conversion Archives - Held By His Pierced Hands

A God Who Works Miraculous Conversions

Our God works miracles. However you feel about this week’s election,¹ I hope that all Christians can find hope in the promise of a God who can work all things for good. Personally, I’m praying–and praying hard–for powerful, miraculous conversion for our president and our president-elect. I’m praying for them both by name, something I’ve never done regularly, to my shame. And while action is necessary, I’m confident that the incessant prayers of God’s children will do great things.

But if you’re less optimistic than I, it may be encouraging to take a look at some of the great sinners that God’s mercy transformed into great Saints. We all know St. Paul, the persecutor-of-Christians-turned-Apostle, and Augustine, whose love child made it hard to ignore his indiscretions, but there are worse. Read on.

beato-bartolo-maria-longo — You’d never know he used to celebrate Black Masses.

Bl. Bartolo Longo was a satanist. Yup. Raised a Catholic, he fell away from the faith in college, but way worse than your kids did. He ended up involved in orgies and seances and was ultimately ordained a satanic priest. He did everything he could to lure people away from the Church, drawing them into his own occult practices. Fortunately for us all, he had friends and family who never gave up praying for him² and eventually the depression and paranoia he experienced in his time as a Satanist culminated in a total mental breakdown–an answer to prayer! Bartolo heard the voice of his late father urging him to return to God, made his confession, and dove in headfirst. He became a lay Dominican, proclaimed the truths of the faith in all sorts of public places, and spent the rest of his life preaching the rosary to people. He and his wife built a shrine to Our Lady of the Rosary–in Pompeii, of all places–and started an orphanage for the children of inmates. Despite persecution, his work in honor of the Blessed Mother was so successful that St. John Paul II referred to him as the “Man of Mary.”

If this is how terrifying she was post-conversion, imagine her before joy and peace and mercy.

St. Olga of Kiev was a murder princess. When her husband was killed, she invited representatives of the tribe that killed him to a court banquet and then buried them alive. Then she demanded that more come and burned them alive. She killed thousands more at a feast held in her honor and finally burned an entire city to the ground, inhabitants and all, after promising them peace. Having murdered just about everybody she could find, she apparently ran afoul of a Christian missionary and was converted. By that time, her young son had become king and refused to allow her to make the whole country Christian, but she did succeed in converting her grandson (St. Vladimir the Great) who dedicated the country to Christ and brought in bishops and missionaries to convert the people. And so Olga the murder princess is called Isapostolos (equal to the apostles) because it was through her great conversion that Russia became a Christian nation.

Don't cross that monk. — Don’t cross that monk.

St. Moses the Black was basically a land pirate. A former slave, he became the ringleader of a band of 75 outlaws. This guy delighted in murder, fornication, and revenge, once swimming the mile-wide Nile with a dagger in his teeth to knife a guy whose dog had barked at him. Eventually, his brigandry got the better of him and he ran to a monastery in an attempt to avoid the police. Once there, he was overcome by the love of Christ and begged to be received as a monk. It took him quite a while to adjust to life as a monk; once four robbers broke in and Moses beat their faces in before remembering himself. He then tied them up and took them to his abbot, sheepishly saying something like, “It used to be I woulda killed them, but I’m thinking that’s not how we do?” His monastic life was extremely difficult, as one might expect of a man accustomed to action and terrible sin, but he fought for years to overcome his temptations and ultimately became a priest and then an abbot himself, leading dozens of souls in the way of holiness. When another group of outlaws was approaching the monastery, Moses urged his men to flee, saying of himself, “Those who live by the sword must die by the sword.” He welcomed his murderers with open arms and was rewarded with a martyr’s crown.

Evidently elderly sex-addicts-turned-hermits aren't super concerned with fashion and hairstyles. — Evidently elderly sex-addicts-turned-hermits aren’t super concerned with fashion and hairstyles.

St. Mary of Egypt is often described as a prostitute, but that term is actually too generous. In fact, she refused to accept money for her services. She was a nymphomaniac. Having run away from home at 12, Mary begged on the street and spun flax to fund her hedonistic lifestyle. For 17 years she took pleasure in corrupting innocents, and when she met a man who was on his way to the Holy Land, she took his pilgrimage as a challenge and joined it with the intention of seducing every pilgrim in the group, whether willing or unwilling. Her depravity continued when she got to Jerusalem, until finally she attempted to enter the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Try as she might, she was unable to enter; suddenly, she saw herself for what she was and begged the Virgin Mary to intercede for her. When she then entered the Church, she looked upon the Cross and the Eucharist and begged God’s mercy. Then she retreated to the desert, where for 17 years she fought against passions and memories and desires. Finally, she was freed of her temptations and lived another 30 years of prayer and penance, having found peace at last. In the Byzantine Church, St. Mary of Egypt is so highly revered that her feast day is a Sunday. Think about that. In the Roman Church, nobody gets a Sunday. Even the Virgin Mary is only celebrated on Sunday if one of her solemnities happens to fall on a Sunday. Even in the Byzantine Church it seems that there are only 3 other Sundays dedicated to individuals. From nymphomaniac and rapist to one of the most revered Saints in the East–see how powerful our God is?

The change in his eyes is worth a thousand words.

Bl. Charles de Foucauld is a dear friend of mine, mostly because I’ve never seen Jesus eyes as powerful as his. But he started off a hot mess. Born a Viscount, he was orphaned by age 6 and an angry, hedonistic agnostic by 15. “I was all egotism, vanity, impiety, with every desire for evil,” he says. “I was, as it were, mad.” Too rich for his own good, he used his money on every sort of dissipation, particularly prostitutes whom he brought in daily for his amusement. Temporarily kicked out of the French army for debauchery, Charles eventually resigned from the military to become an explorer in North Africa. There he was intrigued by the faith of the devout Muslims he met, a seed that came to fruition through the Christian witness of his cousin Marie. Eventually he followed the longing of his heart into a Parisian church where he approached a priest to ask him a few questions. The priest refused to speak to him until Charles had made his confession, and his life was changed forever. “As soon as I came to believe there was a God, I understood that I could not do otherwise than live only for Him,” he said. Charles became a Trappist monk for a time, then the humble gardener for a convent of Poor Clares in Nazareth. Eventually, he was ordained a priest and went to the desert of Algeria where he lived a life of utter failure, unable to gather followers to the religious order he longed to form. He didn’t even make a single convert, seeking not to proselytize but to witness in a ministry of friendship. When he was killed, having refused to deny Christ, his body was left lying in the sand until recovered by French soldiers. As they collected his corpse, they discovered a monstrance with the Blessed Sacrament inside. The commander of the brigade climbed onto his horse, held the monstrance high, and led his soldiers in a 50 km Eucharistic procession through the desert, continuing the silent ministry of drawing souls to Christ that Charles had lived for three decades.

