The signposts converge

Posted on May 11, 2015 by Joseph T. Richardson

The next chapter in my conversion story, and the continuation of my post about the first time I went to Mass in Oxford, Mississippi.

All roads lead to Rome. [Source]

So I checked the Catholic Church in Oxford off my list. Before I even moved to Oxford, I had made an informal list of churches I wanted to visit. It included, as I recall, Baptist churches, Methodist churches, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and various other Evangelical churches (it had not actually included the Catholic church). I wanted finding a church to be a new experience and adventure, to finally find where I was supposed to be in the Body of Christ.

Alas, I was big on planning but short on fortitude. I was never able to show up alone to an entirely new church where I didn’t think I knew anyone. I visited the big United Methodist church in town several times with a couple of fellow teaching assistants, but I never felt like I belonged there. As the pressures and demands of grad school set in, I gave up, and within a couple of months, I was not going to church at all.

The first semester of grad school went very well; but the second semester got off to a very rocky start. I was struggling with loneliness, depression, and anxiety. I felt completely disconnected from people, more at odds with my classmates and professors than cooperative. I had no friends, I frequently thought. I had run into Audrey a couple of times at lectures, and she was just as friendly as she was when we met the first time, and though each time we promised to meet for coffee, nothing came of it.

I was washing out and I knew it. My classwork was suffering. I spent most of my time alone at my apartment. I went to bed each night with the overwhelming feeling of sinking. So I can only describe what happened next, something so personal that I’ve only told one or two others, as an act of God’s intervention. What I know is that this is not something I did, planned, or even expected at all.

Waking up

Sunrise over the Vatican. [Source]

I had a dream, about Audrey — about a friendship that was supposed to be. The dream was nothing at all romantic — she’s now married, and was very much taken even then — but it was real and personal and intense. I woke up feeling more hopeful than I had in a long time, and longing for that connection.

It was Saturday morning when I woke up from the dream, and suddenly, I felt an overwhelming urge to go to the library. I couldn’t explain it or why it was so important, but I felt that it was what I was supposed to do, like my life depended on it.

I was heading up to my study carrel, my hidden perch in the rafters of the library where I would withdraw and see no one else, when I almost ran into Audrey on the third floor landing. We stopped and talked. I remember being shushed (it is the quiet study floor), so we probably only spoke for a few moments. We talked about church — she must have brought it up, because I don’t think I would have.

She asked me where I was going to church, and I told her nowhere, and she said I should come with her sometime. I don’t think I mentioned my previous visit to St. John’s, but I started to rattle off my rehearsed list of Catholic objections: “I don’t like how the Catholic Church insists on interpreting Scripture for believers.” What Audrey said next was simple, but it made perfect sense, and I felt my objection crumbling: “It’s like authority for a historian.”

I’ve written about this conversation and this matter before, and I plan to write still more as I examine how I grappled with sola scriptura in my final approach to the Church. But the most important part of this meeting: she invited me to church, and I accepted; not the next day, I don’t think, but the Sunday after that.

Coming inside

The nave of St. John the Evangelist Church in Oxford. [Source]

The second time I attended Mass at St. John’s was an entirely different experience than the first. The first time I was frightened and unsure, a foreigner on the outside looking in to something foreign. This time I had been invited inside. Just that simple change — knowing that I knew somebody; knowing that somebody wanted me to be there; that I wasn’t a foreigner, but a welcome guest — made all the difference in the world.

I was taken aback by things I hadn’t noticed before. For one thing, this was the early Mass, on a typical Sunday (as opposed to the later Mass on an overcrowded Sunday I had witnessed before); and I got there early. People were quiet, reverent in the church, not socializing and carrying on, but kneeling and praying. I had never seen that sort of reverence before in church, except perhaps in Rome. Audrey had her magazine, the Magnificat, which had the prayers and readings from the Mass as well as reflections and stories about the saints. I was intrigued, and caught myself asking her about it in a normal tone of voice, not realizing that she wanted to pray and that I should be quiet.

From the very beginning of Mass, I think I was captured. The liturgical singing was according to traditional chant forms — I only knew that it sounded very ancient. As the cantor sang the closing, descending strains of Kyrie eleison, I imagined that what I was participating in reached back through the ages to the worship of the Apostles themselves.

It was the same priest as before, the one I had thought was “goofy,” but somehow he didn’t seem that way at all this time. The difference, I think, was me: this time I was not there to be served but to earnestly seek. The people, the liturgy, the experience all seemed so much realer.

A Presence

The elevation of the Eucharist at the consecration. [Source]

When it came time for the Liturgy of the Eucharist, especially the consecration, I was overcome with an awe I can’t explain. I surely understood what Catholics believe about the Lord’s Supper, about Jesus’s Real Presence, and I had even entertained the thought in Protestant services; but I cannot say I was anywhere close to accepting it before that point. But in that moment, something came over me; I sensed something profound happening at the altar. It was more powerful, more immediate, more earthshaking than all the times in my youth I spoke of feeling the presence of God in the Holy Spirit; all the times I laughed or danced or was “slain in the Spirit.” It was not a fire, or a wind, or an ecstasy, but simply an overpowering presence. “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you,” I said (as the liturgy of the Mass at that time read). Not only that, but I felt singularly unworthy to even gaze upon this mystery. “But only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” I lowered my head and shielded my eyes, and did not look up again until we rose for the Lord’s Prayer.

For the longest time, I thought that what I was looking for more than anything in a church was community, fellowship with people like me with whom I could relate and share. That wasn’t what I immediately found in the Catholic Church: it was slow meeting people, and it was far from the social atmosphere I had envisioned. But then one day after I had been attending Mass for several weeks, as I was speaking the words of the Memorial Acclamation, I was again overcome by a feeling: I was not alone. More profoundly than I had ever felt it, I felt connected — not only with the couple of hundred people in that room, but with countless others whose presence I could only sense, not only connected by space throughout the world, but by time through all the ages: I was there, together with all the Christians who had ever lived, at the altar of the Lamb. It was still more than a year before I could partake in the Eucharist with the Church, but even in that moment, I felt the truth of true communion with the Lord and with His Body, the Church, in the Blessed Sacrament: the communion of saints.

