My Ongoing Slow Motion Conversion to Catholicism

Where was I now?

I suppose there was some component of rebellion in my initial interest in Catholicism (something better suited, in a historical sense, to Protestants). It was a rebellion against what I had found to be an empty noisiness in the Charismatic churches; or rather, there seemed to be a lot of generally pleasing noise in the form of praise songs (complete with guitars, drums, bongos, saxophones, trumpets, symbols and whatever else would clatter or blare), and then nothing. Or worse than nothing sometimes.

I had the feeling that some of these people, especially those in leadership positions, were flaunting ignorance, of history, of philosophy, even of Jesus himself (though of course they knew it not), as if it were some sort of badge of merit. How could they tell us to burn JD Salinger? The Catcher in the Rye? Had they ever read it? What was their big issue about the kinds of movies we might watch? Was the peace and purity of Mary Poppins really superior an honest approach toward comprehending the world, however fallen, the heart, however broken?

Yes, I wanted more and more to know Jesus, to see him in action, and yet I was getting farther away rather than nearer. My wife was also getting farther away--from me, that is. She began to talk about the Lord coming in the clouds any time now, she began to talk about flying up to heaven, she began to listen to Christian radio broadcasts predicted the immanent advent of this same Hope of Glory. Next week, in fact. And somehow there were to be aliens involved. And angels. A the sounding of a trumpet that would be heard worldwide.

Living yet in my mind, being yet dead in the spirit, this was way too much for me to swallow, let alone digest. I decided to quit the whole thing. And then I happened to read something else that made sense. A little book on Catholicism.

And I said, Hmm ... hold on a sec ....