She looks so much like my grandmother, but that's neither here nor there. — She looks so much like my grandmother, but that’s neither here nor there.

Dorothy Day isn’t a Saint (yet) but she’s an incredible witness of conversion.³ Raised in a nominally Protestant middle class family in New York, San Francisco, and ultimately Chicago, Dorothy found herself drawn to faith and became a dedicated Episcopalian. Involvement in the Socialist movement in college led her to reject organized religion and Dorothy’s search for justice for the poor led her further and further away from faith. She became a Communist, living a lifestyle typical of her peers. In her biography, she suggests that her series of sexual partners, abortion, and suicide attempt were evidence of her heart’s frustrated longing for God, a longing that wasn’t muted by the happiness she ultimately found in a common law marriage and the birth of her daughter. She began regularly attending Mass and determined to have her child baptized, decisions that her partner reviled and which ultimately led to their separation. After this, Dorothy became more and more devoted to her faith and began to see her service to the poor as a service to Christ. With Peter Maurin, she founded the Catholic Worker movement, a movement of solidarity with the poor that exists around the world today. They published a newspaper, fought for workers’ rights, and lived in community with poor people of all sorts. A powerful activist who was several times arrested and even shot at for her work on behalf of integration, Dorothy found her strength in daily Mass and a commitment to contemplative prayer. She is a model of orthodox radicalism and a powerful witness to God’s power to transform.

So if you’ve got someone in your life who seems incapable of conversion, don’t despair! We come from a heritage of heinous sinners made great Saints by the miracle-working mercy of the Father. It can be discouraging to pray for someone year after year and see no change, but the testimony of the Saints is that God can answer those prayers in his time. Like the friends and family of Bl. Bartolo and Bl. Charles, like the victims of St. Mary, like the subjects of St. Olga, like the Christians in the dioceses of St. Thomas à Becket and Bl. Oscar Romero, let’s pray and pray and never stop praying. Lord, have mercy on us all and make us saints!

And believe me, I would have written this post regardless of who won. [↩]
Would that we were all such intercessors! [↩]
I also wanted to share more female Saints who had been terrible sinners, but I didn’t want them all to be prostitutes and adulteresses because women can be terrible in all kinds of ways. [↩]

St. Dominic Savio: What Have You Been Doing with Your Life?

Because God knew how far I could fall, he reached in and saved me from myself awfully early. My conversion was when I was 13, and since I don’t generally do things halfway, I was pretty serious pretty fast. I started reading the Bible and the Catechism all the way through and praying daily. By the time I was 16, I was going to daily Mass and praying the rosary every day. If you’d asked me at the time, I would have told you I was a really good Catholic.¹ But even at the time, I knew I was mostly going through the motions. I was doing what I knew was right, but my heart hadn’t been transformed. My approach to the faith was more competitive than contemplative–I wanted to be the best at Church so I could win. And given the “competition,” it didn’t seem to me that it would take much. So I patted myself on the back and continued judging and hating and ignoring the Lord. After all, I was good. There was plenty of time to be holy once I was grown. For a teenager, I was doing as much as the Lord could expect. Right?

Then when I was 16 I went to World Youth Day in Rome. And everything changed. Not because of the catechesis or the fellowship or the visit to my dear Claire in Assisi. Not because I went to Mass with a million other Catholics or saw the Holy Father for the first time. Not because of a powerful confession or a new best friend. Because of a stained glass window and a throw-away conversation.

I was walking through some church in Rome with a priest and saw a stained glass window of some 14-year-old kid.

“Who’s that kid?” I asked Father, rather more dismissively than I might today.

“Oh, that’s Saint Dominic Savio.”

“Cool. What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” Father answered. I’m sure he went on to explain more about Dominic Savio’s relationship with St. John Bosco and his work for the sanctification of his schoolmates, but I didn’t need to hear that.

Nothing.

He’s the youngest non-martyr ever canonized. He had no visions, no apparitions, worked no miracles. He was a regular kid who lived a regular life, died a regular death at age 14, and people raced to his coffin to make relics of their rosaries.

What have you been doing with your life?

For me, that was a wake-up call. I realized that I had to live for Christ in every moment, that it was never too early to strive for sanctity. In many ways, it transformed me. March 9th is the feast of St. Dominic Savio. Maybe on his feast day you could spend some time asking the Lord how you can live your regular life heroically.

Spoiler alert: if someone tells you she’s a really good Catholic, she’s probably not terribly holy. [↩]

How to Stay Catholic in College

Apparently this weekend is college move-in weekend in Boston, which means parking is impossible and you can’t walk anywhere without dodging two guys in tank tops carrying a futon. Seeing all those wide-eyed freshmen and their anxious parents got me thinking: more than two thirds of Catholics who leave the Church do it before the age of 24. Which makes college crucial to forming a religious identity, particularly one that isn’t dependent on parents. So what can you do, as a Catholic college student, to strengthen your faith and stay Catholic in college? Look no further, friends! You have here a bona fide expert who actually went to college and stayed Catholic.¹ And I’ve walked with dozens of students trying to do the same thing. Here’s what I’ve learned is key:

1. Go to Mass. Every Sunday and Holy Day.² Without exception. I have a friend whose mother used to say, “If you would miss my funeral on the same day for the same reason, go ahead and skip Mass.” Would you skip your mother’s funeral because of a hangover? Hardly. Because your finance project is due the next day? I doubt it. Because there are free breadsticks in the lounge at the same time? I sure hope not.

The Mass is the most important thing you do as a Catholic. In many ways, it’s what makes you Catholic. Don’t skip it.

2. Get involved. First thing when you get to college, find the Catholic center.³ Introduce yourself to the campus minister and the priest. Find out when Masses and confessions are. Put a reminder into your phone. Sign up for something that keeps you coming back–a Bible study, the Knights of Columbus, a service project, whatever. Find out when they’re offering free food and show up. This is the community that you want to get plugged into. If you don’t do it early, you may find yourself halfway through the year with no Catholic friends, no Catholic community, and sporadic Mass attendance. Not a good start.⁴

Catholic friends=fun while sober. (I'm playing the shovel. He's playing the air shovel. Not a drop of alcohol involved. And yes, I am available for birthday parties.) — Catholic friends = fun while sober. (I’m playing the shovel. He’s playing the air shovel. Not a drop of alcohol involved. And yes, I am available for birthday parties.)