I was falling in love with the Mass, both the visible and the invisible. I realized with a painful start that I had been wrong about the Catholic Church all those years, all the times that I presumed that it was “dead in religion,” bound up with empty ritual without any meaningful relationship to Christ. It was not the end of my journey to the Church, not by far, and there is still much to tell and share, how I dealt with doctrine and doubt. But this marks the beginning of the end: the day when I was finally confronted with, and brought to accept, the reality of where the Lord had been leading me for so many years. This was the destination of all my wanderings: my musical romance; my journeys with history; my long approach to Rome; my pilgrimage to the Eternal City itself; and every other landmark. All the signposts pointed here, I soon realized, with a gravity, finality, and not a little fear.

Farewell to a Brother Pilgrim

Posted on April 13, 2014 by Joseph T. Richardson

This past Thursday morning, one of my dearest friends and brother pilgrims, Sam Campbell III, passed away.

I met Sam some ten years ago during my travels on LiveJournal, as a fellow Christian journeying on this road. Over the years we grew close, sharing in some of the same struggles, grappling with temptations, and grasping for an intellectual understanding and faith in God, and for His peace. Sam has been one of the gentlest, humblest, most caring souls I’ve ever encountered. He has looked out for me. From time to time, particularly if I’d gone silent from the online world for a while, he would drop me a line to ask if I was okay, to let me know he was thinking of me and praying for me. We’ve shared a love for Star Trek, Tolkien, hobbits, Linux, and so many other things; I could always be sure he would get my wry jokes and references. I never got a chance to meet him in person, but I felt as if I knew him so well: he was always there close by.

Sam was deaf and blind, and experienced so many sufferings in this life, but I never heard him complain. This week as we reflect on the Passion of our Lord, I’m reminded how willingly and patiently Sam took up the cross he had been given; how freely he gave of himself and made sacrifices for the sake of love, moving halfway across the country to become a loving husband to his wife Noelle, and a father to her two children. He was a good man, one of the best men I’ve ever known. I loved him a lot, and I’m going to miss him terribly.

I remember this week, too, that in the suffering and death of our Lord — though wrenching, painful, and sad — He purchased Resurrection and eternal life for those who trust in Him. Parting with those we love is sorrowful, but death from this life is but for a moment — the road goes ever on and on. Farewell for now, Sam. I look forward to the day when our paths will cross again.

Requiescat in pace, frater peregrine. Vale, dum coeamus iterum die illa.

Vielen Liebsten! The Liebster Award in 2013

Posted on April 3, 2013 by Joseph T. Richardson

I have a few posts on the stove that I hope will be ready to share before too long, but in the meantime: my dear friends Jessica at All Along the Watchtower and 1CatholicSalmon have both awarded me the Liebster Award. Once again, I am humbled and honored to be recognized by these two very fine bloggers.

The Liebster Award

Jessica’s Watchtower is every day overflowing with insights into the Christian faith from a number of different perspectives, from traditional Anglican, to Anglo-Catholic, to Catholic proper, by her or one of her several contributors. Jessica herself is the most charitable and generous and supportive blogger I’ve ever have the blessing to meet: she has always been so encouraging to me here.

The Salmon is full with great thoughts and news and insights on the Catholic faith and all its richness, from a global (read: not provincial American) perspective that picks up on a lot of things that I miss (since I live in a small burrow and sometimes am afraid to peek out), as she fights upstream against the onslaught of modernity and secularism. She has also been very supportive and encouraging to me, always one to “like” my posts before I even knew who she was (I thought it was a little fishy at first).

So this Liebster Award (not Lobster, although that is nice, too) is meant to shine the spotlight on lesser-known blogs so that the rest of the world might find them. And I appreciate it so much.

The Rules

Per the official rules of this latest permutation:

The requirements for accepting this award are:

Post the Liebster award graphic on your site.
Thank the blogger who nominated the blog for a Liebster Award and link back to their blog.
The blogger then writes 11 facts about themselves so people who discover their blog through the Liebster post will learn more about them.
In addition to posting 11 fun facts about themselves, nominated bloggers should also answer the 11 questions from the post of the person who nominated them.
The nominated blogger will in turn, nominate 9 other blogs with 200 or less followers (We’re guessing for our nominees) for a Liebster award by posting a comment on their blog and linking back to the Liebster post.
The nominated blogger will create 11 questions for their nominated blogs to answer in their Liebster post.

All right. I shall do my best.

Fun Facts!

I was born, and have lived my whole life, in the Great State of Alabama in the southern United States, within twenty miles of where numerous ancestors settled nearly 200 years ago.
I spent most of my growing up in an Assemblies of God church, but after wandering from there dabbled in Baptist (SBC), Methodist (UMC), and Presbyterian (PCA) churches, before finding my way home to the Catholic Church.
I knew who Darth Vader was before I knew who Ronald Reagan was.
Incidentally: The first movie I can remember seeing in the theaters was Return of the Jedi in 1983. (The Emperor gave me nightmares.)
I am addicted to all books, but have particularly vicious addictions to Bibles and dictionaries (Bible dictionaries — watch out!).
I have one brother who is fifteen months younger than me. People thought we were twins when we were kids, but now he’s a lot taller than me.
I’m a huge fan of Joss Whedon’s work, after I watched Firefly (years after it was cancelled), and my friend Braeli got me hooked on Buffy and Angel, which we watched all the way through. Dollhouse is another one that was gone too soon.
Right now I’m reading a compelling book by Anglican historian Alister McGrath, Iustitia Dei: A History of the Christian Doctrine of Justification. I’ll give you a report when I’m done, but it may be a little while. It’s a difficult but worthwhile read, since it’s hard-core theological scholarship chocked full of untranslated Latin and Greek. It’s really giving my language skills a workout!
I have a great love for J.S. Bach, one of my favorite Lutherans ever, especially, at the moment, his organ works and harpsichord works. He is a barrel that I hope to never reach the bottom of.
I became involved in researching my genealogy when I was just sixteen, and it remains one of my biggest hobbies. Lately I’ve gotten interested in DNA genealogy, and I’ve traced my family tree back several generations and identified ancestors by getting in touch with genetic matches (my cousins).
I stumbled on teaching by accident, when shortly after graduating with my bachelor’s, a dear friend messaged me to ask if I’d like to teach history, Latin, and Greek at a Christian school. To my surprise, I found I loved it.

