God Wins

A Catholic and a Protestant walked into a bar. 

Actually no. 

A passionate, born and raised, completely convicted, confident, practicing Roman Catholic and a zealous Bible reader, Jesus-loving, stubborn, and well-equipped Baptist walked into a bar. 

We both loved Christ; that was clear within the first ten minutes… I was impressed with this guy, so I asked, "What church do you attend?" I was already daydreaming about our future Sunday morning church dates, Bible studies, and Jesus chats over coffee. That cute little idea flew out the window when he smiled big and said, "Our Lady’s Immaculate Heart Catholic church."

I think at this point God just chuckled- but personally, in that moment my whole body shuddered…I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. Jaw on the floor, eyes wide, and then practically spitting my beer out, I stammered, "You’re Catholic?!"

-

I sat with my legs crisscrossed on the couch of my living room, hair thrown up in a messy high ponytail, wearing my favorite sweatpants. It was late—really late. Khloe was fast asleep, and there was one light on. Ford sat across from me. There is something thrilling, daunting, troubling, and intimate about late-night chats about Jesus. The conversations about our faith were never light. They were heavy, intense, and passion-filled, and though often messy, I couldn’t get enough—neither could he.

Ford was going on and on about the history of the Catholic church and spewing facts and insight I had never heard of. Being a history buff, theology nerd and curious mind, I decided to keep things light, not argue or question, but just listen. I sunk a little deeper in the couch and could not help but see the light and zeal in his eyes when he talked about our Savior. How serious and firm he was in his beliefs and convictions. Solid. It was undeniable and unshakeable. I didn’t even really know what I was witnessing.

I could hardly argue, so I just listened. 

Soon, most of our time together was spent picking apart both of our doctrines. We got out our Bibles, read creeds, prayers, and ancient literature. We watched documentaries, listened to podcasts, and had intense conversations about our Savior. Yet, neither one of us would budge on certain issues.

One night, my legs dangled off his pick-up truck in my back yard. We were in another heated discussion about where we would attend church together. Ford looked at me sternly and said, “My wife will be Catholic, she just has to be Catholic.” He became super emotional. He held his head in his hands and said, "What have I done?" I knew exactly what he was referring to the moment his words left his lips. "I have fallen in love with you, but I cannot marry you." 

I felt the weight of his words because I felt the same way, and I wasn’t budging. Neither of us were. How could we get married if we are both so passionate about our faiths? It is all we have ever known. How could God ever work this out? The overwhelm was real and suffocating. It felt like we hit a dead end.

But then, Ford snapped out of his emotion, and he grabbed my hands with force. His confidence unbudgeable. We bowed our heads, and for the first time in our short relationship, we decided to ask God what He thought about all this instead of leaning on our own strength and understanding. 

I remember feeling the Holy Spirit—calm from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. Ford pleaded with the Lord about our convictions. He gave our relationship to the King. He begged him to show us where to go from here, and then he said, “But above all else, Lord, let your will be done in our lives. Even if it’s hard and it hurts.”

From that moment on, I knew I would walk with him through fire.

-

I slid haphazardly and quickly into a back pew of a Catholic Mass.

Ford genuflected gracefully.

 My hand clung to his like a small child. I said I’d walk through fire with him, right? This felt like the equivalent. I trusted him with every ounce of my being. His confidence made it easy to walk into any new space- even if it was terrifying. I just had to roll beside him. And me? I am a very confident person- more outgoing than most. I tend to walk into any room with my head up, shoulders back, and a smile on my face and with Ford? You better watch out because we are quite the extroverted duo. “I got this.” I thought. “We got this.”

This was the second time in my entire life I had set foot into a Catholic Church. It was a miracle I even ended up there that day. I swore up and down to Ford I would never, ever go to church with him- because what was the point? I would never actually become Catholic. But as our love grew, so did my respect for him and his convictions. I decided to attend Mass with him one summer Sunday- a tiny act- but a massive symbol of love. He had willingly attended a Protestant service with me the weekend before, so it was my turn.

I settled into an old wooden pew. I stared at the beautiful stained-glass windows and all the light.

Everything was still.

Everything was quiet. 

I couldn’t remember the last time I sat so still and quiet.

I felt my entire body release a strange tension. One I had no idea was present. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I closed my eyes and leaned into Ford. I had no clue what was happening to me. I was so calm. I looked up again at all the light flooding in. This was new to me. Most churches I worshiped in were dark with dim and moody lighting and bright lights for the band.

I loved the light. I think because it reminded me of heaven. I wondered what Riley thought seeing me worship in a Catholic church. I’m sure him and Jesus popped some popcorn for this one.

Because the truth is I used to spend my Sundays as a busybody for Jesus. Coffee in hand and socialization on high. I greeted, chatted, directed, laughed, welcomed, and smiled. I opened doors and made friends. I taught Sunday school and held crying babies. I persuaded people to attend our church, trying with everything inside me to make it sound as appealing as possible. Sunday mornings used to be the absolute farthest thing from calm…it was more of a burn out.

So, walking into a sanctuary with zero responsibilities, no expectations, and not a familiar face in sight caught me completely and utterly off guard. Honestly? It was an absolute breath of fresh air. Was this what church was like for all these believers? Every Sunday? Just Jesus and calm?

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Ford suddenly pulled out the infamous kneelers. “Oh man, here we go.” I thought sarcastically, trying not to role my eyes. I knelt beside him. I whispered, “Now what?”

 “Just talk to Jesus Kate, don’t over complicate it.” He laughed.

