The Struggle of Faith

Twenty years ago this month, I decided to become Catholic. At the time, it was a rather emotional decision, likely rooted in a bit of rebellion—my family background is Seventh-Day Adventist, which is historically anti-Catholic—but mostly born of a desire for a fresh start. Years later, I was happy to discover that my decision to become Catholic came right about the same time that John Paul II issued his pro-life encyclical Evangelium Vitae (The Gospel of Life) in March 1995. The encyclical’s affirmation of the value and dignity of every human life had special significance for me in reflection upon a difficult period in my own life.

For several years following my reception into the Church, I enjoyed reading conversion stories. At the time, the late–1990s, the Catholic publishing world seemed to be exploding with conversion literature, so I had plenty to choose from. One of my favorites was Born Fundamentalist, Born Again Catholic by David B. Currie. This observation, in particular, has stuck with me over the years:

Catholics believe in an initial conversion but also that we must continually be converted. For Catholics, if it has been more than a few minutes since we repented and converted, it has probably been too long. . . .

This is not to say that there may not come major turning points in a Catholic’s Christian commitment. . . . From the Catholic perspective, a conversion occurs any time we choose God over self. This must be a regular event, but occasionally it is an event that changes the entire direction of our lives (pp. 122–123).

I have thought of this passage whenever I have had the opportunity to interact with converts on opposite ends of the conversion spectrum: those seeking to enter the Church, and those thinking of leaving the Church.

The journey in 

One of the most frequent questions I hear from potential converts is some form of “Do I have to believe [insert disputed Catholic teaching] to become Catholic?” Whether it is a doctrine (e.g., purgatory) or a moral teaching (e.g., that abortion is a moral evil), the inquirer wants to know if his particular stumbling block will prevent him from becoming Catholic. Another form of the question can be “Can you give me a list of all that I have to believe before I can become Catholic?”

There is no handy list of dogmas and doctrines to be checked off and signed before a convert can become Catholic. These are the requirements the Code of Canon Law gives for adult baptism:

To be admitted to baptism, an adult must have manifested the intention to receive baptism, must be adequately instructed in the truths of the faith and in the duties of a Christian, and tested in the Christian life over the course of the catechumenate. The person must moreover be urged to have sorrow for personal sins (canon 865).

Instruction in the truths of the faith and Christian duties, beginning to live a Christian life during the catechumenate, sorrow for sin. Why do these requirements seem rather small? The Catechism of the Church explains the reason:

Baptism is the sacrament of faith. But faith needs the community of believers. It is only within the faith of the Church that each of the faithful can believe. The faith required for baptism is not a perfect and mature faith, but a beginning that is called to develop. The catechumen or the godparent is asked: “What do you ask of God’s Church?” The response is: “Faith!”(CCC 1253, emphasis added).

In other words, the journey is just beginning. The convert, whether he is being baptized into the Catholic Church, or whether he is already a Christian and is being confirmed upon reception into the Church, is not asked for much more than a desire for faith and a willingness to be taught. He is asked to join the journey of faith with the people of God. It is expected that he will grow in his faith along the way.

The journey out

As mentioned, I read a lot of conversion literature in the years immediately after becoming Catholic. In recent years, I have been noticing more than a few stories of de-conversion. In a few cases, the de-conversion has been complete, and the once happy convert has fallen away from an orthodox understanding and practice of his Catholic faith, moved on to a simulacrum of the Church, or returned to his point of origin. In other cases, I have been watching the de-conversions in progress: The convert has not yet left, indeed still professes to be Catholic; but, unless something changes to disrupt his current trajectory, he likely will, as William Shakespeare might have said, “exit, pursued by a bear.”

In the cases I have been following, a common theme in de-conversion seems to be that the convert assumes he knows all there is to know about the Church. Unlike his convert counterpart, who is looking in from the outside and wondering just how much he must agree with before he can become Catholic, the de-convert is on the inside looking out, because he seems to figure that there is nothing more he needs to know. He has reached a point at which he is no longer willing to be taught, is no longer willing to be open to faith, is no longer willing to continue on the journey.

As David Currie pointed out though, for Catholics conversion is a lifelong process. We have to always be open to turning back to the Church with a desire for faith and a willingness to learn. And no matter how unpleasant or scandalous we find fellow believers who are also on the journey, we have to continue the journey with them. Like a few of Geoffrey Chaucer’s pilgrims on the journey to Canterbury, some of the pilgrims we must travel with through life may be unpleasant to be around, but we stick with them anyway because it is too dangerous to make the journey alone.

The journey onward

In his book Making Sense Out of Suffering, philosopher Peter Kreeft offered a number of clues to shed light on the mystery of suffering. The one I found most intriguing was his explanation of the life wish and the death wish, as formulated by Sigmund Freud:

We all have two primordial, unconscious drives, according to Freud: eros, the life wish, and thanatos, the death wish. Both flow from the pleasure principle, our innate drive for pleasure and against pain. Eros drives us forward to life, birth, growth, sex, reproduction, creativity, challenge, and future, even at the price of suffering. . . .

