THEY
SAY THAT FOOLISHNESS IS bound up in the heart of a
child, and I am inclined to agree.
This
past March (2003) I celebrated my nineteenth birthday.
While each birthday is special in its own way, this
one was particularly unique because it was the first
birthday that I have celebrated away from my home and
family. As I sit back and look over the events which
encompass the previous nineteen years of my existence,
I can only blush, smile, and shake my head in shame.
The two statements that best summarize my life up until
this point are: 1) I am a sinner, and 2) God loves
me more than I could ever love myself.
My
grandfather was fond of saying that “the older
ya get, the less ya know” – a phrase that I was never
quite able to figure out as a child. Over the last
several months, however – as my accepted beliefs and
commitments have been both challenged and altered – I
have come to appreciate my Grandfather’s wisdom.
He
was right: the older you get, the less you do know!
# # #
Speaking
of conversions to Catholicism, Henry G. Graham once
made the following statement: “The average son
or daughter would require more than the average moral
courage and strength of will to let conscience gain
the victory” (From Kirk to the Catholic Church [San
Diego: Catholic Answers, 1997, p. 117]). It has only
been over the last year that Graham’s perceptive words
have really hit home in my own life. I first read that
statement when I was still trying to decide whether
or not I was going to convert to Catholicism. He is
right. The inner turmoil that one experiences is not
easy, and it’s definitely not pleasant.
I was born an illegitimate child in Seoul, Korea,
in 1984, and I was adopted at three months of age.
I was reared – the oldest of five children – in a lovingly
committed, home-schooling, Protestant Christian home.
My interaction with Catholics while growing up was
only minimal and indirect. My grandfather was a fundamentalist
pastor. My uncle was an elder in a Presbyterian denomination. My
other uncle was born Catholic but eventually left the
Church and became a Baptist.
There
was not a single Catholic on either side of my family.
My
first encounter with anything “Catholic” came through
my father when I was about nine or ten. One of his
co-workers was a cradle-Catholic, and during their
lunch breaks he and my father would often have informal
discussions about religion and theology. Neither of
them were ever able to “convert” the other, and they
eventually gave up trying. I didn’t know my father’s
co-worker very well, but his daughter – a pretty little
blond – was one of my first crushes. Except for indirect
encounters such as these, however, Catholicism was
a rarity in our home. It would occasionally come up
in our dinner-time conversations, but it was never
taken seriously.
Although
my family only attended nondenominational-type churches,
we were Baptists theologically. We weren’t “legalistic,” “Bob
Jones-ian” type Protestants, but we did adhere to a
strict “believers-baptism” and a “memorial view” of
communion. The sacraments, while important, were not
central in our church’s liturgy. We regarded the Bible
as utterly infallible, fully inspired, and as the sole
source of binding authority in our life and thought. A
copy of the Bible was really all that was needed to
have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. And
while we didn’t make it a regular practice, we recognized
that having “Church at home” was an acceptable form
of Sunday worship.
I began
to take a strong interest in philosophy when I was
in the sixth grade.
The first philosopher who
caught my attention was René Descartes, and instead
of doing the schoolwork assigned to me by my parents,
I would lock myself in my room and read his Discourse
on Method. I also read Locke’s An Essay on Human
Understanding, and Kant’s Critique’s of Pure and Practical reason.
I won’t claim to have understood all of what I was
reading, but I could sense that their ideas were significant
not just to one’s philosophical understanding of reality,
but also to one’s day-to-day world-and-life-view.
Changes
I
was about thirteen when my family went through a
theological “revolution” of sorts. We were attending
an Evangelical Free Church at the time, and my father
brought home a series of video-taped theology lectures
that they had been using in his adult Sunday School
class.
“Here, Chris, watch these.” My dad handed me several
videos. “These tapes are pretty good. This guy’s smart,
and he really makes you think about what he’s saying.
I think you’ll like them.”
