The Road to Rome: My Journey Towards Truth, Faith, and the Catholic Church
I grew up in the United Methodist Church. In all honesty, it was a very positive experience overall. I had friends throughout the years, learned scripture and church teachings, prayed to God often, and even went to summer camps and volunteered mission trips. However, I had a falling out with my parents when I was 15. As I got older, I witnessed hypocrisy in the faith and was exposed to all sorts of different ideas about the world. In my distress and angst, I decided God was not actually real and the Methodist Church was wrong along with all the other churches too. Yet, it never sat well with me.
Good order is the foundation of all things ~ Edmund Burke
When I was 17, my uncle, a lifelong evangelist and Methodist, converted to Catholicism. Growing up, I had learned about the Catholic Church, the sins of the Spanish Conquistadors, and the Reformation. Moreover, my grandfather was Catholic but his practice of faith was chaotic at best. It was strange to me that anyone would want to become a Catholic. Lastly, my aunt and my three cousins were also Catholic, so I figured that was surely the reason he had gone through with it. However, As discourse among my family continued, I became more intrigued. I began to study Catholic doctrine and revisit certain things I had learned in the Methodist church. I discovered that there was more thought and order put into Catholic Church teaching. It seemed as though for every question I had, there was an answer either in scripture or another document rooted in scripture. I appreciated its orderly and logical approach.
In the summer before my senior year of high school, a girl moved to my little hometown and I was rather taken by her. As it turned out, she was raised Catholic but came from a broken home so her faith life was a little shaky. We started dating shortly thereafter, and while it wasn’t perfect, life was good. We went to Mass together, talked about life, and tried to love each other the best two high school kids could do. In the fall, I started attending classes to learn more about the Catholic faith with the intent to join the Church. My dad was very against this though and I could not understand why. For once in my life, I was excited to learn about the faith. For the first time in years, I was excited to go the Church and celebrate the Victory of the Cross. After many arguments and fruitless discussions, I became very discouraged. Easter came and went, but I did not enter into the Church. I would attend Mass as I was able but my heart longed for more.
A few short months later, I set off for College Station. With the new season of college life, the Corps of Cadets, and studying mechanical engineering, my pursuit of the Catholic faith was put on the back burner. Over two and a half years, I only set foot inside a church five times at most. Sometimes, I went to the Methodist church with my parents. Other times I attended Mass with my girlfriend, but there were many instances when we would just go hang out at a coffee shop or a park. In the silence of my heart, there was a deep longing for something more. I felt so unfulfilled. I strayed far from the path in hopes of finding what I was looking for by rooting my satisfaction in earthly pursuits. Then, I collapsed all at once like a house built on the sand. In September of my junior year, my girlfriend broke up with me. I was devastated. In my distress, I turned back to what I knew: The Love of God, and more specifically, reading the Bible.
One evening, I was reading the story of Elijah the Prophet in 1st Kings. Elijah had been sent by God to defeat the prophets of Ba’al. In a glorious demonstration, Elijah called upon the Lord to set fire to an offering restoring the faith of the people and had the prophets slain by the river. When King Ahab shared the news of what had happened to his wife Jez’ebel, she sent a messenger to tell Elijah that he would be put to death. In response Elijah fled for his life.
Then he was afraid, and he arose and went for his life, and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah, and left his servant there. But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a broom tree; and he asked that he might die, saying, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life; for I am no better than my fathers.” And he lay down and slept under a broom tree; and behold, an angel touched him, and said to him, “Arise and eat.” And he looked, and behold, there was at his head a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. And he ate and drank, and lay down again. And the angel of the Lord came again a second time, and touched him, and said, “Arise and eat, else the journey will be too great for you.” And he arose, and ate and drank, and went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb, the mount of God. 1 Kings 19:3–8 RSVCE
When I read this passage, my own heart was moved deeply because I had prayed a similar prayer. I had been so distraught that I longed for death. Yet, in His goodness, He called me to get up, eat, and run. My soul was hungry. I knew that I had to return to church. The next Sunday, I resolved to attend the service at the Methodist church. The very idea of Catholicism had become so distant to me, and I longed for something familiar. Day by day, life started to change little by little.
One year later, I was a new man. I spent time in prayer, made sure to attend church regularly, made new friends, read more books, studied more, and improved my physical fitness. On September 11, 2018, it all came to fruition, and I took my oath to serve as an Officer of Marines. Shortly thereafter, I was awarded a contract and was selected to ship off to Officer Candidate School following graduation. Little did I know, my whole life was about to change forever.
At the end of the semester, I was out on a grueling 18-hour field training exercise. Unfortunately, I underperformed and did not finish one of the obstacle courses within the required timeframe meaning that I failed the mission and had to return to my dorm. I went back, got cleaned up, and crawled in to bed. I laid there staring at the ceiling analyzing where I had gone wrong and wrote up an action plan to do over Christmas break so that I would be ready for the next time. However, there would never be a next time.