3. Make Catholic friends. Oh, make friends of all kinds. Don’t just make Catholic friends. But it’s important to find friends who will encourage you in your attempts to be virtuous and call you out when you fall short. Different perspectives and experiences are great but nothing beats a group of friends who are running to heaven with you. Go to events at the Catholic center and look for friends. Pray for them, even. Then get off your knees and friend someone on Facebook. It’s not real friendship, but it’s a good (and not terribly awkward) first step.

4. Don’t be a drunk. Let’s get this straight: underage drinking is illegal. Catholics are obligated to follow just laws. So in the United States, it is morally wrong to drink at dorm parties when you’re 19, even if it is normal. Now, I know plenty of people who drank in college and are Catholic today. It’s still not okay.

But it’s really not okay to get drunk. And here’s what often results: you go out to get drunk (which is a sin even if nothing else happens). You hook up with some guy. You wake up the next morning and are terribly ashamed of yourself. So you don’t go to Mass because you feel too guilty. The next weekend you go out with the same friends (see #3) and do the same thing. Before long, you begin to think that your partying is fine, it’s just the judgmental Church making you feel guilty that’s messed up. See why this is a problem?

What? You were expecting a German Catholic not to drink? Via.

Having a few drinks (depending on how much of a lightweight you are) when you’re of age is fine. We’re Catholic, after all. But don’t tell me you can’t have a social life if you don’t drink underage. If you can’t have fun without drinking, you’re an alcoholic. If your friends make fun of you for not drinking, you need new friends. Might I recommend finding some at daily Mass? It’s worked out well for me.

5. Go to confession. The way out of that drunken hookup cycle–and any cycle of sin–is confession. Go any time you’re in mortal sin. Don’t wait till it’s convenient–track down a priest and go!

If you’re graced enough (and it is about grace, not about you) not to be committing mortal sins, set yourself a confession schedule and stick to it. Every month or twice a semester or Advent and Lent; as long as it’s at least once a year, you’re meeting the requirement. But do more than meet the requirement. Confession doesn’t just clean your soul, it strengthens the soul against future sin. And nothing beats faith faster than sin. If you’re serious about staying Catholic, get to confession. Often.

You're welcome. — I knew you would like this picture. You’re welcome.

6. Keep your pants on. But more than that–don’t kiss anyone you’re not dating and don’t date anyone you couldn’t marry. It’s so easy to get caught up in the hookup culture and find yourself in that same cycle of shame that drives people out of the arms of the Church instead of to the foot of the Cross. Be intentional about chastity–emotional and physical, alone and with others–and find friends who will hold you accountable.

7. Get educated. College is not career prep. It’s about being educated, even in things you don’t think are interesting. Take classes that challenge you intellectually and form you as a person: philosophy and great books and history, but also logic and medical ethics and embryology. Forget for a minute about what’s lucrative and just learn. Take a ballroom dancing class or a seminar on current events in the Middle East, even if you are an engineer. Take an econ class so you can speak intelligently on those political issues you’ve been avoiding. Don’t just learn what you already know and like–learn what makes you uncomfortable or confuses you. Learn what you find boring and figure out why it’s not.

Chrissy: "You mean you didn't learn all the things?" Rosie: "Awkward." Me: "Wait, I wasn't just supposed to learn the stuff I already mostly knew?" — Chrissy: “You mean you didn’t learn all the things?”
Rosie: “Awkward.”
Me: “Wait, I wasn’t just supposed to learn the stuff I already mostly knew?”

How will this keep you Catholic? Well, all truth leads to Rome and God wants you to be a well-informed person and to think critically and all that. And beauty will save the world and you won’t draw intellectuals to Christ if you’re a buffoon. But mostly it’s my biggest regret from college: I saw education as something to accomplish, so I only took what was required and got out as fast as I could. And now, despite a very impressive education, I’m pretty one-dimensional intellectually. With all the debt you’re going to have, you might as well come out educated.

8. Ask questions. For most people, college is the time that you find the big holes in Catholicism. I’ll let you in on a secret: there are no holes in Catholicism. But don’t take my word for it, ask! Ask your priest and your campus minister and your friend who’s a philosophy major. Read the Catechism, take theology classes, write to your bishop. Do what it takes to get to the bottom of things. So many people–maybe even most people–leave the Church because they don’t understand her teachings and it’s a damn shame. You have more resources available to you than any person ever in the history of the world. Take advantage of them and ask until you get a satisfactory answer. And if you can’t get a good enough answer, send me an email. I’ll come visit you and we’ll discuss everything that’s bugging you over a cup of coffee or four.⁵

Don’t let unanswered questions push you away. And don’t let half-baked answers convince you the Church is wrong. Find someone who knows what he’s talking about and listen. I think this 2,000-year-old faith deserves that much respect.

A good mentor (or big sister) will literally (no, I do not mean figuratively) carry you through to graduation.

9. Find a mentor. Being young is tough, especially when you’re trying to navigate faith along with everything else. Find someone who’s been where you are and come out the other side and meet with her. An upperclassman in your major can give you tips on which professors are most violently anti-Catholic and which might allow you to voice your opinion. The lady whose kids you babysit can give you boy advice and tell you when your skirt is too short. Father’s available for spiritual direction and the Sisters who show up at Mass once a week would love to help you grow in your prayer life. That older gentleman who volunteers as sacristan probably has a lot to say about what it means to be a Christian man. Find someone who isn’t 18 and ask for help when you need it–and when you think you don’t.

10. Evangelize. You don’t know everything there is about being Catholic, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love the Church. So tell someone! Sharing your faith doesn’t make you a jerk and you’ll often find yourself better-informed and more committed when you’re trying to lead others to Christ. Set a goal for yourself: invite someone to Mass every week or ask one person a month what she thinks about God. You might change someone’s life. You’ll certainly change your own.

11. Pray. Every day. Going to Mass every Sunday is a great start, but Jesus didn’t live 33 years for you and die in excruciating agony so that you’d hang out with him an hour a week. Try stopping by the chapel just off campus for ten minutes every day. You won’t regret it.

Accountability will help with this. Grab some of those Catholic friends we’ve been talking about and plan on a Rosary walk on Sunday nights or a lunchtime chat about the next Sunday’s readings. Despite how crazy life seems, you’ve got a lot of free time at your disposal.⁶ If prayer isn’t a priority now, it probably won’t be when you’ve got a mortgage and diapers and a deadline looming. Form your addiction to prayer now and it’ll be harder to break when life starts getting in the way.