My
father was right: I did like them. I liked them a
lot. So much so that I began to devour all of the
tapes and books I could find by this theologian. And
it was through his books, tapes, and daily radio show,
that I was introduced to the tenets of historic Reformed
Protestantism. After several months of reading and
study, I fully embraced the Calvinistic, Presbyterian,
view of God and the world. I devoured all of the books
and tapes on Reformed theology that I could find. I
began to read the works of Protestant Reformers like
Martin Luther, John Calvin, Theodore Beza, and John
Knox. I fell in love with the writings of the Puritans
such as John Owen, Richard Baxter, Thomas Goodwin,
and Jonathan Edwards. I also took a keen interest in
the Princeton theologians like Charles Hodge, J.A.
Alexander, and B.B. Warfield.
Reformed
theology was no longer just a hobby for me. It
was my passion.
It was my life.
More Changes
During
the summer following my graduation from high school,
I flew down South to spend some time working with an
extremely brilliant Protestant theologian who had played
a central role in the founding of the “Christian Reconstruction” and “Theonomy” movements.
The Christian Reconstructionists were firm advocates
of the fact that “all truth is God’s truth,” and that
every aspect of life must submit itself to God’s authority.
Most of the scholars in this movement were very Calvinistic,
and many of them had a high regard for ecclesial hierarchy,
the liturgy, and the sacraments. Weary of the stagnant
and shallow theology I found within most of Evangelical
Protestantism, I was strongly attracted to their theological,
philosophical, and socio-political vision. It
wasn’t too long before I aligned myself whole-heartedly
with their efforts.
It
was through my study of the writings of these scholars
that I came to see that liturgy and ecclesial hierarchy
were not things to be feared. I rejected the ecclesial,
egalitarian individualism that I had been exposed to
growing up. I came to see that “church” was far more
than a “club” or “gathering” of like-minded people.
I became convinced that the church was divinely instituted,
and that it had a certain primacy and efficacy that
spilled over the boundaries of “religion” into the
world and culture.
Thus,
at the end of my senior year of high school, I was
a self-professed high-liturgy, theonomic, Calvinist,
Presbyterian. And although my regard for liturgy and
sacraments had greatly increased, I was still ardently
anti-Catholic. Nothing was clearer to me than the blatant
heresy of the Catholic Church. The possibility that
Catholicism could be true never even crossed my mind.
It was in this mindset, and with this set of theological
convictions, that I was accepted at Grove City College.
College Life
I
enrolled at Grove City College as a theology/philosophy
double-major, with a possible English minor. I chose
GCC over other colleges for several reasons: 1) it
was Presbyterian and Reformed in its theology; 2) it
had the reputation of being arch-conservative in its
political views; and 3) one of my theological mentors
had recently accepted a teaching position there.
I
took a tour of its beautiful campus during my senior
year of high school, and I liked what I saw. The
college was generous with financial aid, and I was
officially accepted into their academic program in
the fall of 2002. I arrived at Grove City fully resolved
to pursue a deeper understanding of the intricacies
of the Reformed Faith.
Needless to say, Catholicism was the last thing on
my mind.
First Encounters
It
all started while I was eating lunch one day in the
cafeteria. It was about the second or third week of
school, and I was sitting with two of my new friends:
Chris and Brent. Chris was a political science major.
Brent was a theology/philosophy major. All three of
us were Protestant.
We
were talking about various topics related to theology,
philosophy, and pop-culture when Brent mentioned that
he had just met an unusual student: a Catholic who
was studying theology. I was a little perplexed. A
Catholic studying theology at Grove City College? Brent
said that this student – also a freshman – seemed like
an interesting guy, and he suggested that I stop by
the dorm and introduce myself to him.
Chris
who had been quietly listening up to this point said: “Yeah,
I know him. He’s my cousin, Gabriel.”
“Really?” I
said.
“Yeah,
his dad’s a Catholic theologian and apologist who writes
books and does tapes series’ and stuff like that.”
“Really?” I
said again, surprised. “Who’s your uncle?” I had just
taken a bite of my sandwich and I about choked at his
answer.
“Scott
Hahn.”
I
dropped my sandwich and half rose out of my chair. “Scott
Hahn’s son goes here?!?! His son’s a student at Grove
City College?”
I
was familiar with Scott Hahn and his conversion story.
I had heard Scott Hahn’s conversion tape Protestant
Minister Becomes Roman Catholic about five years
earlier. I had also read a copy of his book Rome,
Sweet Home: Our Journey to Catholicism (San Francisco:
Ignatius Press, 1993).