Upon returning home, I got into action. I pushed myself to the limit everyday. I was determined I wouldn’t even come close to failure again. After a few days of training, I started feeling a strange pain in my calf. I assumed that I hadn’t stretched enough before one of my runs, but the tightness lingered despite my best efforts to relieve it. Then, I woke up in the middle of the night with a sharp pain in my side. All through the day, it kept getting worse. By the evening, I was screaming and writhing in pain and could hardly breath. The emergency center diagnosed it as a tear in my abdominal wall and gave me some painkillers. I was laid up in bed for a few days and started showing signs of recovery. Then, things took a turn for the worse. I went to bed on New Years Eve with a 103° fever which didn’t break for three days. On the fourth day, I woke up with little to no feeling in my right leg. I couldn’t even walk.
As it turns out, I had a blood clot running from my ankle up to my mid-thigh. I was rushed to the emergency room. Further scans showed that part of the clot had broken off and moved into my lungs to form a bilateral pulmonary embolism which explained the pneumonia and stabbing pain in my side. I ended up on bed rest for a total of 26 days and lost almost 20 pounds. I was basically right back where I started in terms of fitness, and any possibility of a career in the Marine Corps was in total jeopardy.
Over the course of the semester, I had to make long drives back home to see a specialist and get bloodwork done to determine a the severity of my condition and the risk factors present. Initial tests revealed that I had a genetic mutation known as Factor V Leiden. After three anxiety-ridden months, I had one final appointment which would determine if I would have to take blood thinners for the rest of my life and if the Marine Corps would still be an option.
On the drive home, my mind was racing. I played out the different scenarios in my head. What would I do? Where would I go? I passed through a little town on the drive meaning that I would be traveling on a long stretch stretch of road through the middle of nowhere for a good while. I took a deep breath and settled in for the next hour or so of backroads ahead. No more than 10 minutes later, my phone lost signal and the music cut out. I let out a sigh of frustration and switched to the radio. There was nothing but static. I desperately flipped through the channels searching for anything. Finally, I picked up a talk radio show. A woman was telling the story of how she tragically lost her son when he was young. I became deeply interested and moved by her testimony. After she finished, the host asked her what is that kept her grounded through all of it.
This was her response:
It was my faith in God. If you’re feeling lost, anxious, helpless, or scared, go back to Mass.
Chills ran over my skin. I was certain that I had just heard the voice of God. She had described everything I was feeling, and I had no idea what to do. Without a doubt in my mind, He was calling me back to the Catholic faith. While I had enjoyed going to the Methodist church, there was a longing for more. I had a deep-seated feeling that something was missing. My mind occasionally wandered back to the days when I went to Mass or compared the two theological schools of thought. I arrived home with much weighing on my mind.
The next day, I went to the hospital with a sinking feeling that things were about to change for the worse, but it didn’t matter anymore. Whatever the outcome was could be dealt with accordingly. My refuge would be at the foot of the Cross. Sure enough, the final tests revealed that I also had a protein deficiency meaning that I would have to take a blood thinner for life and the Marine Corps was no longer an option. A numbness flooded my mind, body, and soul. A year ago, I felt untouchable. Now, every aspect of my identity was being challenged.
Two weeks later, I finished school, moved back to Tyler, and got a job as a construction surveyor. I stopped by the Cathedral after work one day and as it just so happened, a new summer RCIA class was starting two days later. I learned more about the Christian faith and Church history in those 9 months than I had in my entire life. Despite some disruption due to the pandemic, I entered the Church on Pentecost, June 7th, 2020.
Since joining the Church, it hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been so worth it. I was dating a girl for a little while, but she left me because of my faith. From time to time, there are tensions between me and my family members who are non-Catholic. The struggles of my own life still persist. Yet when I moved for work, I met so many good people who have become some of my closest friends. I helped found a fraternity to help men build community and lead a more holy and virtuous life. In my own life, I have been transformed and made new. Most of all, I have fallen so deeply in love with God. For this, I would not trade it for anything nor do I would I wish for it to be any other way.
We know that in everything God works for good with those who love him, who are called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28 RSVCE
Joseph Mohr is a Catholic, Athlete, Craftsman, Writer, Stoic, and, most importantly, a Floral Enthusiast. He graduated from Texas A&M in 2019 with a B.S. in Human Geography but quickly became an aspiring polymath. He currently works as a data analyst in the urban planning sector and runs The Night Watch, his personal brand dedicated to fighting the good fight. In his spare time, he enjoys studying art, architecture, cartography, psychology, and language, and is a lover of running, lifting, drawing, nature, and chicken sandwiches.