The other half of the pleasure principle is thanatos, the death wish. It drives us not forward but backward, back to the only time and place where we ever had what we want—total pleasure and no pain—back to the womb. This, according to Freud, helps account for aggression; we resent life for birthing us into pain and we take our vengeance on life by destruction (p. 67).

While I have reservations about the claim that humans have “primordial, unconscious drives,” at least insofar as it relates to human psychology, I think there is some value in this image of the life wish and the death wish.

We either continually press forward in our faith life, or we fall back. We do not remain still for long, because, like all living things, faith grows and thrives, or it withers and dies. If we press forward in our faith, there will undoubtedly be struggle, difficulty, perhaps even heartache, because moving forward is never comfortable. If we fall back, we may be comfortable—at least for a time—but that comfort may be deceptive and, ultimately, deadly. As Benedict XVI once said:

The ways of the Lord are not comfortable, but we were not created for comfort, but for greatness, for good.

How can we continue moving forward in our spiritual lives to life, and avoid falling back into spiritual death? Here are a few suggestions.

Frequent the sacraments. One of the first signs that there may be a problem to be addressed is if you find yourself not going to the sacraments as often. Oh, maybe you are still fulfilling your Sunday obligation, but perhaps you have not been going as often as you used to. If there are legitimate reasons why you cannot go to Mass more often than on Sunday, that is not a problem, but a genuine reluctance is a problem. Or perhaps you are finding reasons why you shouldn’t go—whether those reasons be a distaste for how Mass is offered in your area, or you want to accompany friends or relatives to their place of worship, or you feel like you’re not “getting anything” out of the experience.

The same holds true for confession. If you used to go once a month and now find yourself going much less frequently that too may be an issue. Certainly, it might be that a scrupulous soul needs to go to confession a bit less frequently, but everyone should be going regularly. If you have fallen out of the habit of going, then start.

Even if you have not slackened in going to the sacraments, going more frequently than you do, so long as it is not creating false scruples, can help you through rough patches in your spiritual life.

Find a community within the Church. If you feel increasingly alienated from the Church—whether that alienation is because of spiritual dryness, or it is because you are finding yourself at odds with public figures in the Church whose actions worry you—the solution to alienation is to reach out to other people. Perhaps this sense of alienation might be an impetus for discerning whether you have a lay vocation to a religious community within the Church.

Some who find themselves at odds with the Church seek out likeminded souls who are also at odds with the Church—groups like the Society of St. Pius X on the far right, or Call to Action on the far left. The desire to reach out to others is a laudable one, what is problematic is reaching out to those who also find themselves at odds with the Church. Rather, contact your diocese and find out if there are local religious communities, approved by the Church and recognized by your diocese, that you can visit to see if you might have a lay vocation.

Most of the major religious orders (e.g., Benedictines, Franciscans, Dominicans, Carmelites) have communities open to laypeople and secular clergy that allow Catholics to live out the charism of the order in their everyday lives. Find out if there is a community in your area, and how you can begin the discernment process.

Recognize temptations against faith. We tend to assume that we will always know when we are being tempted. Desire for that last piece of chocolate cake is easily recognizable as a temptation to gluttony. A need to curse and shout can be seen for the temptation to anger that it is. But how often do we recognize the more subtle temptations, such as the temptations against faith?

Temptations against faith do not often appear in full flower. You probably won’t wake up one day and, out of the blue, have a burning desire to hate God and spit on a crucifix. Rather, the temptations might begin with dissatisfaction with how Mass is being offered. You might then begin to wonder why Church leaders either don’t seem to understand the faith or seem determined to subvert it. Perhaps you will find other Catholics who confirm you in your suspicions, either in your parish or online. You might decide you have to get your dissatisfaction off your chest, so you find somewhere to vent—either in social media, in Internet comment boxes, or by creating a personal blog.

Allowed time to ferment, those temptations, which seem at first to be innocent questions and concerns, could burst into full-blown schism.

Into the desert

Every Lent begins with the story of Jesus being driven into the desert after his baptism. After John the Baptist’s acclamation and the spectacular showing of God’s favor, Jesus is sent into the desert for forty days. Hunger and thirst are constant, wild beasts roam about. He is strengthened along the way by angels (Mark 1:9–13). In the end though, when he is at his weakest point, he will face a terrible test (Matt. 4:1–11).

Basically, the devil offers Christ a series of shortcuts: He can sate his hunger by changing stones into bread (Matt. 4:3). He can win universal acclaim by jumping off the highest pinnacle of the Temple and landing without injury (Matt. 4:5–6). He can have the whole world if only he will give his soul to the devil (Matt. 4:8–9). 

But, like all shortcuts, these temptations bypass something necessary: Struggle. Without struggle, without hardship, we cannot grow (cf. Rom. 5:3–5). Whatever we gain without legitimate struggle can become meaningless. As God, Christ did not need to struggle; but, as man, he showed us that the way to everlasting life cannot be without the struggle of faith.

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need (Heb. 4:14–16).

This article is reprinted with permission from our friends at Catholic Answers.
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Catholic Answers is an apostolate dedicated to serving Christ by bringing the fullness of Catholic truth to the world. They help good Catholics become better Catholics, bring former Catholics “home,” and lead non-Catholics into the fullness of the faith. Visit them online at www.Catholic.com.

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