Questions from my Nominators

From JessicaHof:

How long have you been blogging? About a year and a half with this blog. Before that I had a couple of other short-lived blogs years ago, and I rigorously maintained a semi-private LiveJournal for some seven or eight years.
What is your favourite food? My mom makes a chicken casserole that is my absolute favorite. Southern comfort food is the kind of food closest to my heart (probably literally). Beyond that: I love Italian and Mexican (especially the Tex-Mex variety served up by Rosie’s Cantina, a local restaurant and my favorite eatery).
What type of music do you like most? I listen to classical almost always. I’ve listened to J.S. Bach more than anybody else lately, and I also love early music, especially sacred, liturgical, a capella music. Josquin, Lassus, Dufay, Palestrina, Byrd, and Tallis are a few favorites. When I do listen to anything relatively modern, I like Christian music (Rich Mullins, Danielle Rose, Matt Maher, Audrey Assad, and David Crowder Band are a few favorites) and sometimes bluegrass.
Who inspires you most? Jesus, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and the saints, especially Saints Peter and Paul, Saint Thomas Aquinas, Pope St. Gregory the Great, Saint Francis, and Saint Bernard. In terms of people in this life: my parents, my grandparents, and my brother.
Do you have a favourite poet? I’ve always been partial to Wordsworth. Coleridge is another who comes to mind. Emily Dickinson is my favorite American poet. I also love Chaucer and Shakespeare.
Do you have any pets? Not right now. My last pets were a betta fish named Ozymandias who lived an unfortunate and brief existence on account of my not really knowing how to care for a betta fish, and Muffin, the sweetest cocker spaniel in the whole wide world, who was my dog in high school and a few years after. I do have a hardy philodendron named Christina who has lived with me for six years or so, and is still prospering despite my horticultural ineptitude.
Do you prefer wine of beer or are you teetotal? I like both wine and beer a lot, but only seldom drink either.
Do you listen to the radio? I used to listen to NPR all the time, until my hard swing to Catholicism brought me to realize that they were suddenly too liberal and progressive for me. Now when I’m in the car I listen almost exclusively to podcasts, more often than not Catholic Answers Live.
Favourite film? I haven’t really thought about it in a while, but my answer used to be, and I guess still is, Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo, or The Truman Show, or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Favourite food? Still southern. (See above.)
Religious leader you admire? Pope Francis; before him Pope Benedict XVI; before him Pope John Paul II. Do you sense a pattern? And of course Jesus Christ, Saint Peter, Saint Paul, Pope St. Gregory the Great, St. Francis, St. Bernard, St. Benedict, St. Ignatius of Loyola… And this from a guy who used to be a Protestant? Even when I was a Protestant, I think I would have given you the same answer. I really don’t recall ever having any particular admiration for any Protestant or evangelical leaders. My feelings as a Protestant were always tinged with doubt and distrust.

From 1CatholicSalmon:

What inspired you to start blogging? This time around? A feeling that I needed to justify my affinity for the Catholic faith to those around me and possibly to myself. I felt compelled to write, and I thought it might be helpful to share my thoughts with others.
Religious leader you admire? See above.
Do you think having pets changes you? I would say it makes me overly responsible and concerned for their welfare, possibly to the detriment of other things I’m supposed to be doing. That’s one reason, despite thinking about it often, I never got another pet while I was living alone.
Is family important and why? Family is the most important thing to me, apart from my faith and my relationship with God. Because it’s the only thing in this life that can follow us to the next. My deep roots to home also include deep roots to family. I have parents and a brother, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, great-aunts and great-uncles, second cousins, and numerous other relatives who live close by or with whom I otherwise have close and loving relationships. The study of my genealogy has brought me in touch with many extended cousins whom I love as my own family, and many ancestors and other relatives in the next life of whom I think fondly and often and for whom I pray.
Do you pray regularly? Almost all the time in some form or another, but at dedicated times in the morning when I get up and in the evening when I go to bed. I’ve been trying to get in the habit of the Liturgy of the Hours throughout the day, but so far I’ve been too distracted.
Why is your Christian witness important? Because Jesus is my life and my light, and I want that light to shine before others (Matthew 5:16). I pray that in some way people will see Him and His love when they see me.
Do you think Jesus’ message is radical? Yes! It was radical to the Jews of His time on earth, in His rejection of a legalistic interpretation of the Law for the spirit of the Law, which is Love; it was radical to the Greco-Roman world, in teaching humility, selflessness, service to the lowly, self-denial, and self-emptying love — all ideas that were profoundly radical to the spirit of the age; and it’s radical still today, even after 2,000 years of cultural immersion in the Christian message in both the East and the West, in so many parts of the world. The natural inclination of man is to be selfish, self-seeking, and self-serving, but Jesus — to those who truly seek to understand Him and follow Him — calls us to be so much more.
What’s the favourite habit of your parish priest? Our parish doesn’t have a permanent priest, but relies on many visiting priests from around the diocese. And I don’t know any of them well enough outside of the Sacraments to describe their habits very well. I do like Fr. Michael’s habit of always saying the Roman Canon, which I rarely heard before I came here. Thinking of my pastor back before I moved here: Fr. Joe always defies expectation. Smoking cigars, reading comic books, playing video games, and of course blogging all things Catholic with his unique humor and depth of conviction.

My Nominees for the Award

Nine people? Really? Do I know that many people?

Anyway, I nominate the following people for this award. Repost it or don’t repost it; I to want to honor y’all.

