Testimony: What is Truth?
By Jeannie Ewing
As a cradle Catholic, I never questioned my faith or strayed too far from it during my formative years. I recall spending lots of time when I was a small child lingering in my bedroom, lost in my thoughts about God, Heaven, the angels, and saints. I often prayed as it came naturally to me to speak with God as a friend. I also knew the angels and saints were real and could assist me in times of need.
Of course, adolescence sparked skepticism and disillusionment with the Catholic Church for a short time. I no longer attended Catholic school. Every variety of socioeconomic status, race, ethnicity, and religion filled my huge metropolitan high school. One of the boys whose locker was across from mine was an open Satanist. For the first time in my life, I questioned what I believed.
This questioning was mostly because I formed friendships with zealous Protestants who attended Pentecostal and other Evangelical denominations. I firmly stood my ground on the Trinity and knew Jesus was my Savior, but some of the rites and rituals of Catholicism no longer made sense to me. Unfortunately, though I had received an eight-year Catholic education, I wasn’t well catechized and didn’t know how to defend my faith.
As I entered my sophomore year, I approached my parents to inquire about attending other Protestant churches with some of my friends. Many of them were active in their youth groups, and I wanted to be a part of that. I had always longed for God—pined for him, even—but I was temporarily confused about where my church home should be.
I didn’t know it at the time, but my parents were deeply troubled at my desire to “church shop.” They prayed about it and discussed it among their close-knit group of friends from our parish (and even our pastor). Then they reluctantly agreed that I could attend Protestant youth group and services—as long as I still went to weekly Mass with them.
The deal was sufficient for me, and off I went—to Baptist, Lutheran, Assembly of God, and nondenominational megachurches, among others. At first, I basked in the feel-good aspect of their worship style. I loved the live bands and extravagant, dynamic preaching. The only thing that bothered me about most of these modern churches was that there was no real altar anywhere. It looked more like a stage to me—and without a cross or crucifix.
All along, I prayed that God would lead me to truth. The question of Pilate burned in my heart every day: “What is truth?” I wrestled with it, unaware that my parents and Catholic church family were fervently praying for me to find my way back home. After a few months of the pomp and circumstance at these huge Protestant churches, I didn’t feel comfortable there anymore.
I was frustrated that there was no real liturgy. I found comfort in the rituals of the Mass, even if I didn’t understand them. I was also bothered that everyone kept asking me if I was “saved” once they discovered I was Catholic. I had to ask myself if I was saved and what that meant. But the defining moment that brought me back to the Catholic faith—when I authentically claimed it as my faith—happened during a “communion” service at one nondenominational megachurch.
I had attended Mass that Sunday morning, according to the agreement with my parents, but I decided to tag along to the evening worship service with some of my friends from school at this well-known local congregation. After the usual praise and worship opening, the bishop (whose role I really couldn’t discern clearly) played up the fact that this particular weekend was so special because it was their monthly communion service.
Taken aback that they didn’t partake in communion weekly, I waited with bated breath for what was to come next. Aghast, I saw ushers walk up the aisles with silver trays filled with tiny cups of what appeared to be grape juice, along with bite-sized pieces of sandwich bread.
Really?!
I was disgusted, yet perplexed at the same time. What was this all about, and why did it bother me? When it came time for our row to partake of this odd symbolic ritual, I politely declined. The usher insisted, but I stood my ground of refusal. After that evening, I never went back to that church.
The following Sunday, I prayed in desperation to the Lord, asking him why that instance was so insulting in my mind. Up until that moment, I was fairly certain I wasn’t going to claim Catholicism as my faith of choice. Little did I realize that this interior struggle occurred during the Consecration. I was kneeling during this intense silent prayer, and all at once—just like in the movies—I slowly raised my head as our pastor elevated the Host and finalized the prayers of Consecration.
In that instant, I knew. I knew what those churches were missing and why I was so offended at their weak gesture of communion. It was this—the Eucharist—Jesus’ true Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity—that had been missing all along. At that moment, I felt as if I had found some lost treasure, and all at once, I knew that Catholicism was my true home.
Receiving Jesus shortly thereafter solidified everything I had questioned. I became a zealous Catholic, hungrily devouring everything I could learn in order to understand and defend the tenets of the Faith. I joined our youth group and, eventually, young adult ministry. After high school, I began attending daily Mass with my mom, as well as adoration and praying a daily rosary and Divine Mercy chaplet.
Those early young adult years were the springtime of my life and my faith. I cannot say that, since that time, my faith has never been tested. During the many trials that have tested my faith, I knew that fidelity to God and his Church would keep me from being led astray.
Somehow, even in the midst of those mysteries that have no answer this side of Heaven, I have learned that the most valuable treasure I do have is the Faith my parents gave me and that I continue to claim as my own.
Not everything in life has a smooth and easy answer. In fact, I believe that most trials are meant to indicate whether our faith is genuine, but that refinement of virtue is what keeps us following Jesus and knowing that we have at our disposal the key to unlocking the truth we seek. I am grateful to say that I found my answer to “What is truth?” The truth is in Catholicism, a beautiful and priceless gift for us all.
