Why Do People Convert to Catholicism? The Most Common Reasons (and Misconceptions)

Every year, thousands of people make the journey into the Catholic Church. Some come from other Christian denominations, others from entirely secular or non-religious backgrounds. But why? What draws people to Catholicism in an age when many are leaving organized religion? we will begin to answer these questions here, but for a deeper, heartfelt and honest dive into one family's conversion, check out the book Rome Sweet Home by Scott and Kimberly Hahn.

Let’s explore the most common reasons why people convert to Catholicism—including my own family's journey—and dispel some of the biggest misconceptions along the way.

1. The Search for Truth

Many converts describe Catholicism as the answer to their search for objective truth. For me, my experience in Protestantism felt like a starving person reaching out for something they deeply needed—only to be fed wax fruit. My soul knew there was something more real out there. In a world of shifting beliefs and relativism, the Church’s consistent teachings provide an anchor.

• What draws them? The depth of Church history, Apostolic Succession, and a faith that has remained doctrinally intact for over 2,000 years.
• Misconception: Some think Catholic teachings are arbitrary “rules.” In reality, Catholic doctrine is built on logic, history, and biblical foundations.

2. The Eucharist: Christ’s Real Presence

For many, the belief in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist is the defining reason for conversion. For me, this was the most compelling reason—if the Eucharist is truly Christ’s gift of Himself to us, then participating in it is the most important thing in life.

• What draws them? The idea that Jesus is physically present in the Eucharist, just as He promised in John 6.
• Misconception: Some assume Catholics “re-sacrifice” Jesus at every Mass. In truth, the Mass is a re-presentation of the one sacrifice of Christ, not a new one.

3. The Authority of the Church and the Witness of Early Church Fathers

Many converts find that Protestantism’s wide range of interpretations left them feeling lost. They seek a Church with authority to teach truth—not just personal opinions on Scripture. For my husband, the witness of the disciples of the disciples was deeply compelling. As he studied the writings of the Early Church Fathers, he realized that the Catholic Church had the strongest claim to authority.

• What draws them? The Church’s claim to be the original Church founded by Christ, with authority given to Peter and the Apostles.
• Misconception: Some think Catholic doctrine is based on human inventions rather than biblical truth. In reality, Catholic teachings are deeply rooted in Scripture and Tradition.

4. The Beauty of Catholic Worship

We initially thought this would be a problem for us. All the liturgy and tradition seemed like "the traditions of men." As we experienced it, it came to life for us—not a puffed-up set of gatekeeping rituals, but rather a rich reminder of the most important aspects of our faith that we can participate in every day if we choose to.

• What draws them? The reverence of the Mass, the beauty of Gregorian chant, the depth of traditional devotions.
• Misconception: Some believe Catholic worship is “too rigid” or lacking in personal expression. In truth, the liturgy provides a deeply meaningful, communal form of worship centered on Christ.

5. The Communion of Saints

This was the hardest part of conversion for us. We had received so much teaching that this was somehow evil. We were so intent on avoiding "worshiping" Saints, Mary, and Angels. When we found out the realities of what Catholics really do, we found this to be a help to us, not a stumbling block. Many converts are drawn to the Catholic understanding of the Communion of Saints—the idea that the faithful on earth, in purgatory, and in heaven are spiritually connected.

• What draws them? The ability to ask saints for intercession, knowing they are alive in Christ.
• Misconception: Some think Catholics “worship” saints. The truth is that Catholics honor saints and ask for their prayers, just as we ask friends and family to pray for us.

6. A Deeper Understanding of Suffering

Many who have faced suffering find meaning in the Catholic teaching of redemptive suffering—uniting one’s struggles with Christ’s. As a chronic illness sufferer, this was compelling for me. My pain wasn't wasted. I could use it to help others.

• What draws them? The idea that suffering, when offered to God, has deep spiritual value.
• Misconception: Some think Catholics “glorify” suffering. In reality, Catholic teaching emphasizes offering pain to God, not seeking it out unnecessarily.

7. The Call to Holiness

Catholicism offers a clear roadmap for growing in holiness through the sacraments, prayer, and virtue. My husband really resonated with this. He was seeing so much political drift in the churches we attended. People were forsaking the clear moral teachings of the Bible to follow their political parties on both sides of the aisle.

• What draws them? The sacramental life, confession, and the wisdom of saints as models of holiness.
• Misconception: Some assume Catholicism is just about following rules. In truth, it’s about growing in love for God and neighbor.

Final Thoughts: Conversion is a Calling

People don’t convert to Catholicism lightly—it’s often a journey of intense study, prayer, and personal transformation. While each person’s path is unique, the reasons above are some of the most common motivations for entering the Church.

If you’re considering conversion, take your time, ask questions, and let God lead the way. He calls each of us in His perfect timing.

Understanding Jesus’ Cry on the Cross: “My God, My God, Why Have You Forsaken Me?”