E.G. Norton at The Trenchcoat Introspective, another fellow traveler on this Catholic road, and a lovely one at that, full of deep and thought-provoking musings on our journey toward salvation, full of beauty and love and wisdom.
Roy at Becoming a Catholic, whose Catholic journey and growth in the faith has been a joy to watch. Welcome to the Church, brother.
Benjamin Palmer at Southern Reformation, whose depth of commitment to the faith and to confessional Reformed principles I admire. (And he’s Southern!)

How many is that? Just three? The next one I was going to name turned out to have 900-something followers. Sheesh! I think I’m done.

Questions for my Nominees

Phew! I forgot all about this part! A thousand pardons! These are some things I would be curious to know.

How long have you been a Christian? How long have you been in the particular faith tradition you’re now in, and was there any journey involved in getting there? [Yes, I know that’s actually three questions.]
Do you have a favorite bird? Why that one, or why not?
What kinds of music do you listen to?
What languages do you know, and how well?
Who is your favorite super hero, and why?
Do you like breakfast, and if so, what’s your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?
What’s your favorite book of the Bible, and why?
What about biblical people: Who are your favorite people in the Old and New Testaments, respectively? (If you pick Jesus, pick a second one, too — He kind of has an unfair advantage.)
What Bible translations, revisions, or editions do you prefer?
Coffee, or tea, or both, or neither? (And if neither, what in the world do you drink?)
Do you know your personality type, by the Meiers-Briggs Type Indicator? What about your Temperament? (For what it’s worth, I’m a through-and-through INFP, and a melancholic-phlegmatic temperament. If you don’t know yours, here are online versions of the test for the MBTI and one for the Temperaments. I haven’t tested either, so caveat susceptor. I think it’s fun and interesting, but if you don’t know and don’t care, or don’t feel like sharing, it is okay to skip this one.)

In the Vineyard

Posted on January 14, 2013 by Joseph T. Richardson

The next chapter in my conversion story.

In my youth, my faith was like the seed that fell along the path, that was devoured by the birds — my doubts, my questioning, my hurts. The next period of my life was one of new sowing; but my heart was rocky, my soil was shallow, and my faith sprang up quickly, only to wither away in the sun (Matthew 13).

My years of drifting away, and finally running away, had brought me to calamity. But God in His mercy spared me and gave me another chance. After my accident and remarkable healing, both physical and spiritual, I found myself at a crossroads, and had at long last chosen the road of God once again. But I was immature and full of pride. There was still so much that needed to be rooted out of my life before my heart could be ripe to bear true faith.

The Sower (Sower with Setting Sun) (1888), by Vincent Van Gogh. (WikiPaintings.org)

I had all the overweening zeal of a new convert, and went on a vehement and public crusade against the sins that had shackled me for so long and had brought about my ruin. It is painful to read my old journal posts from this time, to see how self-righteous and moralistic I was. My faith had no roots; no grounding. I thought I could make up for my lack of foundation with sheer fervency. Thankfully this time only lasted a few months: the first time I was faced with a real trial, a real temptation, I fell flat on my face.

I didn’t understand then that I was just a seedling. I needed to be regrown from the ground up. I had been reborn, but I was an infant in faith. I needed to be supported and cultivated. The Vineyard became my nursery.

The Vineyard was the young adult Sunday school class at Calvary. It was a little ironic to me even then that a group should be called “the Vineyard” in a church that was generally opposed to drinking alcohol, but it was built on the words of Jesus (John 15:5):

I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.

I had been alone for so long. And this was what I needed: to be truly grafted into the Vine; to find communion and fellowship with fellow Christians; to be loved and nourished. The Vineyard was that place for me.

It was never a place of any especially deep scriptural or theological study like I thought I needed — Calvary was never the place for that — but it was a place of love. There were in truth only a few people there I really connected with — our leaders Mr. Barry and Ms. Leisa, and Shelly and Michael, and a few others — but we became a tight group, and they made me feel loved and welcome and needed, like I belonged and mattered, like my thoughts and observations were valuable and important. It was something I had never known before, at that church or any other. And it was exactly what I needed.

Christ Pantokrator (10th century). Cefalù Cathedral. Cefalù, Sicily, Italy.

I remember my thoughts turning to historic Christianity in my life of faith for the first time. The seeds that had been planted in Rome began to bear fruit. I spoke up in class more and more, making observations about the historical connections of our faith to the Early Church. On more than one occasion, someone objected and said, “Wait, isn’t that Catholic?” But Mr. Barry and Ms. Leisa stuck up for me. I felt validated; I felt I had room to grow as a Christian, even an intellectual Christian.

I loved the Vineyard, and the dear brethren I found there. I don’t know where I would be today without them. There were times of trouble ahead, that would bring me to my knees. But I had found my roots; I had learned to abide in the Vine.

Blog of the Year

Posted on December 17, 2012 by Joseph T. Richardson

How would you like it if someone picked you up kicking and screeching and stuffed you in a crate?

Please bear with me, friends. Last week I moved out of my apartment and back home to Alabama, my graduate coursework being at an end and it being expedient for the completion of my thesis. My whole life has been taken apart and put in boxes, and I’m now faced daily with the disconcerting feeling of not knowing where the things I need are. It’s going to take a little time to settle back in.

In the meantime, I am deeply honored and humbled to accept from Jessica her award as one of the Blogs of the Year. I strive to teach and to share the beauty and truth of the Catholic faith with anyone who might happen to stop by, and it’s gratifying to be recognized by someone with such an admirable blog as she. I thank her deeply and kindly for what an encouragement she has been to me.

I don’t understand all the rules that are supposed to go with this award. The only thing that really matters to me is thanking and recognizing the one who nominated me for the award, and passing it along to someone else. She named three people; I am also going to name three people, mostly because the two blogs to which I’m most inclined to give the award, the ones that have meant the most to me this year, have already received it: Jessica’s All Along the Watchtower and Laura’s Catholic Cravings.

Every day Jessica or her brother (in the Lord, and by marriage) Chalcedon451 posts some illuminating reflection on faith or history. The Watchtower (not to be confused with this Watchtower) blesses me daily, either with the sheer radiance and beauty of her thoughts and observations, from the point of view of a Catholic-leaning Anglican, or with the piercing brilliance and depth of his knowledge of history and the Church. Jessica is also my most faithful commenter and encourager here, and her blog and her friendship mean very much to me.