12. Don’t give up. You’re going to screw up. Don’t let that defeat you. Don’t quit the Church because you don’t think you’re good enough–we none of us are. And don’t run away because the answers don’t come easy. Repent and question and push and just keep going. And, most importantly, beg for the grace to persevere. God can do amazing things with a humble, broken heart. Let him work in you.

**********************

What do y’all think? Any other tips from those who’ve made it? Questions from those who are still trying to persevere? Requests for more pictures from when I was in college? (Answer: that was before Facebook–yes, I am that old–so I really don’t have any. Well, two, but they weren’t as funny as these.)

No Notre Dame jokes please and thank you. [↩]
I’ve pointed it out before: this is .65% of your life. If God isn’t worth .65% of your life, I don’t know what is. [↩]
If you’re a commuter, find a parish with an active young adult group–one that has some people your age, not the 50-something “young” adult crowd. [↩]
If your Catholic center espouses heresy, as is sometimes the case, check out the parish in town. It’s okay to shop around a little bit as long as you always, always make it to Mass. [↩]
I’m not kidding. I’ll come. [↩]
Really–cut out all screen time and tell me you can’t manage half an hour a day for Jesus. [↩]

How To Evangelize (And How Not To)

If I knew you in high school or early college (or probably later college, God help me), I’m sorry. I’m sorry for judging you and lecturing you. I’m sorry for throwing my faith in your face at every possible opportunity. I’m sorry for responding to your crisis of faith by buying you Anselm’s On the Incarnation and telling you it would fix everything–an excellent book, but not the compassionate response.

See, when I first came to know Jesus in the eighth grade I felt meaning for the first time. My life had purpose and my suffering had value and suddenly–shockingly–I was happy to get out of bed in the morning.¹ And I wanted you to feel that. I wanted you to know him and to experience the joy he’d brought to my life. I wanted you to know how desperately you were loved.

If you dressed like this, you would have been desperate to impress, too.

But I also wanted to win. I wanted you to know that I was right. I wanted you to see that I was really holy. I was awkward and insecure and I thought that if I brought you to Jesus you’d like me better. I had some good intentions when I beat my Bible at you, but not only good intentions and I’m sorry.

When I was younger, I evangelized like a sledgehammer.² I went at people like they were battles to win, not souls to love. And I did a lot of damage, some of which seems irreparable except by grace. Oh, I know I did some good too. But I don’t think anybody ever sat me down and told me that it wasn’t my job to save souls. And when you think you’re saving souls–and that truth is all it takes–you go at it with the zeal of a crusader and the finesse of a drunken elephant.

My sister has 8-month-old twins. Elizabeth, the older, reminds me of myself in a lot of ways. From the moment she was born, she’s had a big personality with much wider range of emotion than you see from her sister. Lately, she’s taken to screaming like she’s being eviscerated. Turn down your speakers and take a listen (starting at 0:13):

How could you scream in a face like that?

She loves this noise and she really thinks everybody else should love it too. So she crawls over to her twin, playing innocently on the floor, tackles her, pins her to the ground, and sticks her face in Mary Claire’s face, shrieking gleefully as Mary Claire sobs.

Sometimes I think that’s how we evangelize. We’re not trying to hurt anybody. We really think they’re going to love what we’re doing. But we don’t listen to them. We don’t feel for them. We don’t open our eyes to see if they want anything to do with our message. We scream in their face (or on their facebook page) about how we are FILLED with the love of Christ and they’d better be too or they will GO TO HELL!!

Friends, that’s not evangelization. It’s not loving or Christlike or even effective. That’s where we get this reputation of being closed-minded and bigoted–from the few of us who come across as closed-minded and bigoted.

But we have to evangelize–that’s a huge part of being a Christian. Our beautiful Holy Father has been speaking on this need to spread the faith at World Youth Day:

Sharing the experience of faith, bearing witness to the faith, proclaiming the Gospel: this is a command that the Lord entrusts to the whole Church, and that includes you; but it is a command that is born not from a desire for domination or power but from the force of love, from the fact that Jesus first came into our midst and gave us, not a part of himself, but the whole of himself.

So what do we do? How do we evangelize if the simple proselytizing method isn’t going to do it?

1. Pray

Before all else, you have to be in love with Christ. Your prayer life has to be your top priority, although that looks different depending on your state in life, as Haley so brilliantly pointed out. So pray. Go to Mass every week without exception.³ Go to daily Mass as often as you can. Read the Bible! Get to confession–aim at once a month. And seek God in silence. It’s so easy to fill our lives with noise and then let the Rosary or the Liturgy of the Hours be more noise;⁴ make time every day to be still before the Lord. Even 5 minutes a day will change your life.

Pray for the people in your life who don’t know God or don’t know Christ or don’t know him in the Eucharist. Before you do anything else, pray for them. You can’t change their hearts and you can’t save their souls. Recognize that God is doing the work and ask, seek, and knock on their behalf.

Pray about evangelizing. Ask the Lord who he wants you to speak to and how he wants you to speak. Ask the Holy Spirit to be the one at work in your conversations. Pray before posting something controversial on Facebook, before commenting or sharing or retweeting. Ask Jesus to stand between you and the people you’re trying to bring him to–and to smack you upside the head and shove you away if you’re doing it wrong.

2. Love

He loved you at your worst. Do the same for his other children.

There is no more powerful force in this world than love. Your job is to love the people around you–and not just as a strategy for their conversion, either! Sure, hopefully your love is so powerful that others recognize something different in you. But if you’re loving people so that you win, you’re fake and probably not terribly convincing about it. Your purpose in loving is not to change someone. Your purpose is to love as Christ loved.

The semester I studied in Italy,⁵ almost everyone I was there with hated the Church. Passionately. They would make filthy jokes about priests and spent their weekends experimenting with different combinations of alcohol, weed, and caffeine. I knew there was nothing I could say to change their minds, so I prayed and prayed and kept my mouth shut. And went out with them to make sure they didn’t get too drunk to get back. And sat with them on the balcony while they got drunk and high at the same time to make sure they didn’t fall over the railing. I was miserable and felt useless.

And then, at the end of the semester, one of my friends turned to me (drunk) and told me:

“Until this semester, I didn’t think there was a place for me in the Church. But now I think maybe there is. Because you love me. Thank you.”

We fell out of touch, so I don’t know what ended up happening to him. But that moment changed my life. I’d spent years looking for openings to preach when all I needed to do was let love speak.

So once you’ve prayed, shut your mouth and love until it hurts. Then keep loving.

3. Witness

Once people know that you love them, they begin to look at your life to see why. The witness of your life is a powerful statement, and it’s not just about wearing a cross and sharing Catholic memes. It’s about joy and consistency and openness.

