In this great chasm, I suffered my greatest sorrow. I wanted to run to Him so fast, so dearly. I could not. There was so much distance, that even if I spent my whole life in pursuit of Him, I would never reach Him. My greatest desire, my one true love, the only thing I could ever truly want, seemed like an impossible goal. This hurt deeply, and I prayed to God one prayer that I think changed my entire life: lying prostrate in my living room, I prayed aloud,

"God, I lay in the desire of perfect submission to your will and to your love. I dedicate my entire life to you, Lord, out of the desire to love you and you worship you. Here I am, Lord, begging for consecration to you. Please look mercifully on your sinful child, and mold me into the servant you wish to have."

This was nearly a year ago. At the time, I was already discerning the idea of becoming Catholic. Very shortly after this, I had an epiphany moment. I had no excuse anymore to hesitate making that decision. I had to be a Catholic.

I told my family at this point about this possibility. Needless to say, they were quite hesitant to discuss the issue. My father asked me bluntly, "Why don't you want to be Christian anymore?" When I asked what he meant, he said, "Why do you want to be Catholic? They worship Mary! They're not Christian!" What followed was a failed attempt to explain to him that Catholics in fact do not worship Mary, the whole notion of dulia and hyperdulia. In the end, he remained convinced that the Catholic Church was not Christian. After all, in order to hear Truth, one has to really desire Truth. Fortunately, one of my personality traits is that once I make a decision, I stick with that decision. No ifs, ands, or buts. This disheartening conversation would not mark the end of my struggle against whatever opposing forces would try to dissuade me. Nor would this disheartening conversation with my father be the last.

I continued down this road of spiritual journey and found such a peace within the Catholic Church that I could never truly describe it. Never before had I experienced God in such a real manner; never had I imagined the closeness I would anticipate with Him. I developed, among many things, a love of the magisterial teachings of the Church, a close and tender devotion to Mary, and an awareness of the role of the saints. Very early on, I decided I would take as my patron Saint Augustine because of his profound understanding of God's mercy and the similar conversion experiences we share. Even more profound in my relationship to Augustine is his relationship to his mother, Saint Monica, and his acquaintance with Saint Ambrose and how they, too, inform my spiritual life. The saints have become some of my closest friends. I regard them as among God's greatest gifts to His Church.

My life had begun changing rapidly. In the space of a year, I had adopted a lukewarm Christianity that developed into a profound love of the Church and most especially and most importantly the person of Christ. This last September, I had begun my preparations for full communion with an on-campus RCIA program. The following Easter, I would receive the sacraments of Reconciliation, Communion, and Confirmation. My heart fluttered constantly in anticipation as I longed for a profound closeness with God. I had also become more fully aware of the gifts He had entrusted me with. Within this realization, there was a big surprise.

This surprise is that I began to feel the full weight of a vocation within my heart. I had come to seriously consider the thought that God wanted me to become a priest for Him. In all honesty, the thought frightened the liver out of me. I had never seen myself in that role, in that capacity, in any real sense whatsoever. It was not something I would have even wanted for myself--I had come to expect the same things out of life that my family wished of me: a nice house on a hill with a white picket fence, with 2.3 children and a dog. At this time my previous desire to become a Baptist pastor came to the forefront: was that a foreshadowing, I wonder, of this feeling of vocation I feel now? As I searched my faith, my spirituality, and my desires, I realized that in all likelihood it was.

The surprising thing is that I had come not to view my Catholic faith as a rejection of my Baptist upbringing, but as a fulfillment of it. This notion crept up on me and before I was even aware, I was fully committed to this principle. All Truth is God's Truth. All who proclaim the name of Jesus speak some level of Truth. All who speak with the authority of the Gospel, who proclaim the Lordship of Christ, do so infallibly. I noticed that what I found in the Catholic Church was not a replacement for the Truth I had already known, but the fullness of that Truth. Everything I wished to serve and work for when I had intended to become a Baptist pastor, I still had. I just had a lot more worth serving and working for as well. It made sense to me that such a full Truth would require such a full commitment as that of a priest. Even more surprising than any of these other things is that I had felt a desire begin to grow in me, one that pushed me in the direction of a full and active vocational discernment.