El Greco, Christ Carrying the Cross (c. 1578)

She also posts a lot of beautiful artwork. Christ Carrying the Cross (c. 1578), by El Greco.

Laura’s Catholic Cravings is also a blog that blesses me as often as she posts. She, like me, is a recent convert to the Catholic Church, and I have gained a lot of insight into my own conversion by following along the road with her as she has recounted it, as well as purely enjoying the journey. She has a way of formulating and ordering thoughts and arguments for Protestants in favor of Catholicism, succinctly and sharply, yet gently, that I can only hope to emulate. She is also always full of lovely observations and connections and a ready and delightful wit. She posts a lot of beautiful paintings, too, and I like to think hers is a sister blog to mine, as I’m glad to have found in her a friend and sister in the Lord.

Benjamin Morgan Palmer.

Okay, hmmm — one more? There are many to choose from. I think I’m going to pick one I’ve just recently discovered, that has amazed me and inspired me: Southern Reformation, whose author is known pseudepigraphically as Benjamin Palmer. He is perhaps the most hard-core of all the hard-core Presbyterians I have ever met, bearing a passion and dedication that is delightful and invigorating to see. So being, he is also less than friendly to Catholicism, but he has nonetheless been friendly and welcoming to me, in Christian love and Southern hospitality. I do not know his whereabouts, but any fellow Southerner, as well as a brother in the Lord, is a friend of mine. He is a brilliant scholar and theologian, armed with a knowledge of Greek and Hebrew that puts my amateurish pickings to shame, and a sharp and critical mind to discover error and see the truth. It is plain to see his love and devotion for the Lord and for His Church: I can only pray that he might examine his preconceptions and find that the Catholic Church serves the same Lord and is a part of His Church also. 😉

Hmm, and there was something about collecting stars (?):

I think you’re supposed to add a star every time you receive this award? I guess that means Jessica and Laura can both add a star.

Oh, and there’s another thing: exciting news and a post that’s rushing out of the barrel — soon. Stay tuned!

Mein liebster Leser: My dearest readers

Posted on October 15, 2012 by Joseph T. Richardson

Today I’m struggling with a difficult post, so I thought I would give you something light.

Annedisa of Life, Christ & Me nominated me for the Liebster Blog Award some time ago. Liebster is German for “dearest.” And today I wanted to dedicate this award to you, mein liebster Leser (my dearest readers).

The Liebster Blog Award.

The award originated, my Google nosing* has revealed, as an award to honor up-and-coming bloggers with fewer than 200 readers. I honestly don’t really know how many readers I have, but I’m sure it’s fewer than 200. So, thank you, dear Annedisa. I don’t know whether my blog is “up and coming” or not, but I pray that wherever it may go, it speaks the truth in love.

* Thanks to Sopphey for in fact doing said nosing, which my nosing quickly happened upon. A splendid research into the history of the internets.

Annedisa’s blog is a lovely place always full with beauty and inspiration, and I enjoy it a lot. Check it out, if you haven’t!

Now I’m supposed to nominate eleven people — but I don’t really think I know eleven people. According to the original rules, as near as Sopphey could surmise, one was supposed to nominate 3–5 other bloggers with fewer than ~~3,000~~ 200 readers†. I think I’ll go with that instead.

† Apparently the original specification was 3,000, but I think the change to 200 was a reasonable emendation. We little people need all the help we can get. Gadzooks, I wouldn’t even know what to do with 3,000 readers…

Annedisa also gave me some interview question, which I’ll answer. To add a little jazz, why don’t we do this: I’ll add a question to the list at the end (#12 below will be mine), for the next person to answer. Each person I pass this to will add a question, too — so the interview gets longer and longer, and more and more interesting. (I’ll go ahead and specify that if this really keeps going and the interview reaches 30 or so questions, someone needs to edit it down to a reasonable number again and pick only out the best questions.)

First, before this gets too long, let me nominate a few of my liebster bloggers (I’m not quite sure how to tell how many readers a blog has, but I think it’s safe to assume that most of us in our little Catholic WordPress circle are not Big Wheels):

Laura at Catholic Cravings, a dear fellow convert and fellow Medievalist‡, always blesses me with lovely, witty, astute, or thought-provoking observations on the Church and her road to it.

‡ I’m only part-Medievalist; but I’m sufficiently drawn in that direction that I claim it.
Roy at Becoming a Catholic, a dear candidate I discovered just a few days ago, walking the road of his conversion now, through the path of RCIA. I’m excited to be here to cheer him on!
1CatholicSalmon, who has been “liking” many of my posts lately, and I appreciate the encouragement more than you can know. Your blog is full of passion for the faith and strength in the face of rushing stream of modernity. May you go on rowing against the current!

Here are the instructions for reposting:

Post the award image in a post of your own.
Acknowledge who gave you the award (and link back to them).
Choose 3–5 other bloggers who you think should be noticed more than they are and should have more readers, and pass the award on to them.
Copy the interview questions below and answer them.
Make up a question of your own and add it to the bottom, and answer it for yourself.
Copy these instructions somewhere in the message to pass it on.

All right, without further ado, the questions:

1. A book that changed your life: The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander. I’d like to tell that story sometime. But it was the first book that I recall really setting me on fire with a passion for reading and fantasy, when I was about seven years old.

2. Your favourite author/writer: Lloyd Alexander to this day remains one of my favorites; his books are still wonderfully entertaining to me. I recently dusted off my Dickens and I enjoy him a lot. I’ve been reading a lot of Catholic apologetics, etc., lately, especially Karl Keating, Jimmy Akin, Scott Hahn, and others. So I don’t really have a single favorite.

3. Pet and its name: My last pet was a betta fish called Ozymandias (Ozzy for short).

4. Craziest thing you have done: In due time.

5. My best friend: I have several, and they know who they are.

6. A childhood prank: At my tenth birthday party sleepover, one of my friends called the local radio station and pretended to be locked in the bathroom at the mall after hours, and asked if they could send somebody out to help him. Oddly, this was before cell phones were common — so I’m not sure how someone locked in the bathroom at the mall would have called a radio station. Ten-year-old logic. The DJ did mention my friend’s supposed predicament on the air. It was amusing at the time.