Choose to be joyful. The world doesn’t need more dour Christians. Live with an eternal perspective. As Mother Teresa said, “Never let anything so fill you with sorrow as to make you forget the joy of Christ risen.” If your life is transparently joyful–filled with hope in moments that should occasion despair, not just chipper and shallow–people will wonder why.

Be consistent. If you can’t be Christian Saturday night, don’t ask me to join you Sunday morning. Modern man can spot a fake at a thousand paces and if your Facebook timeline is half quotations from Pope Francis and half drunken selfies, you’re doing far more harm than good. Get your stuff together. People don’t mind sinners who acknowledge that they’re sinners and ask for help to be better. They hate hypocrites.

It doesn't have to look like this. But it can. — It doesn’t have to look like this. But it can.

Don’t be embarrassed about your faith. Mention that you’re going to Mass when you make plans for Sunday brunch. Pray before meals. Have a chant ringtone. Those little things help people to connect your love and joy to your faith.

4. Propose

Finally–finally–after praying and loving and doing your best to be as Christlike as possible, finally you can say something. Maybe it’s as simple as sharing an article on Facebook or retweeting the Pope. Maybe it’s inviting someone to go to Mass with you or to join your Bible study. Maybe it’s sitting down with a friend and asking–gently–why he doesn’t go to Church any more. Maybe it’s talking to your friends about NFP. Maybe it’s just being open to how the Holy Spirit is calling you to evangelize.

I knew a high schooler once–captain of the basketball team, center of the school’s social life–who signed up for a holy hour every Friday evening at 10pm. He’d go out to dinner with his friends, go back to somebody’s house, start watching a movie, and then stand up to leave at quarter to 10. He just said, “I’m going to adoration. Anyone want to come?” The timing and the invitation changed that school. Kids would caravan to adoration on Friday nights. Because one guy had the guts to ask.

But when you’re asking those leading questions or inviting friends on a marriage retreat or explaining the Church’s position, be humble. You don’t have all the answers, even though the Church does. You’re not better than anyone or smarter or kinder or even happier. But I would guess that you’re better and smarter and kinder and happier than you were; that’s what you’re offering.

So often, it’s the little things that open people’s hearts to the Lord. It’s inviting them to go to confession, buying them a rosary, asking that question, sharing that CD. The Holy Spirit will lead you there–if you’re praying. It will mean more if you love them. It will be compelling if you’re living it.

It’s not yelling at people when they’re wrong. It’s not snorting derisively or calling them out in public. It’s not ever trying to be right but trying to seek truth. Truth and goodness and beauty–not smug correction or broken relationships.

I’d love to hear your thoughts–how do you draw the line between evangelizing like a sledgehammer and inviting people to Christ? Do you think it’s enough just to love people if you’re not actively introducing them to doctrine? Do you have any stories of how the Lord was leading people to him through you and you didn’t even know it?

*******************

If you live in the Harrisonburg, VA area, will you do me a huge favor? Will you like my mom’s pumpkin patch on Facebook? And then visit in the fall? Thanks!!

Okay, I’m never happy to get out of bed. But I was happy to be alive and excited to face the day. [↩]
I hope it was only when I was younger–if I’m still doing this, please break it to me gently. And NOT in a comment on this post. [↩]
The Church requires that you go to Mass 57 times a year. That’s 0.65% of your life. Are you really so busy that you can’t give God less than 1% of your life? [↩]
These are great prayers. But if you’re not good at praying them–like me–you definitely need silence too. [↩]
I know, I know. Jesus is particularly fond of me. [↩]

Welcome Home!

Dear Tiber Swim Club 2013,

I went to your homecoming party a couple of weeks ago but I haven’t had a chance yet to tell you personally–welcome home!¹ All these years we’ve been missing you and now that you’re home, I hope you know how terribly glad we are to have you.

Welcome to the Church of Chesterton and Pascal and Galileo and Aquinas, to the Church of Michelangelo and Fra Angelico, Beethoven and Palestrina. Welcome, more’s the pity, to the Church of Borgias and Medicis, of terrible sinners and run-of-the-mill sinners and all sinners who want in. As you might have noticed, we’re not terribly picky. Geniuses, fools, Saints, and sinners–we’ve got an open door policy.

Welcome to the Church of the Apostles, to truth unchanged for millennia. Welcome to faith and works, Scripture and Tradition, philosophy and theology. This Church of yours is nothing if not logical–if you don’t see the logic, push and question and read until you do. Whatever the issue, I promise this Church makes sense.

Welcome to the intimacy of receiving him who made you into your very flesh. Welcome to the humility of being given power over the all-powerful. Welcome to a world where receiving God is so commonplace that you manage to be distracted. Right now, I hope that each time you receive communion, it’s powerful beyond belief. But there will come a time when you get used to it, when you somehow miss the consecration and walk up to receive without once addressing God. Praise the Lord for that, too, for a relationship so comfortable that you forget how incredible it is. And then remind yourself what your first time felt like and praise God for that passion as well.

Welcome to liturgy that truly is “the work of the people.” Welcome to Masses that thrill and move you. Welcome to Masses that bore and infuriate you. Welcome to bad music and bad preaching and some seriously weird stuff where all should be worship. For many of you, it won’t be long before you miss the Charismatic prayer or melodious praise or majestic liturgy of your Protestant past. But…the Eucharist. And that is enough.

I imagine you’re no stranger to falling and getting back up again and again. But welcome to that famous Catholic guilt that drives you to your knees at the foot of the Cross. Welcome to demanding rules that seem impossible, illogical, even arbitrary. Welcome to the terror of waiting in line to kneel before a stranger–or, worse, a friend–and tell him all your most shameful deeds. Welcome to the exultant joy of hearing the words “I absolve you” and knowing–knowing–that your sins are gone. Welcome to a peaceful life governed by those rules that suddenly seem to make so much sense.

It takes all kinds: regular (religious) priest, secular priest, wife, cloistered nun, and a brother (L.A. Cathedral's communion of Saints) — It takes all kinds: regular (religious) priest, secular priest, wife, cloistered nun, and a brother (L.A. Cathedral’s communion of Saints)

Welcome to the arms of your Blessed Mother. Welcome to a family of Saints. Welcome to the greatest charitable organization in this world, to a Church that requires that we serve and puts her money where her mouth is. Your Fathers are glad to work beside you. Your Sisters are leading the way. Your Brothers are bathing lepers and building houses and nursing orphans and hoping that you’ll join them. Amid scandals and accusations and seeming futility, hold your head up, friend–your Church is a force for good throughout this world, physically as well as spiritually.