A number of vocations directors and priests have remarked that it is quite unusual that I should be in the midst of both a conversion to the faith and a sense of vocation within the faith. I wholeheartedly agree with that assessment. I am aware of the inconsistencies of this situation. Yet it is not something I would feign a complete understanding of; it very well may be that I have a vocation to the priesthood, and it very well may be that I do not. I have no more a right to it than anyone else; it is purely, absolutely, and undeniably a matter of Grace and Grace alone. I will say this, however: If I had to make a decision right here, right now, as to the irreversible course of my life, I would unflinchingly decide to pursue the ordained priesthood.

Never while in this process of spiritual formation have I kept anything hidden from my parents. I have always desired for them to rejoice in the beauty of my faith, and perhaps even to join me in it (in their own way of course; I fear that to desire their conversion would be to place such an impossibly heavy cross on my shoulders that there could be no hope within it). I have struggled, sometimes successfully and sometimes not, to be as sensitive as possible to their beliefs and their concerns. At this point I desire a mutual understanding, where I would not be threatened by their beliefs nor they by mine. This in itself proves to be a monumental struggle.

Needless to say, the news of my possible vocation did not fly over so well with my family. Being Catholic is one thing; pursuing the priesthood was simply too much for them. My father told me that this is simply much too radical for him to support. He suggested that if I really want to "help people," that I find a line of work that would allow me to do so. "Be a psychologist!" he suggested. He did not and still does not believe that the life of a priest is something worth living.

I have tried not to place too much weight on the issue of a vocation. This is for a number of reasons: first of all, because I still have a long time to go before I'm even eligible to apply for seminary or a religious order (three years, as required by the Code of Canon Law). Second of all, because while my conversion and my vocation are intimately related, they still are separate issues that must be handled on their own terms. Third of all, because my conversion in itself will always remain in some degree of incompleteness and it, especially right now, deserves the bulk of my attention.

I continued with my sacramental preparation here on campus, and despite many of the frustrations I have dealt with because of it (i.e., women priests, open Eucharist, and so on and so forth), I grew more profoundly involved with the Catholic faith. The more I progressed in my faith, the more I came to realize that I do not belong at St. Edward's University anymore. The frustrations I have dealt with in class since my conversion began, the opposition I have faced from many of the students here because of my faith, and the general state of dissidence in contrast to my love of the Church's magisterial teachings I had come to realize are totally and completely uncharacteristic of what a Catholic education should be. I came to St. Edward's partly because it is not very religious--I am leaving St. Edward's mostly because it is not very religious. In the fall, I will be a student at Franciscan University of Steubenville in Ohio.

As my Confirmation day drew nearer, I grew more anxious for it. My Lenten fast was heartfelt and intense, as I realized not only a spiritual hunger that I had longed to satisfy, but also a very physical one. I had come to anticipate the Eucharist so much that I would find myself going without eating despite being hungry if for no other reason than that I knew it was not what I really wanted. It shocked me given how profound my longing for God had become, when I had realized that I wanted Him in my very body at all costs.

The weeks leading up to my Confirmation were not all joyful anticipation. The week before Holy Week, I was out of school for Spring Break and found myself in Amarillo spending time with my family, and I had planned to take care of my first confession while I was in town. The very first day I was there, my family's opposition was made very clear. Right out of the blue, my mother asked me forcefully, "Why in the world do you want to be a Catholic?" What followed was her every point of opposition to the Catholic Church--the abuses such as the Inquisition, the sex abuse scandal, its "harsh treatment" of women; its perceived ambivalence toward Scripture; the "idolatry" toward Mary and the Saints; her perception of Catholics as being not very nice people, and some of the worst sinners she has known. She expressed her concern that I was running from something, that I wanted to rebel against them in some way, and that I was even being deceived by Satan. "Satan works very underhandedly, Nathan. How can you be sure that this is not one of his tricks?" No matter what I told her, not matter how much I explained what the Church really teaches or what scriptural evidence exists for particular beliefs, she could not admit that this is not some trick of the devil. So firm is her opposition to the Catholic Church, that not even the scriptural promise of Christ appearing in the flesh during every Mass was enough to move her towards an understanding.