7. Favourite music artist: This changes frequently, and can fall into several categories:

Favorite classical composers: Josquin des Prez, J.S. Bach, Orlande de Lassus, Tómas Luis de Victoria, Frédéric Chopin, William Byrd, Thomas Tallis, Guillaume Dufay — This could go on a while.
Favorite classical artists: Oxford Camerata, Tallis Scholars, The Sixteen, Hillard Ensemble, Wolfgang Rübsam, John Eliot Gardiner with the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists, Sir Neville Marriner and the Academy of St Martin in the Fields — To name a few.
Favorite contemporary artists: Rich Mullins, Danielle Rose (discovered her very recently and like her a lot), Matt Maher, Audrey Assad, David Crowder Band — To name a few.

So yes, it’s hard to narrow me down.

8. A place you would love to visit: I pine for Rome. I have a grand pilgrimage planned out, if I should ever have the time and money for it: A long time in Rome, then Assisi, then Florence, then Milan, then Pavia, then Turin (with many stops along the way), then up through Geneva to see Calvin’s stomping grounds — then either to France or Germany to see more saints; I haven’t really planned past Italy. But probably France, to pursue St. Bernard. Also, I’d love to go to England, especially London and Oxford and Cambridge, and York and Durham and Lindisfarne — and Scotland and Ireland, too. That sounds like another trip or four.

9. If you had just 5 minutes left to live what is the one thing I would do?: Ideally, I would be in bed surrounded by my family and my pastor receiving the last rites. But supposing I’m not — I’d fall on my knees and pray and confess whatever sin might be on my heart and throw myself upon the mercy of God.

10. Favourite sport: I agree with Annedisa: Does blogging count? Other than that, I would say American college football.

11. How do you define love?:

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. (1 John 4:7-9)
Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law. (Romans 13:10)
Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

12. Who’s your favo(u)rite saint? St. Paul, St. Gregory the Great, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Augustine of Hippo, St. Ambrose of Milan, St. Ignatius of Loyola, St. Bede the Venerable, St. Thérèse of Lisieux — So many precious people; you know you can’t nail me down.

My first blog awards!

Posted on July 12, 2012 by Joseph T. Richardson

I am very surprised and grateful to be nominated for a couple of blog awards, from my new friend The Catholic Nomad:

The Very Inspiring Blogger Award

The Commentator Blog Award

The instructions for accepting these awards are to link back to the nominating blogger, share seven things about myself, and then recommend a few other blogs to accept the awards as well.

The Catholic Nomad is a wanderer in search of the sacred — and what better companions could there be on this Catholic journey than a nomad and a pilgrim? She blogs about her travels, observations, and experiences, in beautiful, insightful, and heartfelt prose. I am honored to know her and to be on this road with her.

So, seven things about me? Are you sure you want that? Okay, here goes. (And no, you next people don’t have to write this much. I am just long-winded.)

I’ve actually been using the online handle “LonelyPilgrim” for some ten years. “Lonely pilgrim” is the English translation of another handle I had — in Sindarin. I had no idea at the time I chose it how apt the name would be. I have always been on a quest seeking God, and during my years wandering between churches, I considered myself a pilgrim in search of my true home. Now that I’ve found it, it is only fitting that the Catholic Church is commonly called a “Pilgrim Church” — a Church of pilgrims, on a journey to our salvation.
I grew up in an Assemblies of God church, of the Pentecostal family of the Christian faith. Yes, that includes speaking in tongues, dancing, clapping, hand-raising, and in general being very excited and emotional about faith. The church I grew up in is a very loving place full of people who love God and love their neighbor, and I will be most thankful for it always, and to my parents, for raising me up in a loving Christian environment.
My confirmation saint is Paul. But I have very many favorite saints, and wrestled with the choice for a little while. Other considerations were Gregory the Great (patron of teachers, a compassionate pastor, and all in all a wonderful human being), Thomas Aquinas (patron of academics, and brilliant), Bernard of Clairvaux (with whom I fell in love as an undergraduate; he represents to me the best balance of emotion and reason in faith), Francis of Assisi (a wonderful example of humility, charity, and service), and Bede (patron of historians, with whom I also fell in love as an undergraduate). In the end, though, there could be no choice but Paul. That story is yet to be told.
I am the first Catholic in my family within living memory, vertically speaking. That is, to my knowledge, none of my ancestors have been Catholic before me since the Reformation. (Surely they were before that, but I am not able to trace any of my lines that far.) My heritage is mostly English, Scottish, and Scots-Irish, all good Protestant stock. There are also a few drops of German Lutheran and possibly a little dab of French Huguenot. My recent ancestors have all been Baptist and Methodist, including several Baptist preachers and Methodist ministers. It did bother me, very briefly, to think that I was betraying my heritage and that my ancestors might be disappointed with me for my conversion; but convinced of the truth of Catholicism, and desiring a reunion of all Christians, as I know there is in Heaven, it seemed right and proper. I did have a beloved great-uncle and great-aunt who were Catholic. He, my Granddaddy’s brother, converted after marrying her. They were both very loving and Christian people and I believe they paved this road for me.
The road to my conversion as an historian was just as long and varied as my road to the Catholic Church. In high school, I gave no thought to studying history as a profession, though I realized I was fascinated by it, largely by way of my genealogy. At university, I began my career with the intention of studying biology/pre-med and going to medical school; this notion was short-lived. I then spent several years studying computer science, since computer programming had been and continues to be a hobby in which I have an aptitude. It was only through stumbling into Latin that I found my way to studying history. I began my historical journey fascinated by the ancient world; then was drawn to the Middle Ages, especially the history of the Church; then finally was pulled into what I’m professing to study now, the history of the Southern United States. But my interests remain all over the place, and the Church is drawing me a great deal again these days.
I like languages a lot. My undergraduate minor was in classical studies. Though my doings in school now have little to do with languages, I make it a point to study whenever I can. I’ve been studying Latin (both Classical and Medieval) now for about nine years, Ancient Greek (both Attic and Koine) for about seven, and I’m little more than a dabbler in Biblical Hebrew, but I can read the alphabet. I have also poked at, and can read, in decreasing degrees of proficiency, Italian, French, Spanish, and German, and maybe a little bit of others here and there. I dream of being panlingual.
Some of my other hobbies include genealogy, cemeteries, photography, books (both reading and collecting), coffee and tea, travel, music, and watching movies and TV shows (but only on DVD or Netflix; I’m a huge fan of The X-Files and Joss Whedon and Doctor Who and Star Trek). If I’ve gotten to know you, or if you introduce yourself below, you’re welcome to add me on Facebook or any of the above linked sites.

