A Light That Shines in the Dark: A Conversion Story, Part Three

In my journey toward the Catholic Church, the Sacred Scriptures had been my daily companion and guide. I had been reading the Psalms each morning when I received the gift of healing from an eating disorder. The Scriptures fortified me in my resistance to the pseudo-therapist who had attempted to seduce me away from the faith. They undergirded the insights I gained from my secular reading. They spoke to me of Jesus and illuminated my understanding.

That said, I still had a liberal Protestant view of the Bible: it was beautiful, evocative; it pointed to true principles. It was, in some vague way, inspired. But it was not authoritative.

I continued as a member of All Angels’ Episcopal Church, in love with the charismatic worship, vibrant artistry, and social ministries. Their house churches provided small group fellowship. Still, I was lonely for closer friendships, yearning for a deeper Christian experience of community, and unhappy that I was single. The self-help literature I was ingesting at the time informed me that because I was from a dysfunctional family, I had trouble with intimate relationships. To overcome this, I met with the parish healing ministry for regular prayer sessions. I thought, “I have multiple ministers and no friends. People will meet with me at scheduled times to pray for me, but no one will meet me for a cup of tea.”

At some point, I had encountered Jews for Jesus, a missionary organization of Jewish converts to evangelical Christianity. As far as I know, I do not have a drop of Jewish blood in me, but I loved their infusion of the Hebrew language and Jewish culture into their music and sometimes attended their worship services on Friday evenings. I bought the recording Messianic Joy by the Liberated Wailing Wall, their music group.

On February 13, 1988, a bleak Saturday, I was especially depressed over my singleness. I had learned to soldier through such spells, and so I spent the day cleaning the apartment. For comfort, I listened to Messianic Joy as I scrubbed. By then, I knew the music well enough to sing along with it. My apartment mate Janelle later told me that she thought I was happy because I kept singing. The last song on the recording. “Morning Star,” especially stayed with me. I sang it over and over.

Take heed to the word of the Lord,
It’s like a light that shines in the dark,
Until the dawning of the day when the shadows flee away
And the morning star arises in our hearts.

I went to church the following day, still forlorn. I listened morosely to the Scripture readings. We came to the New Testament reading:

For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty. For when he received honor and glory from God the Father and the voice was borne to him by the Majestic Glory, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,” we heard this voice borne from heaven, for we were with him on the holy mountain. And we have the prophetic word made more sure. You will do well to pay attention to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.

I was thunderstruck. The song I had sung repeatedly the previous day was a paraphrase of the final verse of this passage. With my limited familiarity with the Bible, I had not recognized the lyrics of “Morning Star” as scriptural. At home after the service, I re-read the same passage: 2 Peter 1:16-21. The last two verses of this passage are optional in the Episcopal lectionary, and I believe they were not read in church that morning. Now, in my bedroom, I drank them in:

First of all you must understand this, that no prophecy of scripture is a matter of one’s own interpretation, because no prophecy ever came by the impulse of man, but men moved by the Holy Spirit spoke from God.

The idea that God could speak directly to believers through His prophets, independent of human interpretation, was, well, a revelation to me. I now had a new confidence in the Bible. Since God was the author, Sacred Scripture had authority. In retrospect, it seems to me that this was a Valentine’s Day gift from God.

In March, a new rector was installed at All Angels’ Church. The Rev. Martyn Minns, a former Baptist, preached forthrightly from the Bible. My Valentine from Heaven had prepared me for this, and I was delighted. Martyn (he was happy to be called by his first name) did not shy away from questions of unfashionable Christian morality but preached openly that sexual intimacy was reserved for marriage. I had never heard an Episcopalian priest say that from the pulpit. I sent him a thank-you note, which, he later told me, had comforted him in the wake of the rejection he had encountered for taking this stand.

Waves of offended parishioners left, yes, but larger waves surged in, and many of the new arrivals were young. Overnight, it seemed, All Angels’ went from being a charismatic parish to being an evangelical parish. Without moving, I had changed churches.

In the new All Angels’ Church, I made the strange discovery that my lamentable, dysfunctional family background was no longer a social handicap. I was making friends quickly and easily, friends who would meet with me, even at unscheduled times, for prayer as well as for a cup of tea. Lunch after church with a sizeable group of peers (usually at an inexpensive Chinese restaurant) became part of my Sunday routine. I took on the role of a leader in one of the house churches. With Martyn’s blessing, I started a support group for people with eating disorders.

In retrospect, I wondered why I had been isolated for so long. It occurred to me that, given my pliable nature, I might have doubted the genuineness of my convictions if they had been formed in a comfortable circle of like-minded friends. Instead, I had first taken my stand all alone, and only afterward did I meet others who would stand with me. I came to think of this as my Elijah experience. The prophet Elijah had believed himself entirely alone until God assured him of the presence of seven thousand like-minded Israelites (1 Kings 19). More than that, it was God Himself who first broke through Elijah’s isolation.

(Editor’s note: In the fourth and final part of this series, to be published next week. Sara describes her reception into the Catholic Church.)

Related at CWR:
• “A funny thing happened on my walk up Broadway”: Part two of a conversion story by Sara Frear (Aug. 22, 2025)
• “Yes, Virginia, there is a Satan: A Conversion Story, Part One” by Sara Frear (Aug. 5, 2025)