This highlighted for me one very important fact that my RCIA program never even alluded to: that to be a Catholic, you are taking a very firm stand in a very distinct way. The fullness of truth does not come without its costs. Our faith is not something that should work to make us comfortable where we are, rather, it is something that that should make us bitterly uncomfortable where we are whenever we are not fully in God's presence. There is no salvation without the cross.

The entire time I was in Amarillo, my family tried to talk me out of going through with it. They did not want me to be Catholic. It became very clear very early on that whatever hope I would have had for them to go to the Easter Vigil in order to be there for me as I came into full communion was fruitless.

I did however go through with my first confession, and it was a beautiful one. I spent half an hour before the service in prayerful preparation, and I prayed that I would come into a genuine remorse for all my sins so that I would cherish even more the Grace I would receive through this sacrament. I went to the Reconciliation Room, and confessed my sins to the priest. He then gave me my penance, which would be to offer a sacrifice to God out of contrition. I then knelt down and he said the words of absolution, and...no words. Just peace. Just the feeling of a great burden lifted from my shoulders. This was freedom, I thought to myself. To stand before God with no recourse to sin. To be free of the domination of Satan, and to stand corrected in perfect reconciliation with God and His Church. This, indeed, is true freedom.

The day after my first confession, I had to drive the eight hours back to Austin. The drive gave me ample time to think. I had a chance to really reflect upon the last three years of my life since being in college, how I was brought here to St. Edward's and how I am having to leave it behind for the greater glory of God. It let me reflect on where I am going--the possibility of a vocation, the burning desire I have to serve God and to grow closer to Him at all costs, and the personal transformation I have experienced through God's Grace. It also let me reflect on the many struggles I have endured and the many I am sure to encounter. Most especially, the struggles with my family became apparent. I thought of the words of Jesus:

"Do not think that I came to bring peace on the earth; I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I came to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and a man’s enemies will be the members of his household. He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me; and he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me. He who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life for My sake will find it." (Matthew 10:34-35)

Of course I do not mean to imply that I regard my family as being my enemies. What I do mean to say is that following Jesus will cause division; "my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you (John 14:27)." His peace is not the peace that would come from harmonious relationships with my family. His peace is something far more profound. His peace is that which allows me to rest in His love and in His presence and in His lordship. His peace is that which comes from the fulfillment of all my spiritual longings and desires, and in realizing that everything I have ever wanted, needed, longed for, or hoped for is really a true desire for Him. To stand for and with God is to stand in opposition to that which is not for and with God. My family, to be sure, stands for and with God, but not in the way I have been called to do so. Though I would not tell them this, and though many may not like the sound of this statement, I stand for and with God in a much more intimate way than they do. This of course has little to with being specifically Catholic per se, but in the breadth of my commitment to Him. That I would lay down whatever I possibly can for Him and His will. That I would submit so completely to Him, and do whatever He pleases. That I can feel such a close relationship with God that I may be able to converse with Him as if He were standing right in front of me in flesh and blood. That I can run into His arms and beg for mercy and forgiveness, and that I may praise His name with every action, word, and thought. Simply, to be with God in all ways at all times. That intimacy has come at a price, and that price is a harmonious relationship with my family.