Welcome to the awkwardness of swimming against the tide. Whether news of your conversion prompted fury or just raised eyebrows, you’ve probably dealt with some of this already. It’s that subtle persecution mostly, that assumption that you’re a little stupid or a lot closed-minded. Welcome to being the face of the Church in any gathering, to being expected to have all the answers even when your audience assumes there aren’t any. You won’t get much credit for being a good person–it’s expected, after all–but you will get a lot of flack every time you fall. So try not to fall, but know that in a Church like this, your sins won’t be terribly impressive nor will your failure weaken the truth you’re trying to live for.

Whether you’ve been wandering this way for decades or got knocked off your horse six months ago, welcome home! Whether you were a PK or an addict (or both), an atheist or a Buddhist or disinterested, whether you hated the Church or ignored it or always loved it somewhere down deep, welcome! Whether you’ve suffered serious persecution on your way to Rome or you’ve been encouraged by everyone you meet, you have a family here.

We’re not exactly on top of things in this Church of yours–we’re a lot dysfunctional and sometimes hypocritical and we don’t seem to be on the same page about much of anything. But we’re trying. And when you find yourself at Mass between a little old lady who says the old responses loudly and a teenager who says nothing at all with a fussy baby behind you, remember that our God isn’t particular about who he lets in to this hodgepodge Church of his. And praise him once again that he wasn’t too picky to call you.

Welcome home, my brother, my sister. We are so, so glad to have you.

But I know you forgive me because while we’re out of the liturgical time warp and it’s not Easter Sunday any more, it is still the Easter season, which has to count for something. [↩]

O Radiant Dawn

O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice: come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

I knew a girl once who had been raised Catholic but had rejected the faith. At 20, she was pretty militantly anti-religion, although I don’t think I realized it until our small talk one day turned into something more.

She was asking me about my work, so I explained her that I was a high school religion teacher.

“Wait, so do you teach them all religions? Or do you just teach them yours?”

“Well, it’s a Catholic school,” I replied affably, “so I teach Catholicism.”

The look on her face was like I had told her that I drop kick babies for sport. “How can you do that? How can you force onto young minds the idea that your beliefs are right and everybody else’s are wrong?”

I was rather taken aback by this reaction–she really thought I was doing something evil when I tried to draw young hearts to Christ. I’ve had plenty of people think my attempts to evangelize were dumb or naïve but never cruel. So I didn’t have a pat answer at hand as I do with most of the challenges I get from non-Christians or non-Catholics. Fortunately, the Holy Spirit is always on his game.

“What if you had a friend who didn’t like music?” I asked this music major.

“What do you mean ‘didn’t like music’? Who doesn’t like music?”

“This guy. He’s a friend of yours–a good friend–but he just doesn’t care for music. Any music at all.”

“That’s ridiculous! I mean, has he listened to Rachmaninov? Or the Beatles? Everybody likes some kind of music.”

There was a time when the foul, flat, nasal, tinny music from this book was the only thing that would get my nephew to stop screaming. We called it "Awful Book." Eventually we decided that the screaming was preferable. — There was a time when the foul, flat, nasal, tinny music from this book was the only thing that would get my nephew to stop screaming. We called it “Awful Book.” Eventually we decided that the screaming was preferable.

At this point, I’m wondering how on earth she hadn’t picked up on where I was going with this. But I kid you not–I might be fudging some details, but the trajectory of the conversation is 100% accurate.

“Actually,” I put forward, “he’s never really listened to any music. Or maybe he has, but it was all electronic stuff out of awful plastic toys. But he’s never experienced anything real, anything beautiful or moving or even catchy and pleasant. Could you be friends with him?”

“I guess I could,” she said, embracing the hypothetical. “But–I’d make him listen to music! I mean, how can he live without it? I can’t imagine life without music–it would be…worthless.”

“Because you love music that much? And it brings you that much joy, right? Not because he’s a stupid jerk for not loving music?”

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s not about being right. It’s about wanting to share something that makes me happy with someone I love.”

“Exactly.” I swear to you, she didn’t see where I was going until that moment. She started to object, but then stopped to think. I gave her a minute before continuing. “I don’t evangelize because I want to tell everybody they’re wrong and fix them so they can be like me. It’s about love. I’ve found something–someone–so beautiful that brings me so much joy. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t want to share it? I teach people about Christ and his Church because I love them and I want them to be happy.”

My music analogy didn’t convert her–as far as I know, she’s still not a Christian–but it got her thinking. And tonight, it’s got me thinking, too.

Why do I evangelize? Why do I live this crazy life? Because I know him in whom I have believed. But more than that–because once I didn’t.

Tie-dyed shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans with a watch looped around my belt loop while hanging on some boy and desperate for attention? Definitely a recipe for popularity. — Tie-dyed shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans with a watch threaded through my belt loop while hanging on some boy and desperate for attention? Definitely a recipe for popularity.

I was raised with Jesus, but I rejected him early on. I didn’t know him until I was 13. And I was miserable. Cry-my-eyes-out, wish-I-was-dead miserable. The only meaning I could find in life was getting other people to like me and I wasn’t very good at that. And so, from at least 3rd grade, I spent most of my life feeling sorry for myself and wondering why I bothered to get up in the morning.

But then–oh, friends–light. I had walked so long in darkness and when I found Christ, I found meaning and joy and purpose and hope and the world was new. I had to give up all of my favorite vices. I made myself a target for the people whose approval still meant so much to me. But, incredibly, I was happy. Today, I’m a homeless, unemployed nomad. I have no husband or children. I have nothing that this world says will make me happy, but I am. Deeply, irrevocably so. Despite my tendency to freak out and my propensity for making myself miserable, my life is built on Christ and his comfort gladdens my soul.

I’m going to speak for a moment to those of you who may be reading my blog, for whatever reason, who haven’t experienced this Radiant Dawn I’m so in love with. I get it. It’s hard to believe, hard to accept what you think you can’t see. Maybe Christianity is too demanding. Maybe you enjoy your life just as it is.

The Nativity, by Gustav Dore. In modern images, the light in the stable tends to come from the star. Traditionally, the light came from Christ, the true Light of the world.

But for many of you, I think there’s a darkness. There’s an emptiness, a longing that you can’t quite seem to satisfy. Oh, maybe you’re okay right now–maybe your love for your family or your service to your community or your success or whatever has taken the edge off your hunger. But I think it will be fleeting. I think you know, like I did, that something’s missing.