On
the one hand, I was intrigued by the apparent honesty
and sincerity of Hahn’s journey from Evangelical Protestantism
to the Catholic Church. His story was unique. I had
never heard anything like it before. On the other hand,
however, Hahn’s story troubled me greatly. All of Scott
Hahn’s former theological mentors were men that I either
admired and respected or was currently associated with.
Our backgrounds were very similar – almost too similar
for comfort and sometimes it seemed like I was unconsciously
following in his footsteps.
I
had difficulty believing that it was possible for
a thorough-going, Reformed Protestant – who had “tasted” the
delicacies of the Reformed faith – to “defect” to Rome. It
was simply unthinkable. I had read several articles
written by Protestants about the “Hahn story,” and
to a man they had concluded that there would never
be a satisfactory answer to the question “why did Scott
Hahn become a Catholic?” People just do weird
things.
After
reading through his book and listening to his tape
I concluded that Hahn was simply a flake or a
fake. Either he had never really understood the Reformed
Faith, or his conversion was spurious and mixed with
unholy motives. I just couldn’t understand how a committed
Calvinists could sell his soul to the “whore of Babylon.”
It made no sense whatsoever.
Personal Encounters
I eventually
met Gabriel Hahn, and we became close friends. Contrary
to what one might expect, neither one of us
tried to “convert” the other. Our relationship was
built on positive personal interaction. Although we
would frequently engage in informal “theological debates,” our
discussions were always charitable in nature. Also,
while Gabriel had a natural affinity for Biblical studies,
his experience with the intricacies of systematic theology
was somewhat limited. And while he understood most
of the major differences between Protestantism and
Catholicism, he was not confident that he had the theological
adroitness to satisfactorily answer all of the Protestant
objections to the Catholic faith. Thus, as our relationship
deepened – and my objections grew more pressing – he
delegated me off to his father.
I met
Scott Hahn on a cool fall evening. Gabriel, his cousin
Chris, and I were
all hanging out in Gabriel’s
dorm room when his father arrived. I can remember being
a little nervous about meeting him. I had heard several
dozen Protestant pastors relate horror stories about
the “Hahn hound” and his tendency to be unrelenting
in theological discussions. While Gabriel assured me
that his father was nothing like the rumors and stories
I had heard, I was still deeply intimidated by his
reputation.
I spent the day preparing for his visit by re-reading Rome
Sweet Home, and humbly asking the Lord to possibly
use me to “re-open” Dr. Hahn’s eyes to the truths
of the Reformed Faith. While it was not my primary
intention to “win him back,” I was definitely interested
in hearing what he had to say about the rather sizeable
collection of Protestant objections I had been gathering
over the years.
Regardless of what would happen, however, I was confident
that there was nothing that he could say that would
persuade me about the truth-claims of Catholicism.
I was not about to compromise my Protestant convictions
All
of these feelings of anxiety and angst were quickly
laid to rest. Scott Hahn was a tall man with warm eyes
and a hearty laugh. He took the three of us out to
eat at a local McDonalds, and we talked theology for
about three hours.
I
found Dr. Hahn to be very humble, non-threatening,
and a real pleasure to talk with. And because our backgrounds
were so similar, we had no problem finding common ground
to build upon. The first half of our conversation was
spent sharing stories about our experiences with authors
and theologians who were influential in our theological
formation. I was impressed with Dr. Hahn’s breadth
of knowledge, and the sincere respect he had for many
of his former (Protestant) mentors. Far from harboring
feelings of animosity and contempt towards his Protestant
professors, he regarded them with deep and sincere
admiration. I was really touched by the gratitude and
appreciation he had for them and their work.
I
listened closely to everything that he said – carefully
examining his every statement for traces of anything
that could potentially be Biblically malignant and
theologically dangerous. In the end, however, I was
surprised to find that there was very little that I
could make a legitimate fuss about. He patiently listened
to my list of typical objections to the Catholic faith,
and he systematically responded to my questions with
clear arguments from both Scripture and Church history.
I
was blown out of the water. Never in my wildest
dreams had I imagined that it would be possible for
someone to provide Biblical reasons for Catholicism – arguments
from “man-made traditions,” perhaps, but never from
the Scriptures.
