Chrysalis: My Reversion to Catholicism

Time to face up, clean this old house
Time to breathe in and let everything out...
--Sanctus Real, "Whatever You're Doing"

Now that I have spent the last 18 months as a Catholic, I think that it's time to tell the story of how I got here--or, rather, back here. Unfortunately, it's not a common occurrence to find someone who is both almost nineteen years old, and trying to "believe and profess all that the holy Catholic Church believes, teaches, and proclaims to be revealed by God." When people find out that I do consider myself a serious Catholic, the reaction is a mix of incredulity and curiosity, with a question that is always the same: "Why?"

By writing this out, I hope to answer, in at least some ways, that "why". This whole blog is really an outlet for me to share my Faith--some of you have been with me since before I was even a Christian. I think all of you deserve to know where I happily stand today.

I'm going to pick up where Juxtaposition leaves off: in the winter of 2006, when I was freshly Christian. Please read that first if you've not already! :)

~*~*~

Waking up later on New Year's Day of 2006 was, in a word, surreal. For a moment, everything was normal, until the events from earlier that morning came back to me. The peace was gone, though, now replaced with confusion, and to a lesser degree, panic. The decision to hand over the reins as it were was mine, but what came next? My ExWitch elders stressed the importance of my finding a local, Bible-believing church to plant my roots, but I was overcome most of all with fear. My family knew next to nothing about my struggles in faith, forced to be victims of my emotional rollercoaster without explanation. What would they think if knew that their secular, broody, almost anti-Catholic daughter had suddenly, out of the blue, started to care? The potential answers were enough to keep me very far in "the broom closet" for a long while.

I had left ExWitch for some time prior to getting saved. To this day I have nothing but love and respect for them, but at that time I was feeling pressured to make the decision for Christ before I was ready. Cutting ties for a season ensured that the decision was truly mine, and that I could be at peace with it. It was after I got saved that I realized that I really did need other people to help me get by, particularly because I wasn't involved in a church community. Catholicism, as far as I was concerned, was a non-option. They "didn't preach the Gospel," and were much too conservative for my liberal views, both politically and theologically. I didn't have any Christian friends, though, so for the time being, I was on my own.

It was in April, just before Easter of that same year when I was browsing ExWitch after returning. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, I stumbled upon an inappropriate link posted by a troll just as my father was coming in to say goodnight. It was an accident, but it was too late to explain: all my parents knew was that I had found the link on some crazy religious website. I was forbidden to go back from that point on, despite the admin trying their best to explain the mishap. With the exception of two Christians and a Wiccan priest friend, I now had no one to help me answer the burning questions of my newfound faith. To further complicate things, I was still struggling seriously with temptations toward the occult. Sabbats were particularly difficult as memories of the rush of power and connection to Nature slammed on me.

A few days after the incident, both of my parents were still very angry about what had happened earlier that weekend. The tension was getting the best of me, in a show of brash courage I marched out into the living room, sat down, and told my mom about my past and present "adventures" in religion. It didn't go over as well as I had hoped (to prevent slander, I won't say more than that). Generally, she was extremely uncomfortable with me being involved in online theological forums, and asked if I would wait until I turned 18 to continue my seeking. Naturally, I agreed, even if that date was a year and a half away.

Spring and summer of that year were about as miserable for me as it could have gotten. My theology was heretical in almost every way: I denied the existence of hell and Satan, as well as the human and divine natures of Christ. Nevertheless, I prayed hard every night to know God and His Son, and for a way to be made for me. Most of all, I prayed for people to come into my life that understood.

That prayer was answered for me in late July, when I somehow stumbled upon a handle I recognized from ExWitch on a blogging website. We were more or less complete strangers at that point, our only common bond being the forum we both called home and eventually left. We ended up talking almost every day, until one night without warning, he confided in me that he had let his lust for the occult get the better of him after leaving EW, and it had now come back to bite him; he had caught the eye of a deity most would call a demoness, and she wouldn't leave him alone.

