Passage from Blessed John Henry Newman's Apologia

As a convert to the Catholic faith, I understand the perfect peace and contentment and the coming into port after a rough sea which Newman describes here.  I am so grateful and, like Blessed Newman, I have never had one doubt.

"FROM the time that I became a Catholic, of course I have no further history of my religious opinions to narrate. In saying this, I do not mean to say that my mind has been idle, or that I have given up thinking on theological subjects; but that I have had no variations to record, and have had no anxiety of heart whatever. I have been in perfect peace and contentment; I never have had one doubt. I was not conscious to myself, on my conversion, of any change, intellectual or moral, wrought in my mind. I was not conscious of firmer faith in the fundamental truths of Revelation, or of more self-command; I had not more fervour; but it was like coming into port after a rough sea; and my happiness on that score remains to this day without interruption." 

-Source: Blessed John Henry Newman's Apologia, chapter 5

O God, who bestowed on the Priest Blessed John Henry Newman the grace to follow your kindly light and find peace in your Church; graciously grant that, through his intercession and example, we may be led out of shadows and images into the fullness of your truth. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,one God, for ever and ever.

– Collect for the Feast of Bl. John Henry Newman

I Am A Convert

by Ouida Tomlinson, SFO

(Written April 1998)

I am a convert to the Roman Catholic Church. When I think about it, thanksgiving for my conversion fills my heart. I take a deep breath and whisper, “Thank you, Lord, thank you, thank you.” I want to play two sticks like Francis. I want to sing of “la joie parfaite” and dance. I want to tell everyone how good the Lord is and how he has blessed me by bringing me home. The gratitude never ceases. The joy never stops. I am overwhelmed with it. Come! Celebrate with me the joy of our faith!

I converted at the Easter Vigil Mass in April, 1994. It was not easy to leave my Protestant church, husband, family and friends. I was the only one in my RCIA class who cried while sharing my story. For most of them, it was an occasion of spouses and families uniting, but for me, I was experiencing the broken body of Christ in leaving others behind. The Lord opened the door, and I knew without a doubt that he was telling me to no longer delay making the decision. (I was a 1991 RCIA dropout.)

Initially, I felt like a child in a room with many doors and cabinets. The Church was the room, and every time I opened a new door, there were blessings and gifts and surprises. How rich we are! What spiritual wealth! Beginning with the Easter Vigil Mass, grace upon grace upon grace poured down from heaven and has never stopped.

I am no longer frustrated or searching for a home. Before, there was always a hunger and desire for more than was being offered and a desire to surrender and commit more than was being asked. I have a certain peace for the first time since I was eleven years old. I was baptized that year but never felt content in any church I joined (Baptist, Presbyterian and Episcopal). Although each has blessed and taught me and helped me along my journey, it was never enough. There was always an emptiness. I felt that I was walking through the valley of the dry bones of Ezekiel. My heart cried out, “I thirst.” The Reformation threw away too much. Protestant churches have been stripped to the bone.

During the months prior to my conversion, the local Protestant church I belonged to was experiencing one of its periods of great division and vicious anger among its people. I wrote that church’s bishop, a friend of many years, and referred to a book that I had read on desert spirituality, Soul Making, by Alan Jones. I quoted my favorite passages from the introduction to Soul Making to the bishop. Some of the passages were: “I find it increasingly difficult to feel at home with my fellow believers. . . . I want a kind of Christianity that can be embraced with both passion and intelligence. . . . I want a gutsy, old-fashioned, demanding religion with no compromise and no nonsense. I want a great deal. Often, I feel that as yet, I have nowhere to lay my head.” Well, as a Roman Catholic and Secular Franciscan, I have what I wanted, and although the road is hard at times, I am at home. Now I have a place to lay my head.

My soul is at rest. I experience a sense of great serenity knowing that as a Roman Catholic, I am in the splendor of truth. I have the fullness of the faith. I have the seven sacraments. I have the Eucharist and the Real Presence. I can stand on the authority of the Church and willingly submit to its authority. It is not built on shifting sand but on solid rock, on Sacred Tradition and Scripture. It needs no defense but stands on its on. If it falls into error, the Holy Spirit corrects, and someone like Saint Francis is sent to lead us back and to rebuild.