As Jesus hung on the cross, he uttered one of the most haunting and misunderstood cries in all of Scripture:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46)

This moment is not just emotionally powerful—it’s theologically rich. These words, drawn directly from Psalm 22, invite us to look deeper. They are not a loss of faith. They are a full and embodied cry of anguish, saturated with scripture, fulfillment, and trust.

A Direct Echo of Psalm 22

Jesus’ cry is not spontaneous. It is intentional. The opening line of Psalm 22 is this:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1)

This psalm begins with abandonment, but it does not end there. As it unfolds, we find a trajectory: from isolation to deliverance, from lament to hope. By invoking this psalm, Jesus does what he so often does throughout his public ministry: he teaches through Scripture. Even from the cross, he is pointing to something larger than the moment of pain.

Entering the Full Depth of Human Suffering

At this moment, Christ is not simply reciting a prophecy—he is living it. He is the fulfillment of Psalm 22 in body and spirit. His words express real abandonment, real agony, and real separation. Not from the Father in essence—but from every felt assurance of consolation.

He feels what we feel when suffering consumes us:
Where is God now? Has He left me, too?

This is the mystery of the Incarnation taken to its most radical depth. Jesus is not performing suffering. He is fully entering it.

And that means when you cry out with confusion, when you feel forgotten, you are not alone. Jesus has gone before you.

Theological Mystery: The Sin-Bearer and the Abandoned

Many theologians reflect on this cry as a glimpse into the cost of sin. Christ, the spotless Lamb, is now bearing the full weight of humanity’s rebellion. In this bearing, he experiences the consequence of sin: distance from God.

“He who knew no sin became sin for us, so that we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21)

That experience—of being cut off, of feeling forsaken—is not fake. It is a lived spiritual reality. Not because the Father rejected the Son, but because the Son entered into our estrangement so we could be restored.

As the Catechism reminds us:

"In the redeeming love that united him to the Father, Jesus knew that the Father had not abandoned him." (CCC 603)

Prophetic Fulfillment in Real Time

Psalm 22 doesn’t just begin with forsakenness—it details the crucifixion with uncanny accuracy:

• "All who see me mock me..." (v.7)

• "They have pierced my hands and feet." (v.16)

• "They divide my garments among them and cast lots for my clothing." (v.18)

Jesus is not only suffering, he is showing us that he is the suffering servant long foretold. By quoting Psalm 22, he aligns his agony with divine prophecy—not in resignation, but in revelation.

Even on the cross, he is revealing the Father.

Pope Benedict XVI: Crying Out in Trust

Pope Benedict XVI reflected deeply on this moment. He reminded us that this cry is both a lament and a prayer. It is not a break in the Trinity. It is the sound of ultimate vulnerability held within divine love.

“In that hour, Jesus takes on himself all the anguish of humanity and all the petitions of salvation history... His cry is not despair, but a profound expression of trust in the Father.”
(Benedict XVI, Homily for Good Friday, Vatican.va)

Even in pain, Jesus prays. Even in silence, he speaks to God.

This is not faithlessness. This is faith at its most honest.

What This Cry Means for Us

When we read this passage, we are invited to:

• Enter the mystery of Jesus’ suffering without rushing to solve it

• See our own abandonment mirrored in his

• Remember the arc of Psalm 22: despair does not get the final word

• Trust that Jesus is present not only in victory, but in devastation

Jesus doesn’t skip the pain. He names it. He enters it. He redeems it.

What This Cry Tells Us About God

One of the most radical truths of the Christian faith is this: God does not stay distant from suffering. He enters it. Not just as an observer, but as one who participates.

Jesus' cry on the cross isn't just a moment of pain—it's a revelation of God's nearness to every hurting soul. It shows us that God is not scandalized by our questions. He does not turn away when we feel lost, undone, or confused. Instead, He meets us in that space. Not always with immediate answers, but always with presence.

This cry also dismantles the false idea that faith requires constant strength. Jesus—fully divine, fully human—models a kind of faith that includes lament, doubt, and longing. If the Son of God can cry out, so can we.

In a world that glorifies resolution and quick comfort, Jesus teaches us to stay present in the mystery. To name the ache. To pray the psalms. To trust that God is still listening, even when it feels like He is silent.

Final Thought: When You Feel Forsaken

Jesus didn’t quote Psalm 22 because he doubted God.
He quoted it because he trusted God to meet him in the silence.

If you feel forsaken, forgotten, or unseen—you are not outside of God’s reach. You are, in fact, walking a path Jesus knows well.

And just like the psalm ends with rescue and praise, so does the story of the cross. Because the cry of abandonment is not the end. It is the turning point.

"He has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him, but has listened to his cry for help." (Psalm 22:24)

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Want to go deeper? This and many other themes are beautifully explored in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. The USCCB edition is especially readable, with footnotes and clarity for prayerful study.

Is It Wrong to Question God? What Scripture Says About Doubt

Most Christians—if they're honest—have moments when they wonder: Why, God? Whether it's suffering, silence, or spiritual dryness, questioning can feel like doubt creeping in where faith should be. But Scripture and tradition tell a different story. They show us that questioning is not the opposite of faith—it can be an expression of it.