Now, passing on these awards: I hereby nominate for these awards (again, the presentation speech is not a requirement — just something extra I added because I like to bless people who have blessed me):

Living an Ecumenical Life, by Ken Ranos, a Lutheran (ELCA) seminarian whose openness to ecumenism inspired me to pursue it, too. He found me and followed me before I even stepped out of the blog-closet, and has been a most welcome and active commentator.
Steak and a Bible, by Julia. Because what could be more inspiring than a steak and a Bible? I think possibly to her chagrin, she has given me a lot to think about and write about. And her blog itself is fearless at tackling what’s wrong in evangelical Christianity today — an effort I greatly applaud (not because I dislike evangelical Christianity, but because I love it).
Catholic Cravings, by Laura, a baby Catholic taking her first steps, with a lot of passion and joy and thought as she learns and journeys. She also has been a great commentator.
All along the Watchtower, by Jessica, with Chalcedon451. She is Anglo-Catholic and has so much enthusiasm and an infectious curiosity about all things Catholic and Orthodox and Early Church. And she has been so, so kind in her comments.

Peace be with you all!

Community and Communion

Posted on March 26, 2012 by Joseph T. Richardson

In the year or so before I moved to University, I began making an earnest, systematic effort to find and join a church. I wrote a lot of lists to myself about what I was looking for in a church (I am a maker of lists). And always near the top of the list was community: people in the church with whom I had something in common; people with whom I could have fellowship and share my faith; a vibrant, living, growing community. The primary reason for the church, I reasoned — for having us hang out in groups, and not sit at home doing it sola scriptura — was community: to provide a structure for the support of the fellowship of believers.

The first time I visited the Catholic Church here, I was decidedly unimpressed. Nobody greeted me warmly, introduced themselves, or even spoke to me. I had to track down someone after Mass to even get a visitor’s card. I didn’t feel particularly welcome, and felt more than a little put off. It wasn’t until six months or so later that I visited again with my friend Audrey. At least then I didn’t feel entirely alone and foreign, but I remained unimpressed. Where were the Sunday school classes and fellowship groups? Where, besides Audrey, were the people of my age and situation? Where was the community?

It wasn’t until I had been attending Mass for a month or more that I found it. It’s in the Eucharist, I realized one Sunday with an epiphany. Community is in Communion. Kneeling there during the Eucharistic Prayer, focusing intently on Christ’s sacrifice, I was enveloped by the sensation that I was not alone: that all of us there in that room; all of the faithful throughout the world praying that same prayer; all of the believers through all the ages who had prayed it — were united there in that moment in one Spirit, with Christ himself. It was the feeling of a whole and complete sharing, an absolute universality; I felt I would never have to feel lonely again. It’s a feeling I’ve felt many times since. And I had never even taken the Sacrament, and still haven’t — merely been in its presence. It was a feeling, yes: and I have striven not to build my faith on feelings. But it was a feeling supported by everything that Catholics believe about the Eucharist. Truths that I was only nascently beginning to understand were speaking to me. I had found community: not the kind I had thought I was looking for, but the kind I most desperately needed.

Catholics are often not very good at building the other types of community. I read an interesting piece in the National Catholic Register that underscores everything I’ve experienced in the Catholic Church. Protestants do, as I had been thinking, go to church with fellowship in mind. Salvation itself is assured; Scripture and faith are enough; so the reason for going the extra step and being a part of a faith community is largely social. But for Catholics, participation in the Sacraments is obligatory, a necessary part of salvation. Because it’s an obligation, many people — even those who genuinely and deeply love the Lord — naturally tend to slip into habit or complacency, and do what they have to do, and then leave. Salvation is the prime motive for going to Mass, not fellowship — and so it tends to slip away.

Our parish is much better about community than many others. We are comparatively small, with a large contingent of students, so an active campus ministry and fellowship among the college-aged come easily. We have weekly spaghetti suppers that involve everyone, not just students; Friday fish fries during Lent; the St. Joseph’s Day celebration; and other important community events. There are adult faith formation groups, and a youth ministry, and service groups like the Knights of Columbus, and really much more active a community than I recognized at first. We do seem to be more laid back about it than most Protestants, though.

It wasn’t until I started attending daily Mass last summer that I truly found my community — the kind I initially thought I was looking for, and which I still very much needed. Attending every day, I gradually began meeting, one or two at a time, the others of the much smaller group of faithful that attends every day. And I’ve made some very dear friends, of the kind I’ve always longed to have, fulfilling friendships that are slowly building and growing, built on love and shared faith — the "super friends" of the article above. I’ve met a number of fellow graduate students of my age and situation. I met the dear man who will be my RCIA sponsor, and his lovely wife. I spent a blessed evening a few nights ago having dinner in their home, an authentic Italian dinner and a conversation that went late into the night.

They, cradle Catholics who’d spent their whole lives in the Church, with little contact with the evangelical world, and I, having journeyed far from there but still with so far to go in understanding the Catholic faith, found a common ground in the middle on which to share and learn from each other. The Protestant concepts I take for granted, they knew little about, and I tried to explain; and the Catholic concepts with which I am still struggling, they explained so easily as if they were the most natural ideas in the world. I saw, through their eyes and Catholic understanding, how far-fetched some Protestant ideas seem to be; but also how much Catholics and Protestants really have in common.