Then there is the comfort. In all my trials and suffering, in deaths and losses, I experience comfort at a more profound level now within the Church. There is also a great sense of safety in all things, both physical and spiritual. Our mother, the Church, carries us in her womb, ultimately to be surrendered to the Father.

Catholics, never cease giving thanks for the Church and do not compromise your faith. Stand firm with your head high. Never cease praising God for the gift. Taste and see that the Lord is good. Recall the words of St. Francis as he was dying of the necessity of holding to the faith of the holy Roman Church.

Today, as I walk with Jesus, living my Christian life as a Roman Catholic and Secular Franciscan, life is flooded through and through with joy and gladness. My husband converted a couple of years after I did. We owe much to our Catholic friends. They helped us on our way by patiently loving us and accepting us where we were and by showing us, through their example, that they had something we wanted and that something was their Catholic faith. I owe much to my friend, Mary . . ., then Episcopalian, now a parishioner of St. Charles Borromeo Catholic Church, who said to me in 1987, “Come with me to the Catholic Charismatic Conference. They have nice music.” When she saw the look of terror on my face, she added reassuringly, “We can sit in the back.”

My cup overflows. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” (Psalm 23:6.)

"I Had No More Idea Of Becoming A Catholic Than Becoming a Cannibal"

Are you a convert to the Catholic faith? If so, perhaps you can relate to the title of this post. I invite your comments and would love to hear from you. The title quote is from the writings of G. K. Chesterton. My husband and I are converts. Every time we read Chesterton's comments on conversion to the Catholic Church, we laugh and look at each other knowingly, telling some of the stories again of our journey into the Church. We read the poem and are filled with thanksgiving and praise. Our name is Lazarus and we live.

G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936) was an English author. He was one of the most well-known and beloved writers of his time. He was also a convert to the Catholic faith. When asked why he became a Catholic, he replied (in Autobiography), "To get rid of my sins."

Chesterton also wrote a longer answer in his book, The Catholic Church and Conversion. Converts and cradle Catholics will find this book both enlightening and entertaining. Chesterton wrote with great insight and marvelous wit. Many converts will smile knowingly when reading his statement, "I had no more idea of becoming a Catholic than of becoming a cannibal."

In describing the conversion process in The Catholic Church and Conversion, Chesterton said that there are three stages that a convert goes through. In the first stage, the convert imagines himself to be entirely detached or even indifferent but feels that he ought to be fair to the Church of Rome. The convert wishes to do it justice, chiefly because he sees that the Church suffers injustice.

The second stage is: "that in which the convert begins to be conscious not only of the falsehood but the truth and is enormously excited to find that there is far more of it than he would ever have expected. . . . This process, which may be called discovering the Catholic Church, is perhaps the most pleasant and straightforward part of the business, easier than joining the Catholic Church and much easier than trying to live the Catholic life. It is like discovering a new continent full of strange flowers and fantastic animals, which is at once wild and hospitable."

The third stage, according to Chesterton, is perhaps the truest and most terrible because the person is trying not to be converted but has come too near to the truth, which is like a magnet with the powers of attraction and repulsion. Describing this stage, Chesterton says that it is impossible to be just to the Catholic Church because once men cease to pull against it, they feel the tug towards it.

The moment they cease to shout it down they begin to listen to it with pleasure. The moment they try to be fair to it they begin to be fond of it. But when that affection has passed a certain point it begins to take on the tragic and menacing grandeur of a great love affair. The man has exactly the same sense of having committed or compromised himself; of having been in a sense entrapped, even if he is glad to be entrapped. But for a considerable time he is not so much glad as simply terrified.

Converts may also remember the same discovery Chesterton describes with this statement: "Only, when he has entered the Church, he finds that the Church is much larger inside than it is outside."

Chesterton was received into the Catholic Church in 1922. After receiving his first Communion, he wrote a poem called "The Convert," presented below.

