Lectio
“Like a leaven in the dough, you don’t have to leave. You can be prophetically and lovingly present right in the center of it. Where would the Church be if everyone left?”
— James Finley, Teaching an Alternative Orthodoxy
Meditatio
Since the first time I set foot in St. Mary’s Church in Annapolis, MD for Sunday Mass — more than twenty-five years ago, at the invitation of my roommate and friend — I knew there was something about the Catholic Church that spoke to me, even if only for the beautiful Gothic architecture, the art, the reverence and ritual I experienced there, and the utter mysteriousness of it. That same friend then invited me to split a weekly obligation with him at St. Mary’s Perpetual Adoration Chapel, where every other week I would sit in silent prayer in front of the Eucharist. During adoration, I had profound experiences of stillness and awe that still reverberate in my soul to this day. In spite of my being a defiant, arrogant twenty-something, I knew there was something special about the Catholic faith, but I was not ready to accept it.
At this time, I was a student of Buddhism and other Asian religions, and I had just undergone a sudden conversion experience while reading C.S. Lewis’s book Mere Christianity, where I found the truth of Christ undeniable. But the devil is a powerful foe, and, almost as soon as my heart began turning toward Christ, I found myself drawn into Western philosophy and away from the faith. It took many years, and a period of spiritual desolation, emotional upheaval, and intellectual surrender before I finally returned to Christ, or rather before I finally heard Christ calling me back to Him.
During this period of confusion, despair, and desperation, I attempted to return to my Buddhist roots, but all of my attempts left me longing for something more. What seemed to have worked for me in the past was no longer working. Everything I read and listened to, while beautiful in its own way, simply fell flat. It was as if I was hitting my head up against a spiritual ceiling, and I couldn’t break through. I couldn’t break free from the anxiety and depression that plagued me, and my former Buddhist teachers, in spite of their compassionate and well-meaning souls, were not helping.
Through a series of unexpected events that I can only attribute to divine providence, I was led back to the Christian mystics — while I had not yet heard of Christian mysticism, I had first heard of Thomas Merton and contemplative prayer years earlier through a friend who, like me, had studied Eastern religions before answering the call to join the Church. That early exposure was a seed planted that, in the fertile soil of desperation, began to grow into the sapling of faith that would, over time, grow taller and stronger, and begin to bear the fruit of the Spirit, as I found myself led back to Merton, and through him to the wider Christian mystical tradition, and finally to the Church itself. It was there, at this crossroads of faith, that I came to realize what I had been missing all along, what none of the other religions and philosophies I’d tried ever had, which was Jesus.
Along with Scripture, I began searching out and studying as many of the mystics as I could. Among other resources, my journey led me to James Finley’s Turning to the Mystics podcast, which absolutely changed my life. During this time, I began attending services at a non-denominational church where my friend was the associate pastor, and he and I met regularly to study the Bible. Eventually, I answered the call to be baptized and found myself pursuing my master’s degree in Christian Spirituality and Spiritual Direction at Loyola University Chicago. The whole while, I could feel the gentle pull of the Spirit leading me, in spite of my best efforts to ignore it, to the Catholic Church. At one point, I even told my Protestant pastor friend, “I suspect someday, when you and I sit across from each other talking, it will be as a Catholic and a Protestant,” to which he responded, “As long as we are still sitting across from each other talking.” With our busy schedules, me working toward my master’s and running two martial arts academies, and his transitioning into the role of head pastor at his church, we see each other less often, but we are still friends and our conversations still center on Christ and jiu-jitsu.
Somewhere along the way, my daily blog writing practice and my love for the saints, the mystics, and Jesus turned into the Grappling With Divinity blog you are presently reading. And now, as I write this, I am preparing to formally enter the Catholic Church. I am in formation, under Fr. Kline, at St. Andrew by the Bay, outside of Annapolis, MD, where I live, and, God willing, I will be in full communion with the Catholic Church this November. It is quite a lot to take in. The journey to get here has been a long one, and certainly not always easy. My life has been a perfect example of prodigal son level “what not to do and how not to live a spiritual life,” and yet I can clearly and humbly see God’s hand in all of it, His loving presence sustaining me in spite of my best efforts at rebellious self-destruction, and His patiently waiting for me, persistently drawing me nearer, and loving me unconditionally and unceasingly.
My friend who brought me to my first Mass passed away last year, and I miss him dearly, but I feel his presence every time I take another step toward the Church and feel the inner longing to tell him about it. And so, as my over twenty-five-year journey to this moment comes to fruition, I spend a lot of time in prayerful discernment of what the Lord wants of me, what He is calling me to do, and what His purpose is for my life. One of the things that is very clear to me is that, along with being called to be a Catholic Christian, I am also called to bring the contemplative prayer practices and the mystical teachers that have been so profoundly impactful on my life into my local faith community — into the Church of which I will soon be a part. That is, through Christ, I am called to bring the leaven of contemplation to the dough of the Church so that others like me may have an easier time finding their way home than I did.
St. Ignatius of Loyola tells us that the desires of our hearts are one of the ways that God speaks to us. My mind has not always made this journey easy, fighting as it does against the very peace that communion with Christ promises. But my heart knows that all of my past experiences have led me to this very moment, and that the very ideas, practices, and persons that drew me to the Church are exactly what I am called to offer back to the Church — Christ’s body in the world — through my writing, my presence, my experience, and my prayers, so that the Church may be that much more full because of what the Spirit is doing through me.
Oratio
Lantern of Hope
shining through the dark
lantern of hope
flickering flame
draw me near
Your light
Your warmth
lead me
enlighten me
consume me
bring me home
into Your Church
where else would I go
Contemplatio
If your own journey home has taken longer than you expected, or wound through paths you didn’t choose, you are not alone in that. Every detour can still be ground for the seed of faith to take root. Remain here a moment longer, not seeking to control what comes next, simply allowing His presence to have its way with you.
Related Scripture
“He told them another parable: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.’”
For Further Reading
If you enjoyed this post, you may also like Held Fast, Lifted Up: Thomas Merton and the Paradox of the Cross (Lectio Divina), which sits with the same call to remain rather than flee, this time in the desert of the cross itself.
Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity.
Wrestling With God.
Returning To Love.
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