Journeys Home (40 page)

I was back in my professional realm. I don't know Greek, but I'm
a writer, and I can research. I spent the next day ransacking
the library and the Internet, finding the exact Greek words and
learning how the Greek language treats pronouns.

When I was done, the evidence was overwhelming: In the language
used by the New Testament's divinely inspired authors, Christ's
"this"
cannot refer to anything other than "body."
(A straight-across
reading of the Greek in an interlinear New Testament reinforces
the point: "This is the body of Me.")

In other words ... Rome was right, and Luther was wrong. I no
longer had a case against joining the Catholic Church.

I took Communion with my wife for the first time less than two
months later. Since we've been united in faith, we've had two
more children. God has given me opportunities to defend "the fullness
of faith" in print, online, and even on television. And God has
provided abundantly for our needs, even when economic turmoil
cost me my fulltime newspaper career in 2009.

I can't begin to express the joy of being fully spiritually united
with my wife and our family, not to mention all the Catholics
whose quiet witness and utter lack of pressure unquestionably
were God's instruments on our way to Rome.

There has been pain, too, and that isn't an unfamiliar story to
Christians who have reconciled with Rome. It's one thing for Catholics
to ask forgiveness for the events of centuries ago. It's another
for Eastern Orthodox and Protestants of all stripes to grant it
and to issue their own apologies -- to put aside the pain and
the polemics and humbly, sincerely, thoroughly explore how it
all happened, how the other side thinks and what God is saying
to His people in these increasingly faithless days.

Blessed John Paul the Great and Pope Benedict XVI (his longtime
aide, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger) have called on Catholics to work
for the unity of the Church, to join Christ's high-priestly prayer
that we all may be one. It was the present pope, before his election,
who played a critical role in clearing the way for the
Joint Declaration
on Justification,
which made it clear that Catholics agree with
Lutherans that we are saved
sola gratia
(by grace alone) and
solus
Christus
(through Christ alone).

And, as pope, Benedict later taught (Nov. 19, 2008), Catholics
can also accept Luther's
sola fide
(by faith alone) if the term
is rightly understood:

Being just simply means being with Christ and in Christ. And this
suffices. Further observances are no longer necessary.
For this
reason Luther's phrase "faith alone" is true, if it is not opposed
to faith in charity, in love.
Faith is looking at Christ, entrusting
oneself to Christ, being united to Christ, conformed to Christ,
to his life. And the form, the life of Christ, is love; hence
to believe is to conform to Christ and to enter into his love.
So it is that in the Letter to the Galatians, in which he primarily
developed his teaching on justification, St Paul speaks of
faith
that works through love
(see Gal 5:14).

I pray that Rome and Missouri in particular may be led to forgive
each other, to look toward God and His Word with truly unbiased
eyes, and to ask whether they're meant to remain divided. They
share far, far more than they know.

After Blessed John Paul spoke his astonishing words in Denver,
I heard Irish recording artist Dana sing the World Youth Day 1993
theme song for the first time. It quickly took root in my heart
because of its echo -- whether intended or not, I don't know -- of Luther's alleged "Here I stand" statement at the Diet of Worms.
It seems an appropriate way to end this tale:

We are one body, one body in Christ,
And we do not stand alone,
We are one body, one body in Christ,
And He came that we might have life ...

Todd von Kampen contributed an earlier version of this story to
There We Stood, Here We Stand: 11 Lutherans Rediscover Their Catholic
Roots
, edited by Tim Drake (1st Books Library, 2001). He currently
divides his time between playing piano for Masses and school choirs
and freelance writing and research for newspapers, online publications,
and nonprofit charities. Todd, his wife, Joan, and their family
are members of Church of the Blessed Sacrament in Omaha, Nebraska.

former Lutherans

COURTSHIP AND ENGAGEMENT: HER SIDE

COURTSHIP AND ENGAGEMENT: HIS SIDE

MARRIAGE: HER SIDE

MARRIAGE: HIS SIDE

CONVERSION: HER SIDE

CONVERSION: HIS SIDE

NEW LIFE: HER SIDE

NEW LIFE: HIS SIDE

Tim and I met and began dating as freshmen in college. At the
time, I had a poor understanding of my faith. I felt that there
were more similarities than differences between our denominations.
We both believed in the Trinity and in Jesus Christ. We could
share some common prayers. We both believed in the importance
of church attendance and in raising our children to be Christians.
I wasn't sure whether the difference in our affiliations mattered.

