Why I am a Catholic
Not, please note, why I am still a Catholic. That would need a different kind of post altogether. No, I am happy to say that at the heart of my faith is the person of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I believe everything the Catholic Church teaches about him to be true. That is why I am a Catholic and, please God, will remain a Catholic for the rest of my days.
Many readers will be disappointed by such an answer. They would really like a little bit of angst somewhere, or at the very least a stirring account of struggles with intellectual difficulties and existential doubt. I am not saying that faith comes more easily to me than it does to others, nor am I suggesting that I inhabit an untroubled upland where all is peace and light. The point is, nothing, absolutely nothing, can compare with the infinite truth and goodness of God. Once one has a sense of that, nothing less than God himself will do, and nothing less than God will one find. That is why I can identify with Walter Hilton’s pilgrim, who was determined to be at Jerusalem, no matter what terrors menaced him on the way, no matter how many wrong turns he made, no matter how uncongenial he found some of his companions (or how uncongenial they found him, understood).
Faith, for me, means keeping one’s gaze fixed on God, or rather, where one knows he will be found. Most of the time, of course, he is hidden from sight, which is why Benedict talks always about searching for God. But a glimpse of the true north is enough to set one’s course. Mistakes are made, alas, and one goes forward and backwards and wobbles along and gets stuck in all kinds of unprofitable situations. That is when grace steps in and puts right what one has managed to get wrong. It isn’t easy, and I think it gets harder as one goes on. Little by little, one is stripped of all the ‘comforts’ one formerly relied upon. The spell-binding liturgy of my youth is long gone; the churches are bleaker, emptier; the monastic world that has been my home for nearly forty years has changed beyond recognition. But, and it is an important but, God has not changed. He leads us deeper and deeper into the mystery of his being; and who could ask for more?
So, I am a Catholic, and glad and grateful for what I have been given. What I call the truth of Catholicism is something I experience daily, and it is a source of great joy. It is a pity that we tend to think of both truth and joy in largely negative terms — truth too often reduced to meaning an exposé of the latest criminality, joy nothing more than the absence of pain. A very little thought should convince us how wrong that is because truth and joy are ultimately a person, our Lord Jesus Christ, and he accompanies us wherever we are, including our darkest, most painful moments. So, I end where I began; but, thanks be to God, a little further along the way, I trust.
Many readers will be disappointed by such an answer. They would really like a little bit of angst somewhere, or at the very least a stirring account of struggles with intellectual difficulties and existential doubt. I am not saying that faith comes more easily to me than it does to others, nor am I suggesting that I inhabit an untroubled upland where all is peace and light. The point is, nothing, absolutely nothing, can compare with the infinite truth and goodness of God. Once one has a sense of that, nothing less than God himself will do, and nothing less than God will one find. That is why I can identify with Walter Hilton’s pilgrim, who was determined to be at Jerusalem, no matter what terrors menaced him on the way, no matter how many wrong turns he made, no matter how uncongenial he found some of his companions (or how uncongenial they found him, understood).
Faith, for me, means keeping one’s gaze fixed on God, or rather, where one knows he will be found. Most of the time, of course, he is hidden from sight, which is why Benedict talks always about searching for God. But a glimpse of the true north is enough to set one’s course. Mistakes are made, alas, and one goes forward and backwards and wobbles along and gets stuck in all kinds of unprofitable situations. That is when grace steps in and puts right what one has managed to get wrong. It isn’t easy, and I think it gets harder as one goes on. Little by little, one is stripped of all the ‘comforts’ one formerly relied upon. The spell-binding liturgy of my youth is long gone; the churches are bleaker, emptier; the monastic world that has been my home for nearly forty years has changed beyond recognition. But, and it is an important but, God has not changed. He leads us deeper and deeper into the mystery of his being; and who could ask for more?
So, I am a Catholic, and glad and grateful for what I have been given. What I call the truth of Catholicism is something I experience daily, and it is a source of great joy. It is a pity that we tend to think of both truth and joy in largely negative terms — truth too often reduced to meaning an exposé of the latest criminality, joy nothing more than the absence of pain. A very little thought should convince us how wrong that is because truth and joy are ultimately a person, our Lord Jesus Christ, and he accompanies us wherever we are, including our darkest, most painful moments. So, I end where I began; but, thanks be to God, a little further along the way, I trust.
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