My Faith Journey

This is the story of how I—someone raised Catholic, educated in Catholic schools, and surrounded by the faith—nearly walked away from it all… only to discover that what I was looking for had been right in front of me the whole time.

Like many cradle Catholics, I had grown up knowing of the Church but not really knowing it. For years, I wrestled with doubts, frustrations, and the appealing simplicity of other Christian traditions. I thought maybe the Catholic Church might be too rigid, too ritualistic—maybe even wrong. But God used unexpected people, awkward questions, and even anti-Catholic books to lead me deeper.

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Like many, I grew up in the Catholic faith but wanted little to do with it. I longed for everything the world had to offer instead. I’m a cradle Catholic—Catholic school from kindergarten through high school. Yet, despite twelve years of religion class, I can’t recall anything I truly learned apart from memorized prayers.

As I got older and stepped out of the school environment, I began to get challenged here and there—mostly by friends—about my Catholic beliefs or the way I was living. Some of them had left the Catholic Church for Protestant denominations, while others had just stepped away from faith entirely. I always held a quiet respect for those who became Protestant, because they seemed to be living genuinely Christian lives.

One night around a campfire, beers in hand, a friend asked me, “Why do Catholics worship Mary? I mean, why do you say the words Hail Mary?” I just shrugged—I didn’t know. To this day, I remember that moment more vividly than anything from a decade of Catholic schooling. Looking back, I believe it marked the beginning of something stirring deep within me.

Do Over

Around the year 2000, I found myself buried in study, preparing for an important exam. In a moment of quiet sincerity, I made a promise to God: that once the exam was over, I would commit the same energy and time to learning about Him.

A few weeks later, I passed the exam and was feeling both relieved and thankful. With Lent approaching, I saw that our parish was offering a Bible study program. It felt like the right opportunity—maybe even a nudge from God—so I signed up.

I came into it expecting deep, scriptural answers about the Catholic faith. I wanted to know the “why” behind all the things I grew up doing but never fully understood. Instead, the study was more reflective, geared toward personal growth during Lent rather than theological deep dives.

Still, I tried to ask some questions—like, “Why do Catholics give up meat on Fridays during Lent?”—but the answers I received were vague, lacking clarity or confidence. I had more questions, but no real answers were coming. It left me discouraged. I began to wonder: Are these answers even out there? Or are they just not meant to be found?

At the same time, I couldn’t help but think of friends who had left the Catholic Church for Protestant communities. These were people I respected. They seemed genuinely committed to their faith, and many of them could quote Scripture in ways I’d never heard from Catholics. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like when people got serious about their relationship with God—they became Protestant.

That thought took root. Slowly, the idea of leaving the Church started to feel exciting. I imagined a version of Christianity with fewer rules. No more confession, no more meatless Fridays, no more holy days of obligation. I could fire up a grill on a Lenten Friday without guilt. I could find a church with a solid worship band and get involved there.

Looking back now, I see how self-centered that thinking was. But at the time, I convinced myself it was a move toward God. The truth was, I was still mostly living for myself—trying to do just enough to check the boxes to get into Heaven.  Not realizing that I wasn’t even close.

Family Ties

I was raised in a Catholic home. My mom and dad are deeply spiritual people—firm in their Catholic faith—and that’s the environment I grew up in. It’s really all I had ever known up to that point.

So the thought of leaving the Catholic Church wasn’t something I took lightly. I knew it would hurt them. Not because they’re rigid or controlling—they’re actually incredibly loving and supportive—but because their faith is such a core part of who they are.

Still, I believed that if I could explain my reasons, and show them that it wasn’t a rejection of God but a sincere desire to grow closer to Him, they might come to understand. But to do that, I knew I couldn’t just rely on feelings. I needed to dig deep—into Scripture and Church history—and really understand both sides of the story.

The Book

I started having conversations—with my mom and dad, and a few others—about the questions I was wrestling with. One of the first things I was handed was an anti-Catholic book. It came from someone I care about deeply—someone I trust, who had left the Catholic Church years earlier. I don’t remember the title or the author, but the format was simple and striking: on one page, “The Catholic Church teaches this…,” and on the facing page, “The Bible says this…”

At first glance, it seemed like a straightforward attempt to point out contradictions. But I quickly began to see what Hank Hanegraaff—Protestant (now Orthodox) apologist and host of The Bible Answer Man—once described perfectly: “All too often, in this debate, people set up straw men and knock them down.” That’s exactly what this book did. It painted a distorted image of Catholicism and then knocked it over with cherry-picked verses and personal interpretations. It was less a fair critique and more a caricature.

