Epilogue: 100 Days Catholic

July 17, 2023, Ordinary Time

It has now been over three months since I was confirmed, and almost two months since I’ve made any changes to this document. In that time I’ve completed my masters in theological studies, turned 25, begun my full-time job at the Aquinas Institute for Catholic Life at Princeton University, and started renting a house in Princeton. It turns out that life as a Catholic is made up of basically the same things as Protestant life. But like the same scene set to different music, somehow everything around me has taken on a new aspect. And that is what I want to pause and reflect on here. 

I admit at the outset: I miss the Evangelical world. I miss it even though I’m still attending (and slated to continue teaching the Bible at) Stonehill Church here in Princeton. Part of it is just missing Whitworth—nothing quite beats forty to sixty college kids belting out praises to Our Lord at 10 PM on a Tuesday. But part of it is also the pain of knowing I will never be either doctrinally Protestant or (fully) culturally Catholic. I still believe wholeheartedly that one day God may “bid our sad divisions cease.” The gathering in of Protestant Christianity to the warm breast of Rome would be a world-shaking sign that nothing will ever be lost. God has done great things among our separated brethren, and I continue to pray that one day those great things will find a permanent heritage in their true homeland. So, I miss where I came from, and I still feel like that refugee fleeing a foreseen flood. But it is better to find refuge in Rome than be underwater in Geneva. 

I miss the Evangelical world. Yet I wouldn’t ever think of trading the Eucharist for it. When I took first communion on Easter, something happened that I cannot explain, only describe. The moment I came into contact with the Blessed Host, all the things Catholic and Orthodox theologians say about the Eucharist being the center of the universe, the height and summit of Christian living—it suddenly just made sense. No knowledge was revealed to me, no particular emotion felt. It just made sense. In a world of “I love that for you” and “I’m glad you find that meaningful,” I cannot stress enough how plain this experience was. “Experience” is almost too strong a word. 

I have noticed an interesting trend in the Gospels. When Christ performs a miracle, it always seems to happen as the narrator blinks. The big moment seems to escape between one word and the next. The servant goes to draw out the water from the foot washing basin, pours it into the goblet, and somehow, somewhere in there, it became quality wine. The disciples begin distributing a few fishes and bread loaves, and, somehow, there’s always more when they reach. One moment the woman is stretching out her hands, the next moment she’s checking herself to find the bleeding stopped. Presumably, the liquid in the basins changed color—where’s the change? The bread must have popped into existence. When’s the pop? The wound must have closed. How did the flesh become whole again? There are no bright lights or elaborate words or dramatic sounds. It comes between heartbeats. The supernatural escapes our notice and we’re left with only the evidence of its passing. There is wine, there is bread, there is flesh. One moment I did not understand why the Apostolic Churches make such a big fuss about the Eucharist. The next moment I did. 

I do not know whether this counts as miraculous, and maybe the fact that the next few times I took communion there were echoes of that moment means it was a purely natural grace. But of one thing I am sure: I would never, under any circumstances, return to life without the Eucharist.

Having had some time on the Catholic side of the Tiber has also given me a chance to reflect on what I wrote in my original essay. I still stand by all the theological content, but I made two mistakes. First, I sold short how difficult it would be to hold on to both parts of my spiritual DNA. Being a “Reformation Catholic” can be both lonely and painful, even if the people around you are wonderful. Second, my suspicion that it would be a difficult path led me to make a concession that has been seized on far too quickly. I said in the main essay that I do not recommend every single Protestant follow my lead. What I meant was that there are some for whom this would present a serious risk of spiritual shipwreck, and that each should exercise discernment to seriously discover whether God might be calling them to stay or come. Unfortunately, being positioned near the end of the essay, it was taken by many of my Protestant readers as an easy way out of the cognitive dissonance created by a dozen or so preceding pages about the Reformation’s slow death. I certainly did not want to give anyone permission to exempt themselves from the grueling process of considering Return. 

In fact, I have come to see that not only should I nuance this point, I should perhaps put it more forcefully. The structures for Protestants to return to the Mass en masse do not currently exist. But the Anglican Ordinariate did not come into being because Rome woke up one morning and decided it would be a good idea. There was a long history of Anglican parishes asking for admission to communion with Rome. Protestants, particularly Evangelicals with lots of energy, will be key voices inside the Catholic Church preparing the way for large-scale reunification. Don’t you remember the parable of the unjust judge? Or the neighbor who already has his whole family settled into bed? You must keep asking, says Jesus. You must keep asking. I know you are comfortable in your local nondenom-Lutheran-Reformed-Independent-Baptist-Bible-Fellowship-Pentecostal-Episcopal Church of Christ, but you have been entrusted with gifts that should be brought in. And whether you have a Ph.D. in theology or your education runs no farther than the Bible and what I’ve written here, I charge you not to let yourself off the hook. Marcus recently said to me that were it not for the firm desire that I should have all of God’s graces available to me in the Sacraments, he would not have had the heart to persist in arguing for the Catholic Church over against my Evangelical Presbyterianism. Don’t miss the Eucharist only because the journey there is costly. You’ve much to gain, much to give; the question left is whether you have the strength of will to do it. 

A hundred days went by quickly. I’ve seen the Faith unfold to reveal new riches, seen the Bible in more color and detail than I knew was possible. And yet, I know I still stand at the threshold. I am myself one knocking. I am learning things that my Catholic friends have known since their days in diapers, a humbling experience for someone used to being consulted on these things. At the same time, I am constantly teaching them points that should be self-evident about Christianity, a fact that sometimes tempts me to despair. So many Protestants, especially ministers, warned me with a trace of bitterness that there is just as much in-fighting, as many embarrassing representatives, and all the rest of sin’s diseases in the Catholic Church as in Protestantism. And they are right. The pathologies are different, but they are there, excepting only sectarianism (something Paul once pleaded with us against in the name of Jesus). It turns out Israel’s lesson holds true: fallen humans are fallen even in divine institutions. But on the whole, I am untroubled. A hundred days have passed, thousands will follow. But such is a trifle to the coming glory of life with the Triune God, now and forever, world without end.