Forgive me for being so forward, but I can’t help it. Whether I know you or not, I love you. I really do, and I want you to be happy. I want you to be at peace. Forget the fact that I’ve been intellectually convinced of the truth of the faith–I’ve found joy and love and hope and beauty and I can’t keep that to myself. I need you to know that he loves you and longs to draw you gently into the light of a life lived in joy and peace and love. I’ve been where you are. I wouldn’t go back. Not for anything.

For the rest of you, thank God that he has brought you out of darkness into his marvelous light. If you’re like me, consider who you were and praise the Lord that he’s brought you so far. If you’ve never felt that deep, terrible darkness of the shadow of death, praise the Lord for having claimed you even in your youth. Wherever you were, recognize that you’re not there yet.

This is what Advent is about–reflecting on the darkness dispelled by Christ and the darkness that remains. There are still many dark places in my life, deep crevices that I keep hidden from the light of Christ. But daily he pushes me, stretches me, and brings joy and peace even there.

If you don’t know him yet, maybe now’s the time to try.

Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high,
And cheer us by your drawing nigh,
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Here’s an early Christmas present for you:

Same outfit the next day only I swapped out my mom’s really old sweatpants for the jeans and tied an oh-so-chic sweatshirt (with a large teal sparkly spot made from puffy paint on the sleeve) around my waist. This left me with no belt loops from which to hang my watch.¹ No problem! Just hang it from a chain around my neck and off I go with my mismatched socks to pose very awkwardly by a tractor. This was a day when I was hoping to make new friends.

If only there were some way to attach one’s wristwatch to one’s wrist…. Seriously, what was wrong with me?? [↩]

Why I Am (Still) a Christian

I’ve always been fascinated by conversion stories, the moments of grace and truth that pull people out of themselves and into the romance of faith. Lauren Winner points out in an essay on staying Christian that learning about the great cannonball moments of people’s lives isn’t enough. Faith isn’t about watershed moments and voices from heaven—it’s a long, slow, subtle series of whispers and inklings and dried tears and rest.

I’ve mentioned briefly that my conversion happened in an awkward confession in middle school. But Lauren’s right: I’m not a Christian because I felt good about Jesus fifteen years ago. My life with Christ is constantly being nourished—and challenged—by the people and the worship and the beauty and the books and the music and the hardships of every day.

I am a Christian because this world shows me evidence of design and its beauty strikes me as gift.

I am a Christian because I’ve never yet found a better explanation for the empty tomb.

I am a Christian because every little thing I encounter tells me that this is true. I’ve read and researched and argued and I’m just convinced. As with most things, Chesterton said it best:

The difficulty of explaining “why I am a Catholic” is that there are ten thousand reasons all amounting to one reason: that Catholicism is true. I could fill all my space with separate sentences each beginning with the words, “It is the only thing that . . .” As, for instance, (1) It is the only thing that really prevents a sin from being a secret. (2) It is the only thing in which the superior cannot be superior; in the sense of supercilious. (3) It is the only thing that frees a man from the degrading slavery of being a child of his age. (4) It is the only thing that talks as if it were the truth; as if it were a real messenger refusing to tamper with a real message. (5) It is the only type of Christianity that really contains every type of man; even the respectable man. (6) It is the only large attempt to change the world from the inside; working through wills and not laws; and so on.

I am a Christian because I believe in goodness and I can’t for the life of me find any source of objective morality outside of God.

I am a Christian because there is nothing more still than the silence of the sanctuary. There’s a peace that’s almost tangible when Christ is present in a room. I’m too melancholic not to be convinced by the way his Real Presence calms my heart.

I am a Christian because by nature I am sullen and self-pitying but by grace I am filled with joy. Only God could break my shriveled heart and make it new in such a spectacular way.

I am a Christian because the embrace of Christ is the only place where I am completely known and even more completely loved. I fought for so long to be good enough and pretty enough and smart enough and then one day realized that I had been enough all along. When I see myself through his eyes, life is worth living. Otherwise, God help me.

I am a Christian because I know that I’m not good enough—he builds me up, strengthens and forgives me, and sends me into the world to do the impossible. And somehow I do.

By God’s grace, I love him more today than I did in the passionate throes of my adolescent conversion. Because love at first sight ain’t got nothing on decades of passionate faithfulness. Back then, he was exciting and intriguing; today, he’s everything.

What about you? Are you still coasting off a moment at God camp 30 years ago? Or does he strengthen your faith daily, as he does mine? I’d love to hear why you’re a Christian today.

The Lost Sheep

“What man among you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it?And when he does find it, he sets it on his shoulders with great joy and, upon his arrival home, he calls together his friends and neighbors and says to them, ‘Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you, in just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance.” -Lk 15:4-7

Think how desperate Jesus is for you.

The Glory of Confession

As a high school teacher, I’m supposed to be opposed to be peer pressure. “Don’t worry about what other people think,” I’m supposed to say. “Be true to yourself. Follow your heart!”

Sometimes your peers are less stupid than you, though. Sure, it would be better to follow the Saints or wise adults or pretty much anybody over the age of 30, but peer pressure isn’t always bad. In fact, everything good in my life is a result of peer pressure.

You see, if no one’s paying special attention, it’s pretty easy for a Catholic kid growing up in America to make it from First Reconciliation through Confirmation without making a second reconciliation. It’s an unfortunate truth, all the more so when the kid in question lied in her first confession. Yup—I told him I broke a cup and blamed it on my sister. Not true. She broke the cup. What a pathetic way to enter into mortal sin.¹

strangle — That’s me in the front strangling that kid. In my defense, he seems to be enjoying it.

Once I found myself in mortal sin, I just kept digging myself in deeper. I had a field day with lying, cheating, stealing, and cursing. I didn’t pray, and if you had asked me, I would have told you I didn’t believe in God. I distinctly remember answering “I don’t know” while the rest of the congregation chorused “I do” during the renewal of baptismal promises at Easter. Before I knew it, I was confirmed, having no idea if there was a God and not particularly caring. I was actually late to my own confirmation because I was shopping. Definitely ready to be a soldier of Christ.

That March was our confirmation retreat. After confirmation. Whatever. Despite my penchant for breaking rules, I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I went. On Saturday night, we were split into small groups, and as we discussed the great woes of our adolescent lives, the other girls went to confession, one by one. Now, I didn’t much care what this theoretical God thought of me, but I cared very much what the other girls thought of me. As I watched them go, I became convinced that if I didn’t go to confession, none of them would be friends with me.

There is no worse threat you can issue to a thirteen-year-old girl.