Ironically, the book didn’t pull me away from the Church—it had the opposite effect. I still identified as Catholic and held a love for my Church, so the book felt like an attack. But it did force me to confront something I hadn’t dealt with before: how Protestants—especially former Catholics—often view the Church. I’d been challenged by friends before, but never like this.

It left me frustrated, confused, and even a little anxious. What if there was some truth in it? What if the Church really had gone off track? I even began to wonder if we were all too far removed from the original truth to even know what God truly wanted anymore.

But after a few days of reflection, I found myself asking two very simple, even childlike questions:

1. What Christian Church came first?

2. Did Jesus establish a Church?

Those questions might seem basic, but they shifted everything for me. Maybe the book had done what it was meant to after all—just not in the way the author intended. It got me asking the right questions.

At that point, I didn’t have the theological background to know good arguments from bad ones. I still hadn’t come across a solid Catholic explanation for much of anything. So I decided to start with credibility: Which Church had the strongest historical foundation?

A quick internet search (followed by a secular encyclopedia check, just to be sure) gave me a surprising answer: the line of popes traces back all the way to the apostle Peter. That stunned me. Then I learned that Protestantism didn’t even exist until the 1500s. I also discovered that the Eastern Orthodox Church had split from the Catholic Church around 1080 AD. I didn’t dive into the details of the Reformation or the East-West schism at that point—I just remember thinking, Well, that answers my first question. That definitely felt like a point in the Catholic column.

Not long after that, I came across Matthew 16:18–19, where Jesus says to Peter, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church… I give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven.” There it was—Jesus establishing a Church and placing Peter at its head.

That answered my second question. And now, the journey started to feel very real.

The Tape

Not long after that turning point, my mom and dad came by for a visit. Before they left, they handed me something unexpected: a homemade cassette tape—clearly a copy of a copy of a copy. “You should listen to this,” they said. I told them I’d need to convert it to a CD first, but I promised I would.

So the next morning, on my drive to work, I popped in the newly burned CD. That’s when I was introduced to Dr. Scott Hahn.

Scott Hahn was a former Protestant pastor, a Bible scholar, and a professor at Dominion Theological Institute. He was also, by his own description, once extremely anti-Catholic—proudly responsible for leading countless people away from the Church. What I was hearing was his conversion story—to Catholicism.

Within minutes, my heart was racing. I thought, Finally!—a Catholic perspective coming from someone who clearly knew the Bible inside and out, and who didn’t have a reason to be biased in favor of the Church. In fact, he had every worldly reason not to convert. He had been offered the position of Dean at Dominion Theological Institute by age 26—a bright future laid out in front of him. Yet he gave it all up to become Catholic. I figured: if a guy like that made a move like this, there had to be some serious substance behind it.

Scott already knew Scripture like the back of his hand. But then he began reading the early Church Fathers—Polycarp, Irenaeus, Ignatius of Antioch (who had been a disciple of the Apostle John). These were men who were connected closely, if not directly to the Apostles, who interpreted Scripture in a way that reflected both continuity and depth. At first, Scott thought maybe they just got a few things right by accident. But the more he studied, the more undeniable the pattern became. Point after point, he found the Catholic Church was getting it right—not in spite of history, but because of it.

He was especially moved by the Church’s use of typology—the way the Old Testament illuminates the New. As St. Augustine once said: “The New Testament is concealed in the Old, and the Old is revealed in the New.” This deepened Scott’s hunger to understand more, and he immersed himself in Catholic writings and teachings with the same passion he once used to critique them.

Then, one day, by God’s providence, Scott inconspicuously attended a weekday Mass—just a small, quiet liturgy in a basement chapel. He sat in the back with his Bible open, ready to observe. What he encountered surprised him deeply. From the opening words of the Mass, everything felt familiar—not in a Catholic way, but in a biblical way. It was structured, scriptural, and shockingly similar to how the early Church Fathers had described worship in the first few centuries.