When my mother expressed her concern over Tim's faith, I shared
with her that although Tim was Lutheran, he had more of a relationship
with God than any of the Catholics I had dated. They were "Catholic"
in name only. Tim, however, took his faith seriously.

Prior to and following our engagement in November 1988, Tim and
I began to talk more seriously about our respective faiths. We
took a premarital inventory and went through a marriage preparation
course in the Catholic Church. I was grateful that Tim respected
my desire to use Natural Family Planning in our marriage.

Tim did have a hard time, however, understanding the Church's
desire that couples raise their children as Catholics. I worried
about our children and wondered what church they would attend.
Not having any hard answers to that question, we trusted that
God would show us His way.

I grew up surrounded largely by Lutherans. Aside from an occasional
Catholic wedding, I was not exposed to Catholic traditions. I
remember finding the wedding Masses long, the kneeling odd, and
the church decorations ornate. Somehow, however, I acquired the
usual prejudices against Mary, the pope, and confession.

At the age of ten, standing in a hallway on my first day in a
new grade school, I met the first Catholic I ever truly got to
know. Mark and I became best friends. At that age, religion wasn't
something he and I discussed, but as our relationship developed,
we couldn't help but recognize the differences in our lives. Mark
and I spent as much time as we could at each other's houses and
on a few occasions attended each other's churches.

One night while I was staying over at his home, I discovered a
laminated prayer card from Italy sitting on his nightstand. It
was a prayer card of St. Joseph. I found the artwork and the prayer
to be quite beautiful. After I told him how much I admired the
card, he gave it to me.

After high school, Mark, the prayer card, and I journeyed to the
same college. In college as in high school, I used the St. Joseph
prayer card in times of special need. As an intercessor, Joseph
never seemed to fail.

It was at college that I met Mary. Mary and I lived on the same
floor of our dormitory, and we became friends. We enjoyed going
on walks with each other, talking for hours on end, and simply
being with each other. By the end of our freshman year, we began
dating.

Our courtship lasted four years. In Mary's junior year, she decided
to live off campus in the Newman Catholic Campus Ministry Center.
Partly in response to her decision and partly out of my own desire
to learn more about my faith, I decided to live in the Lutheran
Campus Ministry called Christus House.

This move opened us up to discussing matters of faith more seriously.
I was as committed in my Lutheran faith as Mary was in her Catholic
faith. As resident peer ministers, we participated in joint retreats,
prayed together, and took part together in Wednesday evening vespers.

I found the faith of Mary's family, their devotion, and their
traditions particularly attractive. They were truly a holy family;
it showed in their faithful attendance at Mass every Sunday and
in how they prayed together. I found myself drawn to Mary and
her family. It was here that I first gained a respect for the
Catholic tradition.

Once we were engaged, as a couple from different religious traditions
we struggled with the questions all such couples face. What church
would we attend? How would we raise our children?

We found comfort in the similarities and often prayed the Our
Father together. We wrestled with the issues, and occasionally
we argued. Slowly we began to realize that we could, if we remained
respectful, work through it.

During marriage preparation the priest asked us whether we were
willing to raise our children as Catholics. This promise was one
I found difficult to understand. I felt slighted, as though Catholics
thought my denomination was somehow inferior to or less important
than theirs.