And so, unprepared as I was, I got up when it was my turn and walked to the cabin that was doubling as a confessional. Fr. Mark Moretti was the patient priest who heard what was functionally my first confession and turned my world upside down. That day, I was returned to a state of grace and was introduced to Jesus Christ, the love of my life. Despite ongoing struggles with sin,² I gave my life to Christ that day and haven’t looked back since. The life I would gladly have tossed away on Friday afternoon became a joy on Saturday night, and has been ever since. I owe my joy, my career, and my life to the grace that flooded my soul that chilly March evening.

Mohawk Confession — Kind of like this only I was probably wearing a flannel shirt and Umbros. Oh, and no mohawk.

God Said So

“I’m sure that was very nice for you,” some of you are thinking right now. “But I don’t enjoy confession. Why should I go?”

The simple answer? God said so.

Jesus said to his disciples, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them. Whose sins you retain are retained.” (Jn 20:21-23)

The first part of this commissioning sets up an analogy. In a throwback to SAT prep, we could say that the Apostles (today’s priests) are to Jesus as Jesus is to the Father. Jesus was sent into the world with the Father’s power of reconciling man to God; the Apostles, too, were sent into the world with Jesus’ power of reconciling man to God. They are being sent, one might say, in persona Christi—that is, in the person of Christ.

Now, Jesus didn’t do much after the Resurrection. He hung out with some disciples, ate some fish, walked through some walls—all seemingly unimportant events with great theological importance. So it’s important here that we look at what he said and at what he did. Here, Jesus doesn’t just give the Apostles a job. He breathes on them. The only other time in Scripture that we see God breathing on someone is in Genesis: “The Lord God formed man out of the clay of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and so man became a living being” (Gen 2:7). Adam was clay, lifeless, until God breathed on him. The breath of God made him more like God; it made him a man—something totally different from what he had been. Jesus’ breath has the same effect on the Apostles: it makes them more like God. It changes them into something different. Here, they become priests, able to forgive sins with the power of Christ’s forgiveness.

When Jesus gives the Apostles the power to forgive sins, he isn’t just encouraging them to be forgiving, as he is in the Sermon on the Mount. He’s telling them that the forgiveness they offer actually does something. And it’s pretty clear that the Apostles are being told not just to offer forgiveness but actually to hear confessions in some form—how can they refuse forgiveness without knowing the sin and its circumstances?

The Epistle of St. James makes that even clearer: “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another that you may be healed. The fervent prayer of a righteous man is powerful indeed” (Jas 5:16). James tells us that we can’t just ask God for forgiveness; we have to confess our sins to one another—to priests, if we’re reading it together with the Gospel of John. From these two verses, we can see that Jesus has sent priests with a ministry of reconciliation, receiving penitents and forgiving them in Jesus’ name, by the power of the Holy Spirit.

And the Apostles clearly understood this role because the early Church gets it, too. Hippolytus of Rome prays at ordinations that priests may “have the authority to forgive sins, in accord with your command.” That was in 215 a.d. In 248, Origen tells us: “[A final method of forgiveness], albeit hard and laborious [is] the remission of sins through penance, when the sinner . . . does not shrink from declaring his sin to a priest of the Lord.”

Sure, in the early Church it looked different from what we’re used to—they actually had to confess in front of the whole church and then do a penance that could take years. (Makes you wonder why you complain about whispering to a priest who can’t even see you….) But the basics of the Sacrament—the form, matter and minister—haven’t changed since the time of Christ.

It’s for Your Own Good

Our God isn’t arbitrary, though, and He doesn’t enjoy watching us suffer. The Sacrament of Reconciliation exists for a number of purposes, all closely tied to human nature.

If you’re going to shape up, you really have to regret your past. I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot sorrier for my sins when I have to say them out loud. It’s all well and good to tell God you’re sorry about something—He already knows about it. You have to be really sorry to be willing to accuse yourself of it to somebody else, though. And since sin is rooted in pride, the humility required in the confessional is the antidote. Besides, how many of us have withstood temptation simply because we couldn’t bear the idea of confessing it?

For those of us who have habitual sins to overcome, the process of examination of conscience and confession can be invaluable. I had my conversion in the eighth grade, but I still cursed like a sailor—until I realized that I confessed cursing every time I went to confession. Maybe a year after my conversion, I came to a sudden realization that confessing cursing meant I actually had to stop. (There’s a funny story there about how I decided to quit cold turkey without asking for God’s help and ended up missing the bus twice and ripping my pants open at school. Another time, maybe.) Something about saying the same thing every time makes you desperate to change, in a way that I don’t think I would have been without that monthly reminder.

If nothing else (and this is true of all Sacraments), we need something physical to feed our senses, since we are physical and spiritual creatures. My friend Katy and I were hanging out one night in high school after listening to a chastity speaker. She said, “I’ve confessed my sins to God, so I know I’ve been forgiven, but every time I go to one of these speakers, I feel guilty and confess all over again.” I didn’t know how to react to this—my sins are gone! They’re not my own any more. The experience of hearing the words “I absolve you” makes it impossible to deny that you are forgiven, loved, and made new in Christ. Now, knowing this and believing it can be very different things, but when it comes down to it, a believing Catholic can give an exact moment at which her sins were forgiven. However she feels about her past, she knows God, who gave us this Sacrament so we could experience the joy of certain absolution, has forgiven her.

There are any number of reasons that God gave us this Sacrament, and there are any number of reasons to take advantage of it. Go because you can’t live with what you’ve done. Go because you know there’s something missing in your life. Go because you want to be at peace with the Lord. Go because it would make your grandmother proud. God is so desperate to forgive you, He’ll accept you for any reason—even adolescent vanity. You have nothing to lose but your sin. You have everything to gain.

“Jesus said to the woman, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on, do not sin any more.” (Jn 8:11)

Fast Facts about Confession:

Catholics are required to confess all mortal sins (serious sins that you willingly committed, knowing they were wrong) at least once a year.
-Even if you’re not in a state of mortal sin, this is a good minimum
-It’s a better idea to go every Advent and Lent—better yet to go once a month!
You’re only required to confess mortal sins (being specific about the sin and the approximate number of times you committed it), but you’re encouraged to confess venial sins
If you forget to confess a sin, you’ve got nothing to worry about—it’s covered. If you leave one out on purpose, your confession is invalid and you’ve added the sin of making a bad confession to your list.
Your sins are forgiven at the moment of absolution (“I absolve you of your sins….”) if you are intending to do your penance.
To be forgiven, you have to want to avoid those sins in the future. You do not have to be certain that you will never sin again. That would be ridiculous.

I know, I was 7. Believe me–I knew what I was doing. [↩]
have I mentioned I’m kind of a jerk sometimes? Yeah, that was here [↩]