We were casual friends, nothing more, but his situation stirred up intense empathy from me, having been there myself only months before. I offered to help in any way I could, and in a moment of complete stupidity and protectiveness, I knew I had to do magick, to fight fire with fire and her power with a kind I knew could be controlled.

In that instant, I would have willingly thrown my Christian faith away in favor of my own power. Part of me still wanted, deep down, to atone for the botched rituals from when I was still practicing. If I could only do one right...and to help a friend was righteous! By the grace of God, my troubled friend put his foot down, refusing to allow me to go through with it despite his fear. If I was to be a Christian, he told me, I was going to have to act like one. Magick was no longer my answer. For the next three days, we would turn to prayer. My faith in God's providence when faced with something that belligerent was incredibly weak, yet in those three days I prayed harder than I had ever prayed before. He had terrible nightmares, and in some ways I was afraid that by fighting beside him, I, too, would open myself up to attack.

But by the end of those three days in Scripture and prayer together, tired as we were, the Spirit of God was stronger than either of us had ever seen. Verses kept popping up everywhere--on the radio, on the web, and in our Bibles--about spiritual defense and the God's ability to conquer; we both got rid of anything leftover with occult attachments and, by the end of that week, the worst had passed. He had been delivered, and God made Himself known to me in a way I could no longer deny.

After that, I saw a huge lift in my spiritual life, and immediately started pulling away from paganism completely while becoming more orthodox, though far from perfect, in my views. Something had changed between my friend and I through the experience, as well. We saw each other at our weakest, and going through that week had bonded us in a way that was hard to explain. In November, after only three months of talking, we stopped ignoring what both of us had been afraid to admit, and I've been incredibly blessed to call him my other half for the past two years now.

Belief over misery, I've seen the enemy
And i won't go back, back to how it was
I got my heart set on what happens next
I got my eyes wide, it's not over yet...
--Switchfoot, "This is Home"

That autumn, I started my senior year of high school determined to get myself off of my island and connect with other Christians in the "real world". The only outlet for this I knew of was at Alpha Omega, a Protestant Christian fellowship held after school. At club night early in the year, I spoke to their director, a bright-eyed, gentle man that scared me to death. Truthfully, he was the first Christian I had spoken to face-to-face, and I had an incredible fear that my paganism marked me with a scarlet letter. I feared rejection, misunderstanding, and sharing the intimacy of my faith with others. Swallowing all of that, when my schedule finally allowed me, a supportive friend and I went to AO. Being hugged by strange people, all who loved Jesus sooooo much, was enough to make my normally extroverted self withdraw into a standoffish shell. The worship was dry, and empty of the Spirit I had felt so strongly in my own prayer. It would be my first and last time there.

On top of that, after attending Protestant christenings for my baby cousins, I was feeling unsatisfied. Was this all that Christianity could offer me, the Bible and some pretty songs? Bread and grape juice? There had to be more to worship than songs, and more to our faith than parables and commands. Though I carried on, I was extremely frustrated; something was missing.

Over the winter near Christmastime, I was listening to Christmas music on the radio when I heard a song that would stir up a spark in my head. It was "Breath of Heaven" by Sara Groves, a song written from Mary's viewpoint, encompassing all the emotions she must have felt in carrying the child Jesus. It stuck with me for the rest of that day: if the Holy Spirit could move as He did for me, and for my boyfriend, then surely He could help a virgin girl to have a child. And if that Child was really fathered by the very Spirit of God...He wouldn't be a normal Child, but something else: God Himself.

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Jesus of Nazareth was the Christ, the Son of God! It was this first display of fides et ratio--faith and reason--that would lead me home someday. For that moment, I was thrilled; I would be a lot more like "regular" Christians now. That Christmas season was special to me after that day. Suddenly, I understood the Trinity as simple as my own address. Not only that, but I had come to this knowledge by first putting my trust in the Blessed Virgin Mary. That should have sent up the Vatican flag right away, but it wouldn't, not for a while yet.