THE CONVERT

After one moment when I bowed my head

And the whole world turned over and came upright,

And I came out where the old road shone white,
I walked the ways and heard what all men said,
Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed,
Being not unlovable but strange and light;
Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite
But softly, as men smile about the dead.
The sages have a hundred maps to give
That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,
They rattle reason out through many a sieve
That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:
And all these things are less than dust to me
Because my name is Lazarus and I live.
--G. K. Chesterton--
_____________________________________________

Source for quotations from The Catholic Church and Conversion and for the poem, "The Convert": G. K. Chesterton's Works on the Web

See also: Concordia Ministries on the Why Catholic page.

My Journey Home

I am a convert to the Roman Catholic Church. When I think about it, thanksgiving for my conversion fills my heart. I take a deep breath and whisper, “Thank you, Lord, thank you, thank you.” I want to play two sticks like Saint Francis. I want to sing of “la joie parfaite” and dance. I want to tell everyone how good the Lord is and how he has blessed me by bringing me home. The gratitude never ceases. The joy never stops. I am overwhelmed with it. Come! Celebrate with me the joy of our faith!

I converted at the Easter Vigil Mass in April, 1994. It was not easy to leave my Protestant church, husband, family and friends. I was the only one in my RCIA class who cried while sharing my story. For most of them, it was an occasion of spouses and families uniting, but for me, I was experiencing the broken body of Christ in leaving others behind. The Lord opened the door, and I knew without a doubt that he was telling me to no longer delay making the decision.

Initially, I felt like a child in a room with many doors and cabinets. The Church was the room, and every time I opened a new door, there were blessings and gifts and surprises. How rich we are! What spiritual wealth! Beginning with the Easter Vigil Mass in 1994, grace upon grace upon grace poured down from heaven and has never stopped.

I am no longer frustrated or searching for a home. Before, there was always a hunger and desire for more than was being offered and a desire to surrender and commit more than was being asked. I have a certain peace for the first time since I was eleven years old. I was baptized that year but never felt content in any church I joined. Although each has blessed and taught me and helped me along my journey, it was never enough. There was always an emptiness. I felt that I was walking through the valley of the dry bones of Ezekiel. My heart cried out, “I thirst.” The Reformation threw away too much. Protestant churches have been stripped of so much of their precious Christian heritage.

Several months before my conversion, I read a book on desert spirituality. It was entitled Soul Making, by Alan Jones. I identified with statements he made in the introduction: “I find it increasingly difficult to feel at home with my fellow believers. . . . I want a kind of Christianity that can be embraced with both passion and intelligence. . . . I want a gutsy, old-fashioned, demanding religion with no compromise and no nonsense. I want a great deal. Often, I feel that as yet, I have nowhere to lay my head.” Well, as a Roman Catholic and Secular Franciscan, I have what I wanted, and although the road is hard at times, I am at home. Now I have a place to lay my head.

My soul is at rest. I experience a sense of great serenity knowing that as a Roman Catholic, I am in the splendor of truth. I have the fullness of the faith. I have the seven sacraments. I have the Eucharist and the Real Presence. I can stand on the authority of the Church and willingly submit to its authority. It is not built on shifting sand but on solid rock, on Sacred Tradition and Scripture. It needs no defense but stands on its on. If it falls into error, the Holy Spirit corrects, and someone like Saint Francis is sent to lead us back and to rebuild.

Then there is the comfort. In all my trials and suffering, in deaths and losses, I experience comfort at a more profound level now within the Church. There is also a great sense of safety in all things, both physical and spiritual. Our mother, the Church, carries us in her womb, ultimately to be surrendered to the Father.

Catholics, never cease giving thanks for the Church and do not compromise your faith. Stand firm with your head high. Never cease praising God for the gift. Taste and see that the Lord is good. Recall the words of Saint Francis as he was dying of the necessity of holding to the faith of the holy Roman Church.

Today, as I walk with Jesus, living my Christian life as a Roman Catholic and Secular Franciscan, life is flooded through and through with joy and gladness. My hus­band converted a couple of years after I did. We owe much to our Catholic friends. They helped us on our way by patiently loving us and accepting us where we were and by showing us, through their example, that they had something we wanted and that some­thing was their Catholic faith.

My cup overflows. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” (Psalm 23:6.)

Peace and All Good,
Ouida Tomlinson, SFO
Little Scribe

Source: Concordia Ministries, Inc.