I folded my hands and tried to focus on praying. “Lord, meet me in this place.” My mind was racing as I observed all the people filing in. There might as well have been a giant sign on my forehead that screamed, “PROTESTANT,” because I couldn’t stop staring. Families with many children, couples, elderly, singletons, so many variations of so many people- yet all of them were calm- even the children. I could not believe my eyes. I nudged Ford in mid prayer, “Is it always this quiet? Why is it so quiet?” Ford opened his eyes and answered with a playful grin, “Why would there be noise darlin?” I shrugged because all my previous church experiences felt much more chaotic than this. Pop Christian music typically played in the absence of silence and a digital timer on the big screen was our signal to stop talking, grab your coffee refill and sit down. Everyone was cheery and loud and upbeat and dosed up on caffeine and Jesus. But this time? Beautiful church bells broke the silence. Their chime’s announcing Mass was about to start. And people’s postures? Completely and unapologetically reverent. I was mesmerized.

As the service began, I felt my body language become smaller, sinking softly into Ford’s shoulder, using him as a physical shield, hoping he would hide my insecurities. My eyes gazed at the floor, my confidence dwindled with every prayer and sequence of Mass. Where were these liturgies? Why didn’t I know them? I felt so insecure. So "out of the loop." For the first time in my 31 years of life I felt absolutely clueless in a church setting. Ford knew every single word. I was so embarrassed. Then finally familiar words, “Our Father who art in heaven…” Ford grabbed my hand and we lifted them up together. We recited the Lord’s prayer. It echoed in the space so beautifully.

Goosebumps.

I gasped a sigh of relief. “Ok, I knew that one, I can participate.”

I settled in.

First reading, second reading, then the gospel and homely. I was shocked. I looked at Ford and whispered, “The whole service is pure scripture, the call and response, the hymns. All of it. It’s completely biblically sound.” Ford rolled his eyes, “Of course it is, what have I been telling you?”

 It was time for The Eucharist. I had no clue what was going on. I really did not want to file up with all the Catholics just to be embarrassed yet again when I could not actually receive communion, but Ford took my hand and giddily lead me to the front. So confident. So excited. Huge smile on his face. I watched as the crowds proceeded to the front of the church.

I was sweating. 

I reached the priest. His eyes were kind, his posture humble and gentle. I bowed my head and crossed my arms over my chest- a direction Ford whispered in my ear moments before. He prayed a blessing over me and gave me the sign of the cross. I felt peace.

We walked back to our pew, it was time for the final hymn and I sang my little heart out.

Looking back I know this was a moment of pure spiritual humility. A moment when the holy spirit reminded me that I didn’t know everything there is to know about His church or His children…and I didn’t even know everything there is to know about himself. That was a punch to the gut.

It is fair to say that we are a product of our upbringing. My Sunday mornings looked a whole lot different than Ford’s. I grew up in a small Baptist church in rural Iowa. My mom sang on the worship team- you know the kind with the swaying, eyes closed and hand raising. It’s all I knew and it was good. I spent my days memorizing scripture and studying God’s word. I participated in lively youth groups and sang "special music" in front of our congregation.  I got to know Jesus early in my life. I gave my life to him and was baptized when I was nine years old. My parents instilled in me the importance of attending church twice a week- and let me tell you- we hardly ever missed. It was like breathing. They gave me good roots. Solid roots. Deep roots filled with the truth of the gospel. Roots drenched in who Jesus is. Without these roots and my personal relationship with my Savior I am not sure I would have had the faith or courage or desire to have ever walked into that Catholic Mass.

But I knew in my bones that if Jesus was there, it was where I belonged. And he was and is. Now, after attending dozens of Masses, I have come to the realization that Mass is not about our entertainment, or our comfort, or really about us at all. How convicting is that? I think I’ve realized that Mass is just a solid act of worship- and it’s a stunning act to participate in, one I look foreward to every week. Can you believe that!? It is so humbling and eye opening to walk into a place of stillness and solitude and unity. It’s soaked in His precious scripture and steeped in His sacred tradition. There is no hype or emotional climax. No dynamite sermon that gets you fired up. Because Mass does not play into our fragile human emotions that are so easily swayed by mainstream Christianity. I’m learning on my journey that I may have made Jesus too casual. Maybe a little too cool and hip. I am working through that balance. I’ve been deeply convicted by my heart posture when I meet the Rock of Ages. Because the truth is my heart has been rocked by the Catholic faith. Instead of nit picking a sermon, or the bass guitar, or the key Matthew West’s song is in, I am meeting the King of Kings with zero distractions, and it is an unbelievably humbling and holy experience.

-

Change is hard. I think sometimes we intertwine it with wrong or bad when in all reality it’s just different. I have experienced a lot of change in the last two years. I have exchanged the working mom grind for full time Homemaker and mother. I have traded modern church culture for the fullness of sacred tradition and worship. I traded widow for wife. I am even updating my “crazy cat lady card” to “dog owner.” And I’m learning that these changes- though different- still bear really good fruit- actually life changing fruit. I know there is a lot more change to come in my life- and I honestly? I cannot wait.

And that crazy convicted Catholic? Well, he married that bible hugging Protestant he met in a sports bar. And that Protestant? She said her vows in front of God fulfilling the beautiful sacrament of marriage.

And she did it in a Catholic church.

Because God has a funny way of working all things out for His children and His kingdom, but most of all for His good and His glory… He has a jaw dropping way of coming out victorious in our earthly struggles.

Because God Wins.

He always wins.