In the mean time, I would slowly begin to make uneasy connections with some Christians around me. Still, it never felt right, and I wasn't sure if it ever would; every sinner has a past, but mine was--is, even--just too much for some people. At first, that would devastate me. In time, though, I would learn that those who accepted me would always stick by me, especially my friends who were there from the beginning.

I heard from God again twice that winter, and one of those experiences I will share here. Two days into Lent of 2007, I had made a firm resolution to rid myself of my attachments to some nasty sins that kept me from moving forward. In prayer, I asked for God's help to endure what I knew would be a long season, and clear as day, I internally heard "Come to the cross with Me."

Okay, I don't know about you, but I don't go around saying things like that. This experience was similar to the one I had had about six weeks earlier: brief, but said so much, and so unlike what I would think or say, yet perfect. It was just the consolation I needed--I told myself I would follow Him wherever He led me.

Just hold my hand a while and walk with Me, My dearest child.
I know all the things that you need,
'Cause I have been there too, and I am here for you.
And I want you, and I need you so desperately...
--Cheer Up Charlie, "More"

Lent was difficult, to be sure, but it was also an intense process of growing. It was in April, right before Holy Week that I was ready to buckle down and welcome Easter in. I had been feeling the pull again from Christians on both sides, and even Pagans, to think and believe a certain way. I prayed, "Lord, help me to filter out all this noise. What do You want from me? Let me hear Your voice."

The very next day, I lost my internet connection, and then my desktop stopped working altogether. The tech was very surprised when he took my computer apart. It would have literally exploded if we had left it any longer, he said. Interestingly, I now was cut off from every single one of those who had been influencing me either way. That last week was mine.

I spent it in Scripture and prayer, sitting outside and reading. One night on a whim, having nothing to do but watch TV, I was channel surfing and landed on EWTN. I hadn't watched it since I was seven. Mother Angelica was on, and that night, she was talking about Holy Week. I don't remember a lot of the 15-minute portion I watched, but she had said, "If you haven't been to Mass in a while, why not start? There's no better time than right now. He loved you enough to die for you. He misses you. If you've not been to Confession in a long time...I know it's hard, and often scary. But please. Go. Give it another try. Come home."

Even though it was a clear emotional appeal, the woman broke me. Though I refused to admit it, I had been thinking about Catholicism for a long time. In November of the previous year, I had written in my journal, "I need to re-evaluate my life and where I'm at, because I'm not happy. The faith I'm seeing is empty. I need something deeper than that--liturgy, tradition, history. I'm just trying to ignore that place for me may very well be Catholicism."

Here I was, nearly six months later, crying at knowing that yes, I did miss the Church of my childhood; yes, it had been a long time, and I just wanted to go home.

See, I am doing something new!
Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
In the desert I make a way, in the wasteland, rivers.
--Isaiah 43:19 (NAB)

It took about three weeks for me to persuade my parents that going back to Mass was what I really wanted--understand, I had gone from anti-Catholic to wanting nothing more than to be one again in a relatively short period of time. They relented, though, and on April 21st of 2007, I was absolved of paganism and apostasy and received back into the Church.

The priest who would hear my first Confession upon my return had the honor of hearing the first true Confession I had ever made--for ten years, I would lie in the confessional and brag about it later. More than once I was nearly thrown out of my CCD class for disruptive behavior. And yet, I sat face-to-face with one of the toughest, yet most encouraging priests I ever dared to speak to. Both he and my pastor, who knew me when I was younger, have been wonderful to me. Since my return, I've had the chance to learn my Faith as I hadn't before, particularly its solid foundations in Scripture, and the incredible graces found in the Sacraments. I've also had the pleasure of watching my other half make his own journey; Lord willing, he'll be confirmed in 2009.

It's funny how things work out. You would have never convinced me four years ago as I did my first ritual that I would be Catholic and loving it now. God, it seems, has a wild sense of humor, and a true love of irony. Above all, He has been incredibly patient and faithful with me, and for that, I am unworthy, but beyond grateful.