The
final objection I posed to Dr. Hahn before he had
to return to his family in Steubenville concerned
the Catholic understanding of predestination. As
a Calvinist, I was deeply committed to the Biblical
notion of sola gratia (the belief that salvation
is by grace alone). I believed that grace was
so inherently and exclusively necessary in the salvation
process, that we could not even take credit for our
initial decision to embrace Christ. I believed that
God “predestined” us to embrace Him before we were
even a blimp on the cosmic radar screen.
While we may have felt like we were
the one’s “choosing” to
follow Christ, it was really He who had chosen us. In
my view, salvation ultimately depended upon God’s sovereign
choice from all eternity; not man’s subjective
response.
I
expected Catholicism to fall into a typical “semi-Pelagian” category
where God’s sovereignty and power is severely undermined
by human free-will. To my utter surprise, however,
Dr. Hahn said that a Catholic could agree – in a qualified
sense – with the Calvinists. He explained that
the Catholic Church was emphatic about salvation being
accomplished by grace alone, and that a Catholic in
the tradition of St. Thomas Aquinas could agree with
many aspects of the Calvinist understanding of predestination.
This
shocked me. How could a Catholic even
remotely agree with a Calvinist??? To prove that
he wasn’t making this stuff up, Dr. Hahn recommended
Fr. Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange’s book entitled Predestination (Rockford,
IL: Tan Books and Publishers, Inc., 1998). I had
never heard of the Garrigou-Lagrange before. Dr.
Hahn explained that Garrigou-Lagrange was one of
the most brilliant Catholic theologians of the twentieth
century. He had taught for many years at the Angelicum school
of theology in Rome, and was John Paul II’s doctoral
theology advisor.
Dr.
Hahn smiled. “Garrigou-Lagrange is one of my favorite
authors. Check out his book. I think you’ll like it.”
I
remember shaking his hand as he got up to leave.
He gave me signed copies of several of his books
and
several of his tape series’. He made me promise to
read his books with a critical eye and to get back
to him with my “hardest criticisms.”
I gave my word that I would do as he asked.
Crisis Time
All
I did over the next several weeks was read. I stopped
to sleep, shower, and go to classes, but that was about
it. I read approximately forty books by Protestant
and Catholic theologians on both sides of the debate
in about a month’s time. I read everything from exegetical
commentaries, Church histories, and systematic theologies;
to “popular books,” articles, and conversion testimonies
from both Catholics and Protestants. I listened to
a dozen different debates between Catholic and Protestant
apologists. I even met with several members of Grove
City College’s theology department to get their opinions
on the issues I was grappling with.
All to no avail.
The
more I studied the more I couldn’t believe what
I was discovering: the Catholic system of theology
was actually making sense – biblical sense! I threw all formal academic caution to the wind. I began
to neglect my classes so that I could devote more time
to my “Catholic research.” I accepted the fact
that receiving nominal grades during my first semester
of college was just the price I was going to have to
pay in order to regain a sense of “theological stability” in
my life.
The
more I read, however, the more I was confronted with
the terrifying possibility that perhaps some of my
Protestant presuppositions could not be defended Biblically. I
was used to debating issues in predestination, eschatology
(the study of the end-times), salvation, and the like;
but when it came to something so fundamental and so
basic to Protestantism as sola scriptura – the
Protestant belief that the Bible alone is the
sole source of authority in the life of a Christian – I
had no resources. My arsenal of arguments in
favor of sola scriptura was not only empty: it
was non-existent! In fact, I hadn’t even thought
that I needed an arsenal to defend sola scriptura.
It just was something that every good, “Bible-believing” Christian
assumed.
Once
I realized that the Protestant notion of sola scriptura was
itself fundamentally (and ironically) un-Biblical,
everything else began to fall into place (or “out of
place,” depending on which perspective you’re coming
from). I had initially regarded the Catholic notion
of Tradition as being nothing other than the
Church’s way of instituting a tyranny made up of power-hungry
priest-politicians. All of these preconceived notions
were brutally challenged, however, once I began to
read through the early Church Fathers.
Along
with Scott Hahn, I was also in regular contact with
another Presbyterian-convert: Steve Wood. Mr. Wood
was extremely gracious and kind, and he sent me several
large boxes full of books and tapes to absorb and digest.