I arrived back in Austin, and I continued preparing for the upcoming Easter Vigil. I was more aware of the full weight of this decision now, and the depth of the commitment I was about to make. Yet I felt overjoyed at taking the sacraments. The Triduum services came and I felt utterly swept up by their gravity, particularly the veneration of the cross. A great deal of my preparation now had to do with adorning myself in the full armor of God. I knew then that all of my spiritual life will carry with it a great amount of struggle. Especially with my family situation as it is, I could not afford to let this idea slip by. I had to be prepared. I had to pray for the strength and for the Grace to allow me to fight strongly for my faith and for my one true love. Even in the absence of my parents during my Confirmation, I had to know that they are not my enemies. They are and will always be my family, the people through whom I entered this world and came to know the name of Christ. They are and will always be a gift to me, and I a gift to them. My love for them will never grow dim nor will it be divided. Always I will pray and hope for reconciliation, even if I must cease being in their presence. God willing, I pray that it never comes to that.

The Easter Vigil came, and there are absolutely no words I could possibly imagine that would describe the experience. I stood in front of the congregation and made my profession of faith. The priest then announced that I am now in full communion with the Church, and standing alone before the altar, the loud applause broke out amidst a chorus of "Alleluia." Next, the presider took the oil and anointed me, and at last I was a confirmed Catholic. Though I had imagine tears would well in my eyes at this point--and almost did--something more profound happened inside of me. It was a peace, a joy, a boundless spiritual consolation that could not possibly be described in terms of mere feeling. My senses simply could not contain it, and simply shut off. I was in a different world, I was so overwhelmed with this sense of spiritual consolation that, though I could feel nothing with my senses, my spirit could feel it in overwhelming measure. When time came for Communion, I was the first to present myself, and received the Body and the Blood. It filled me with such warmth, with such a presence that I felt as if I was being lifted by a whole choir of angels into the heights of Heaven where I gazed upon the face of the Lord. I was so happy I thought my heart was literally going to explode and I would die right there. I returned to my pew, shaking, and knelt down. A smile the likes of which I have never experienced came unto my face and made a permanent home there. I prayed, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you" over and over again. I could think of nothing else to pray. There was nothing else I could think of saying. I realized later that what I had experienced that night, and what took a close friend pointing out to realize, was that this is great mystical gift: a spiritual ecstasy.

I have only spent a few days as a fully confirmed Catholic. Yet, before the consolation wears off and I am left to struggle with and for my faith in ways I have yet to imagine, I wanted to write down my experiences so I can remind myself and others of this amazing journey I have been on so far. The real journey, though, has just begun. The struggle is still very real and very present. My parents have, now that I have really gone through with this, no clue how to handle it. They may not believe in the sacraments, nor may they believe in the efficacy of a Confirmation, but they instinctively know that there is something ontologically different about me. There is something different about me at my very essence, my very person itself is changed irreversibly.

In the future, there are a number of things that are going to cause me more struggle. My continuing growth in the faith, my increasing imperative to pursue the possibility of a religious vocation, my upcoming and very close change of schools (and states, for that matter), and, most of all, how all of this will affect my relationship with my family.

The penance prescribed during my first confession was to offer a sacrifice to God out of contrition. I have prayed about it, and I have often wondered what sacrifice I want to offer to God. A year ago, I handed God my entire life and my entire will to His purposes. Perhaps--I am not saying this is what I have decided--but perhaps I may be able to use this as my sacrifice. That I will no longer pursue my own desires, that I may no longer look to my own interests, that I may place my very being and my very life into God's hands for His greater glory. If that means that I shall prefer poverty to wealth, then so be it; if that means I shall prefer sickness to health, then so be it; if that means that I shall prefer weakness the strength, then so be it; if that means I shall prefer being called insane then being esteemed as sane, then so be it.

I have not shared every event, every person, every instance that is crucial in bringing me to this point. There are so many people that I have helped bring me here that I would never have enough time to devote to every one of them. Not wanting to name some and not others, I have decided not to make specific reference. There are many events I have encountered without which I never would have come to this point, and not all of them I have discussed. What is important though is that I want to regard this story and the story I am continuing as one of freedom. I also want to regard it as a love story. It is a story of freedom because it tells of my liberation from the powers of darkness, the dominance of sin, and the dominion of Satan. It is a love story because it is the account of two souls and their search for each other. I pray, and I pray this will my whole heart and my whole being, that it someday will also be regarded as a story of salvation.