As the liturgy moved from the Word to the Eucharist, he heard phrases he had read dozens of times before—they were the ones “unhighlighted” —but now they were jumping off the page, especially from the Book of Revelation. “Lamb of God,” mentioned 28 times in 22 chapters, suddenly meant something profound. Scott connected it to the Old Testament Passover, where the lamb had to be eaten to complete the sacrifice and be saved. Jesus, the true Lamb of God, fulfilled this in the New Covenant—and instituted the Eucharist at the Last Supper with the words, “Do this in memory of me.” John 6’s teaching on the Eucharist, once symbolic to Scott, now came alive as literal, spiritual, and essential.

That moment at Mass was a turning point for Scott. And listening to his story, it became my epiphany as well

Reflecting

For most of my life, I had been talked down to for being Catholic. And now, here was someone saying not only was Catholicism defensible—it was true. After that drive, I couldn’t get enough. I spent the next four years consuming talk after talk—mostly from Scott Hahn, but also from many other Protestant converts who had found their way home to the Catholic Church. I replaced music with Catholic radio—especially Catholic Answers Live—and started learning answers to every objection I had ever heard, and then some.

But it wasn’t just about winning arguments. I started to understand the Church as a family—a real, spiritual family. Through baptism, I realized, I had become an adopted son in God’s household. I had a Heavenly Father, a spiritual Mother in Mary, and brothers and sisters in Christ and the saints and fellow believers. This made sense to me—it mirrored the love and structure I already knew in my earthly family. And unlike anything I had experienced before, it gave context to love, sacrifice, authority, and grace.

In contrast, many of the Protestant communities I had explored seemed to focus on “just me and Jesus.” That message has a certain appeal in its simplicity. But it felt incomplete. I didn’t see the familial love. I didn’t see the new Passover—this Eucharistic reality that Jesus emphasized so much. I didn’t see “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic.”

Yes, the Church has endured its share of scandal and suffering. But Jesus never promised perfect leaders—He promised a protected truth. In Matthew 23:2–3, He tells people to listen to those who “sit on Moses’ seat,” even though some of them were corrupt. The authority remained, because God had placed it there, and God can write straight with crooked lines. And in 2 Thessalonians 2:15, we’re told to hold fast to the traditions passed on by word of mouth or letter—not just what was written down. If the Catholic Church had truly taught a false gospel, it would mean the Holy Spirit had failed. But Christ assured us in Matthew 16:18 that “the gates of hell will not prevail against it.”

Living Catholic

Over the years, I discovered something amazing: many now-prominent Catholic apologists had experienced their own conversions in the year 2000—just like me. That’s when I learned that Pope John Paul II had declared it a Jubilee Year. I now believe that may have been more than just a symbolic gesture. I think something spiritual was genuinely happening.

Since then, I’ve been through countless Bible studies, conferences, and talks. And I’m at peace—deep, lasting peace—knowing that I’m following what Christ Himself instituted. Ironically, I learned most of my Catholic faith not in school, but from converts from other faiths and denominations. And maybe that’s providential—because what I see in them is a deep love of Scripture. Pair that with the richness of the sacraments, and you have the best of both worlds. Or as Scott Hahn puts it: “The menu, with the meal.”

Today, I’m involved in our parish OCIA (formerly RCIA) program, walking alongside those discerning whether to enter the Church. My mission is twofold: to help newcomers discover the treasure that is the Catholic faith—and to help cradle Catholics, like me, realize the incredible gift we’ve already been given.

And now, in this current season of my journey, I find myself increasingly drawn to the “why beneath the why.” My growing interest in philosophy has revealed just how deeply our foundational worldview shapes how we interpret Scripture, authority, and even truth itself. I used to assume that most objections to Catholicism stemmed from pride or misunderstanding, but I now see that, for many thoughtful non-Catholics, it’s more than that. Their conclusions often flow from a different philosophical framework altogether. That realization has helped me listen with more respect, even when I still disagree.

As I wrestle with these ideas in my own mind, I keep coming back to one conviction: I believe there is such a thing as objective truth—unchanging, rooted in reality, not opinion. And if that’s the case, then truth isn’t just something we decide. It’s something we discover. That belief makes it difficult not to be Catholic, because the more I understand, the more the Church’s teachings align with the reality I see in Scripture, history, reason, and the deepest longings of the human heart.

There is so much more that I learned over the following years, it would be too much to explain here.  So, for now, I will bookend with one of my favorite quotes “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.”    - G.K. Chesterton