One of the first things that he sent me was the three-volume
Church Fathers’ collection entitled: Faith of the
Early Fathers (Collegeville: Liturgical Press,
1998) selected and translated by William A. Jurgens.
Of
all the books that I read during this period, this
set was particularly eye-opening. The more I read of
and about the early Church Fathers, the more I realized
just how Catholic the early Church really was. I had
always assumed that it was the Catholic Church in the
Middle Ages that had muddied up the theological waters
by adding various man-made traditions, rules, and regulations.
But contrary to what I had initially believed, I discovered
strong traces of Catholicism at the earliest stages
of the Church. Even in Her infancy, the Church firmly
adhered to such “Catholic doctrines” as the real presence
of Christ in the Eucharist, the authoritative role
of Tradition, Peter’s Papal primacy, Mary’s spiritual
maternity, and Apostolic succession.
Never in my wildest dreams did imagine that I would
find this strong patristic adherence to what I had
originally considered to be theological travesties.
Eventually
my “crisis” came to a head. I had seen
enough: the evidence was clearly laid out before me,
and it was time to make a decision.
By
the grace of God, I became fully convinced about
the truth-claims of the Catholic Church. And while
I had originally planned to enter the Church at a local
parish in Grove City, Pennsylvania; I eventually decided
to transfer to the Franciscan University of Steubenville,
in Ohio.
I
enrolled in the RCIA program at FUS in the spring
of 2003, and I was received into the Church on April
19, 2003.
# # #
There
have been a myriad of wonderful conversions to the
Catholic Faith in recent years, and I don’t regard
mine as being “super-special” or unique. All of those
who have come home to the Catholic Church have received
similar graces. We are not here because of our inherent
worth or value. We are here because of God’s love and
mercy.
As
an evangelical Protestant, predestination wasn’t just
a “fun topic” that I liked to debate. It was at the
core of my faith. Almost as important as the doctrines
of justification by faith alone and sola scriptura,
predestination was one of the cornerstones of my Reformed
convictions. And while I was a bit moved by some of
the Catholic responses to the Protestant objections,
what really caught my eye was the Catholic view and
understanding of predestination. I can honestly say
that if I had not read Predestination by Fr.
Garrigou-Lagrange, I probably would not have taken
the Catholic Church seriously enough to examine some
of its other doctrines.
Predestination
was the axis upon which my entire Protestant understanding
of theology spun.
Ironically, it was also the axis which spun me all
the way into the Catholic Church.
My
views and understanding of predestination have changed
and developed as I have become Catholic in my thought
and life. I am no longer the hyper-Calvinist that I
once was. I grant that there is such a thing as true
free-will, and that God does not actively and directly
cause or instigate sin in any way. God is the God of
goodness, love, and truth. He cannot cause someone
to sin. To do so would be contrary to His nature.
But
I still retain the firm conviction that our God – as
a Heavenly Father – is a sovereign God. He is a God
who is all-powerful and “almighty over all.” There
is no one greater, more powerful, or more “free” than
almighty God. God is not a cosmic dictator, however.
He does not exercise His divine power by stiff-arming
his creatures.
Quite
the contrary: God is a loving Father who seeks to
nurture His adopted sons and daughters in the fullness
of His own Truth and Life. God’s sovereignty is rooted
in His love. God is a divine, eternal, and omnipotent
Father. And as such, everything He does in regard to
His creatures is paternal and loving.
# # #
My conversion to Catholicism did not lead to the demolition
of my Protestant beliefs. It led to the fulfillment
and transformation of my Protestant affirmations.
Friends
and loved ones often ask me how I could embrace such
a contemptible institution as the Catholic Church. I
can only shrug my shoulders and reply that the Church – as
any family constituted of sinful people – will have
difficulties and conflicts.
Others
ask how I could embrace such a damnable system of
theology. I can only smile and say that the
Bible converted me to Catholicism.
Still
others ask how I could have been so rash as to make
such a consequential decision “so quickly.” I
can only shrug my shoulders, smile, and say that Mother
Church was standing there with arms wide open. Smiling. Patiently
waiting for me.
It was time to come home.
