Why I’m Catholic

St. Paul certainly could not boast about his conversion. He didn’t read his way into the Church. He wasn’t compelled by the witness of charity. He was knocked off his proverbial horse on the way to lock up Christians in prison. It was grace.

At the age of 13, I had my own “Road to Damascus” experience. I grew up a non-practicing Catholic, having been baptized (somehow) and receiving my First Communion only after the third attempt for failing to come to enough classes. But then I was expelled from the public school in seventh grade for bringing a scouting knife in my backpack. My mother desperately sought another school for me, and only our last resort worked: Holy Name of Jesus parochial school.

The pastor took a chance on me, despite the principal’s objections, and my life would never be the same. Immediately, I felt welcomed into a family, unlike the institutional feeling of public school. A month in, I received an invitation to serve morning Mass on the pastor’s ordination anniversary. Although I wasn’t attending Sunday Mass, my mom and I both felt it was important to honor the priest who had given me a second chance. Kneeling at the altar early that morning, I heard the Lord calling me: “This is where you belong. This is what you’ve been looking for.”

As a restless adolescent, I had been looking for something — curious, perhaps often in the wrong way — but seeking something deeper, looking to perceive and enter life’s mystery. Having encountered this mystery not as a thing but as a Person, I immediately began attending Sunday Mass, and, not long after, daily Mass, to be close to him.

In the fall of my eighth-grade year, I was given an assignment to learn about the Divine Mercy devotion. Once again willing to help, my mom took me to the Catholic bookstore, where I found the little white pamphlet detailing the devotion

“How about that big red one?” my mom suggested. “You like to read.”

St. Faustina’s Diary, therefore, was the first Catholic book I read, followed by Pope St. John Paul II’s recent Crossing the Threshold of Hope, the Bible, the life of my Confirmation saint, Pius X, Story of a Soul, and then the newly released Catechism. My life was taking a clear trajectory toward the study and teaching of the Catholic faith.

My Confirmation at the end of eighth grade culminated this whole process of coming back to the home I hardly knew. The ceremony was powerful, with a visible burst of light manifesting the grace we received. From that moment, I had a sense of mission, a calling. I knew I was supposed to teach the faith, and I was given the grace of being able to answer questions. I continued reading that year about the lives of the saints, Church history, the development of the liturgy, and two other books that would lead me onto my next step: the life of Pope St. John Paul II and the Letters of St. Maximilian Kolbe.

My freshman year of high school was a busy one, as I took on responsibilities at Holy Name, including training our altar servers, at my high school, and also at the local Byzantine Catholic Church.

But God already called me to begin my itinerant Catholic life.

I received a letter in the mail from the Rotary Club asking for applications for its international student ambassador program. I asked my mom if I could respond, and without really paying attention to what I was asking, she nodded her head. No one had ever responded to that annual letter sent to students of my high school before, so the Rotary Club promptly called me, and the next thing I knew, I was going through a vetting process to be sent to Poland the following year. When my mom realized what was happening, she was somewhat terrified but still allowed me to continue (I was a determined young fellow). And so, in the summer of 1997, as a sophomore in high school, I flew across the globe, not quite knowing what to expect. What would the Church and society there be like after decades of Communism?

It was one of the best years of my life, an extended retreat with Mass at any time of day and an immersion into Catholic culture. I wandered daily through Poznań’s narrow streets until I had visited every church, soaked in its Gothic or Baroque architecture, listened to its many organs of various size and volume, and prayed with its many religious orders. I studied European and Polish history, travelled to other cities, hiked, skied, prayed before Our Lady of Częstochowa, and even made my way to Rome for the first time.

I was a long way from my conversion at Holy Name only two years prior, yet still at home, still belonging to a much greater family. I found that the faith I was called to study was grounded in a great and beautiful tradition that has survived unfathomable onslaughts and was ready to inspire a new generation to rebuild.

I am Catholic because God plucked me out of darkness, out of the purposelessness I experienced in modern American culture, one of unending entertainment and distraction. He set me on the path of learning and teaching his Truth, while surrounding me with his love through friendship, mentorship, marriage, family, colleagues, and students, within a worldwide communion of believers.

There have been many ups and downs, and it took two difficult years of seminary to prepare me for the vocation of marriage. In the lay apostolate, I know that I am continuing a great legacy, helping others to rediscover their Catholic patrimony, and working with others to find new ways to live the faith today.

Despite hardships, I have always felt at home in the Church, and would answer any difficulty along with Peter, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68).

(Dr. Staudt’s column is syndicated by the Denver Catholic, the official publication of the Archdiocese of Denver.)