I thought to myself,
What if I don't want to raise our children
Catholic?
I certainly didn't want to say yes to something I wasn't
sure I wanted to do. Reluctantly, I agreed. Although we didn't
have all the issues worked out, we were married on July 8, 1989.

We were married on a hot Minnesota summer day. The service was
a mixed ceremony at St. Eloi's Catholic Church in my hometown
of Ghent, Minnesota. We decided not to have a Mass so that Tim's
side would not feel left out. Tim's Lutheran campus pastor gave
the homily, while our priest presided. I particularly remember
the Our Father. Tim and I were gathered in a circle near the altar,
holding hands with our wedding party, the pastor, and priest.
In a wonderful display of ecumenism and unity, dear Father Bernie
Schriner asked that everyone hold hands, even across the aisles.
A college friend sang a moving rendition of the prayer.

Toward the end, overcome with emotion, Father Schriner shouted
"Everyone!" and together everyone sang, "For Thine is the kingdom,
and the power, and the glory forever. Amen." There wasn't a dry
eye in the place.

After our wedding, as before, we would sometimes attend our churches
separately. At other times, we would attend one or the other together,
or sometimes we would attend both churches each Sunday. We both
found it difficult to do this. Although I had been brought up
in Catholic grade school, I didn't understand my faith well enough
to be able to explain to Tim why we had to go to both.

We continued to struggle with the issue and attended both churches
until sometime in 1993. We had just moved into our first home
in St. Paul, and Tim found it more convenient to attend St. Columba
Catholic Church just three blocks away from our home.

Around this time, I began praying for Tim's conversion. I didn't
know whether it was the right thing to do, so I would utter this
prayer: "Lord, I don't know whether this is Your will. If Tim
could be converted, that would be great. Whatever You think is
best, Lord."

It was so hot on the day we married that my brother, Jeff, my
best man, Mark, and I had to stand in the Catholic school's walk-in
freezer to keep cool before the service. What struck me about
the day is that it would be one of the few times in our lives
when all those we cared about would be gathered together with
us to help us celebrate our love for one another.

After our wedding, we struggled with Sunday services, vacillating
between attending Mary's church, mine, or both. I found it frustrating
to attend both of our churches each Sunday morning. Often the
readings would be the same.

It was difficult to watch Mary receive the Eucharist while I remained
behind in the pew. I imagined how hard it would be to watch my
family go up for Communion without me. The words spoken by the
congregation in Mass -- "Lord, I am not worthy to receive You,
but only say the word and I shall be healed" -- both irritated
me and gave me hope. I felt that because I was Lutheran I was
not deemed "worthy" to receive what Christ offered for all. I
took hope, however, in the fact that Christ would "say the word"
and heal me.

Over time, I grew disillusioned with the Lutheran parishes we
attended. The teachings of each congregation seemed to vary greatly
depending on the pastor. Mostly out of convenience, I started
attending church with Mary and forgoing a Lutheran Sunday service,
reserving attendance at Lutheran services for only special occasions
such as Christmas and Easter.

The real crack in my Lutheran shell came, however, early in the
1990s as the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America began changing
doctrine with regard to sexuality and abortion. The denomination
even began funding pastors' abortions through their medical insurance
coverage. And abortion was an issue I could not compromise on.

The Catholic Church taught that abortion was always wrong, while
the ELCA had started teaching that it was an unfortunate but necessary
fact of life for some women. Suddenly, being Lutheran meant more
to me than sitting in a pew. Ultimately, it meant believing everything
that the Lutheran Church believes and teaches.

Thus began my walk down the road leading elsewhere. I was certainly
attracted to the Catholic faith, but I had many questions and
doubts. What I needed in my life was a fellow convert with whom
I could dialogue.

My wife, Mary, and friend Mark had embraced the Catholic tradition
because they had been born into it. I had been wrestling with
the idea of conversion, but I desperately needed to talk to someone
who had come to it on his own. God provided exactly what I needed,
but in a most unusual way.