And I feel loved. For the first time in my whole life, I truly feel I have a church home, where I am loved and embraced and accepted; where I can have fellowship and community with beloved people of like mind and like faith, and Communion in the Eucharist with all the Church and with my Lord Jesus Christ.

“Coming out”

Posted on November 24, 2011 by Joseph T. Richardson

I apologize to all of my reader(s) for having fallen off the blogosphere. School and research and paper-writing has swept me away entirely. I have posts burning holes in my head that I have wanted to share, but I’ve been unable to justify taking the time away from work to write them. The second part of the Holy Spirit post is one that’s going to require a good bit of research and thought — because, honestly, I don’t know all that well how to describe the Holy Spirit’s role in Catholic doctrine. The Holy Spirit reveals Christ to us; that’s the summation of what I know. I need to sit down with my Bible and my Catechism and study it out. I also have been thinking a lot lately about assurance of salvation. I also began the next post in my autobiography series, on Pope John Paul II, a few weeks ago, but never finished it.

Today I drove home to my parents’ for Thanksgiving. My aunt and uncle and cousins came over to spend the day with us. It was a good day, but draining, as most prolonged social contact is for me. At the dinner table the topic of religion came up — especially, a fairly heated discussion about grace. My aunt and uncle go to a Presbyterian (PCA) church, but are not themselves hard-core Calvinists. Their new pastor has been emphasizing grace by faith alone, at the expense of other important aspects of Christ’s Gospel — repentance, charity, forgiveness, to name a few. The conversation turned to the role of faith and works in salvation — my dad speaking of salvation by grace through faith apart from works, and I reminding everyone of St. James’ admonition that faith without works is dead. I had been on the verge of “coming out” of the Catholic closet to them, when my aunt said that their pastor is a former Catholic. I never did tell them. I wanted to tell them — I wanted to discuss it with them — but I didn’t really feel like stirring up a heated debate.

My parents and brother have been mostly very supportive of my journey. They have asked questions, but have not discouraged or disparaged. Tonight I explained the Rosary to them. They haven’t, it seems, told anyone else of my conversion. I’m not sure whether to feel grateful for their privacy and discretion or concerned that they are ashamed of me.

I am gradually “coming out” on Facebook. Anyone who pays any attention to me (which should include my grandmother) ought to have noticed that I “like” a lot of what the pope says and does, I “share” more and more Catholic links, and all of the “people who inspire me” are saints and popes. I guess a part of me wants everyone to know. I have striven to be humble and not showy, but I want to share this joy and hope I have found.

I guess, too, a part of me is insecure and needs to feel that my family and friends and loved ones will accept me. If they have questions or concerns or challenges, I want to hear them. I don’t want to feel I am hiding this. I don’t want to feel alone.

The Beginning of the Road

Posted on September 23, 2011 by Joseph T. Richardson

There have been many things over the years that I feel now, in retrospect, have been drawing me to the Catholic Church. They are the signposts and landmarks on my road of faith, and I thought, as part of taking my bearings and setting my future course, I would recollect the journey so far.

I was born into a godly home, to parents who loved me and loved God. I remember my parents praying with me, and reading to me from a picture book of Bible stories. The images from that book still are recalled to my mind with a good many Bible stories.

I spent my earliest childhood in a nondenominational faith community formed by our family and perhaps about a dozen others. We were there from before my birth; I don’t remember not being a part of a church. We met in the building of a former skating rink, and it still feels like such a familiar place in my memory. We didn’t have a pastor, that I recall; I remember first encountering the word in a Sunday school lesson and asking what it meant. My recollections of faith in these days consist mainly of Jesus on the flannel board, Zacchaeus in the tree, and heroic tales of Amy Carmichael in India. I remember the ubiquitous portrait of Jesus hanging on the wall, that formed my earliest conception of Christ (Warner Sallman’s The Head of Christ). I remember, possibly as early as age three, the joy of the first time I prayed the sinner’s prayer and asked Jesus to come into my heart. A team of young evangelists visited our church; I remember the young man who prayed with me. These were happy times. I remember having friends, and being loved. When I think of my mental concept of Jesus at this time, I think of love.

I remember the first time I encountered death. There was an elderly lady in a wheelchair in our church, named Rosa. I remember one day my mother told me that Rosa had fallen asleep and wouldn’t be waking up. In my mind I remember a rather frightening image of Rosa going to the hospital and the doctors putting her to sleep as for a surgery, or even as a veterinarian putting an animal to sleep. I think I might have understood better if my mom had said that Rosa died. I remember going through a box of Rosa’s things at the church; I got a pocket guide to birds.

We left that church when I was maybe seven or eight, and attended a United Methodist church for several years. These were not such happy times. I didn’t get along well with the other children in Sunday school; I felt rejected and alienated. I remember the worship services; I remember the Apostles’ Creed, and hymns, and the grandiose choir. The ministers seemed like nice men, but I never felt that I knew them and don’t remember their names. The older one would invite all the children to the front of the church to sit when him for a few minutes after worship and before his sermon. It was a beautiful church and service, but it felt cold, and dry. I have no memories of a spiritual life at this time.

When I was about ten, we joined Calvary. Calvary was the church I grew up in. It was affiliated with the Assemblies of God, and especially at that time, was the picture of the Pentecostal movement, with an emphasis on speaking in tongues and spiritual gifts. Calvary was a caring place, full of good people loving God and loving each other. Our worship was taken wholesale from a Don Moen album. (When I bought this CD for myself years later, it brought me back to such a precious place in my heart.)

This was the true birth of my relationship with Christ. I remember crying and praying the sinner’s prayer again with my mother one day, sitting in the car in front of my cousins’ house. I remember the first time I rationally questioned my faith, that horrifying moment, lying in bed one night, when I considered that there might not be a God — the prospect of eternal nothingness. I immediately got out of bed, like a child waking from a nightmare, to talk to my dad about it. I was beginning to discover my mind, and my heart, and my soul.

The Lonely Pilgrim

A Christian's Road Home to Rome and Journey Onward

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