Why Become Catholic?

I love to hunt chukar with my dog Max. Max is an English Setter who hunts at a dead run and is rarely less than a quarter mile from me as he works the wind. Chukar live in steep, rocky country and their tough red legs like to climb. Where the chukar go is where Max and I go.

Imagine you’re with me. You’re no angel floating along observing things; you’re right there on the ground next to me loaded down with shotgun shells, water and gun. Max, his legs churning and his tail cracking like a whip, disappears over the top of the ridge in front of us. We climb. We push through sagebrush and step over rocks while shifting the heavy gun to a new position now and then. Our legs, lungs and hearts are screaming, you think to yourself so this is what a coronary feels like but keep climbing. Reaching the top is a triumph, we want to do a little dance but don’t dare waste the energy. Its only 40 degrees but the sweat is pouring off of us and we reach for our canteens but pause as we spot Max, a tiny white dot on the grey-green hillside, cresting the next ridge over. We follow Max.

Now imagine doing that for five hours and covering a dozen miles.  You want to shout “this is crazy!” Then we see Max standing still next to a rock outcrop, his nose stretched forward, his tail stiff as a fence post and suddenly we’re not tired. Yes he’s 300 yards away and straight uphill from us but our rubbery legs start chewing up the distance like we just got out of the truck. If we had tails they’d be wagging. As we get close we note with some satisfaction that Max’s legs are shaking. We walk past the dog following his nose, guns ready, our hearts full in our chest, ripe with anticipation. In an explosion of wings the covey flushes, our guns hit our shoulders, cheeks hard against the stock, eyes trying to focus on one bird, we don’t even hear the blasts. If we’re not too cross-eyed from the climb we might even hit one.

This may sound like the sport of fools and masochists but it occurred to me that chasing Max up and down those rough hills is a lot like following the Holy Spirit toward the Catholic Church. We follow the dog not because we like climbing hills or stumbling over rocks but because we know the dog is our only real chance of finding birds. Without the Holy Spirit I am just a fool with no chance to find anything worthwhile or true.

About six months ago I confessed that I felt called to become Catholic. I left a church I loved, disappointed friends and have hurt my wife; the hills have been steep. I’ve had a lot to learn, new understandings to grasp and different ways to master; my legs have worked hard. Just as a bird hunt would become a grind if the dog never found birds so too this spiritual hunt would wear me down without the Holy Spirit stopping on the way and pointing me toward the goal.

These stops are called rites.

Sometimes metaphors fall apart if you push them too far but this one keeps getting better. Max does all the important work, he finds the birds, points them out for me and waits until I catch up to shoot. But I don’t hand the shotgun to the dog or wait for him to catch a bird for me; I have to pay attention to his posture, make sure the gun is loaded and walk forward to flush the birds. In the same way the Holy Spirit does all the leading and pointing but there comes a time when I have to stand up and step up. That’s part of what happened in last weeks rites.

The Holy Spirit pointed, we were declared diligent, we were asked if we wanted to become part of the Church, we said yes and put our name in a book, and we were welcomed into the Catholic Church. We even shook hands with the bishop.

Just as faith isn’t merely a matter of intellectual assent but a total redefinition of who you are, becoming Catholic isn’t joining something or becoming a member but becoming something new.

Why become Catholic?

My core reasons that I stated back in August: my belief that Christ founded a united Church (not a thousand denominations) so His people would have an authoritative voice they could rely on and that such a Church would be rooted in Christ through history; those reasons have not changed. After six months of learning more about the Catholic Church and deepening my understanding of it those beliefs have become… convictions.

I know a relationship of love with God can be found in all those denominations; I also know that faith is a growth process, a journey with ups and downs, temptations and trials. I believe the Catholic Church can best lead us to grow most fully as we seek an ever closer union with God while guiding us through the many pitfalls of the world. The Catholic Church contains the whole richness of the Christian faith…

I want to be part of that wholeness.

The Holy Spirit has pointed me to the Catholic Church but I know that the rites last week or receiving the Body and Blood of Christ in the Eucharist at the Easter Vigil will not be the end of the hunt. The Holy Spirit will take off again, speeding through draws and across ridges, over dry mountains and down long dark valleys and I, with God’s help, will keep following.

Forget your weary legs and burning lungs, the hunt of a lifetime is on!