When we question God, we're engaging with Him. We're reaching for clarity, truth, and connection. The Bible is filled with people who brought their confusion, fear, and frustration directly to God—and were not rejected for doing so. Instead, they were often drawn deeper into relationship with Him.

This article explores what Scripture and the Catholic tradition teach about questioning God—and how doubt, when approached with humility, can become a doorway to greater trust.

Biblical Instances of Questioning God

Job’s Lament

Job, a righteous man who faced immense suffering, openly questioned God’s justice and reasons for his afflictions. In Job 10:3, he asks, “Is it good for You that You should oppress, that You should despise the work of Your hands and smile on the counsel of the wicked?” Despite his profound anguish and questioning, Job’s story concludes with a deeper understanding of God’s sovereignty and his own limitations (Job 42:1-6).

What we learn from Job is that God can handle our honesty. He doesn't silence Job—He responds. And He responds not with rebuke, but with revelation. Job’s questions are not signs of faithlessness, but expressions of trust that God is worth questioning.

Habakkuk’s Inquiry

The prophet Habakkuk challenged God’s plan to use the Babylonians to punish Judah, struggling to reconcile this with God’s nature. In Habakkuk 1:13, he expresses, “Your eyes are too pure to look on evil; you cannot tolerate wrongdoing. Why then do you tolerate the treacherous?” This dialogue illustrates that seeking clarity from God is a part of faith (Habakkuk 2:1-4).

What stands out in Habakkuk is his decision to wait for God’s answer: “I will stand at my guard post… and watch to see what He will say to me.” This posture of questioning with expectation is a model for us. Questions are not wrong when they are grounded in relationship.

Thomas the Apostle’s Doubt

After the resurrection, Thomas refused to believe until he saw Christ’s wounds himself. In John 20:25, he says, “Unless I see the nail marks in His hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.” Instead of condemning Thomas, Jesus invites him to touch His wounds, affirming that faith can grow through honest questioning (John 20:27-29).

Thomas wasn’t lacking faith—he was longing for proof that love had truly conquered death. And Jesus met him right there. If God Himself did not shame a doubting disciple, we can be confident that our questions do not disqualify us from relationship.

Jesus and the Ministry of Questions

Jesus was not afraid of questions. In fact, He asked many of His own:

• “Who do you say that I am?” (Matthew 16:15)

• “Why are you afraid?” (Mark 4:40)

• “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46)

These are not rhetorical devices—they are invitations. Jesus used questions to draw people into reflection, transformation, and intimacy. He honored the struggle. He dignified the process. Even His final breath included a question, echoing Psalm 22, reminding us that even in agony, it's okay to cry out for answers.

If Jesus Himself asked hard questions, we should never fear doing the same.

Catholic Teachings on Doubt

The Catholic Church acknowledges that doubt can be a natural part of faith development. The Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC 2088-2089) distinguishes between:

• Involuntary Doubt – Hesitation in believing or difficulty in overcoming objections related to the faith. This can lead to spiritual growth when explored with sincerity.

• Voluntary Doubt – Willfully disregarding or rejecting what God has revealed and what the Church teaches. This can lead one away from faith.

Rather than rejecting those who doubt, the Church encourages engagement with Scripture, prayer, and theological study to seek clarity (CCC 158).

Saint Anselm described theology as fides quaerens intellectum—faith seeking understanding. Doubt, when rooted in humility, is often the beginning of deeper formation.

Even saints like Augustine, Teresa of Ávila, and Thérèse of Lisieux wrestled with spiritual darkness and questions they could not resolve immediately. But they brought them to God.

Embracing Questions as a Path to Deeper Faith

Questioning, when approached with humility and a genuine desire for understanding, can lead to a more profound and resilient faith. Scripture encourages believers to seek wisdom and understanding:

• James 1:5 – “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him.”

• Mark 9:24 – The father of a possessed boy cries out, “I believe; help my unbelief!” showing that doubt and faith can coexist.

• Matthew 7:7 – “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.”

When we question God in prayer, in Scripture, or in conversation with fellow believers, we are not weakening our faith—we are strengthening it.

What Should I Do With My Doubts?

• Pray honestly. Don’t filter your fears in prayer. God can handle raw truth.

• Bring questions into Scripture. Practice Lectio Divina with difficult passages. Let the Word speak.

• Talk to someone wise. A priest, spiritual director, or trusted mentor can help you see more clearly.

• Read Catholic thinkers. Church Fathers, theologians, and modern spiritual writers can walk with you.

• Stay in community. Doubt grows in isolation. Share your questions where love and truth coexist.

Conclusion

Questioning God is not inherently wrong; it reflects a dynamic and seeking faith. Scriptural examples and Catholic teachings suggest that doubt, when navigated thoughtfully, can lead to spiritual growth and a deeper understanding of one's beliefs.

Faith isn’t always a straight line. Sometimes it bends through shadows and silence, and sometimes it doubles back through doubt. But as long as the questions are held in the presence of God, they are holy.

We’ve gone through a lot of Bible in this article, which is always the time I like to bring up the Catholic Study Bible by Ignatius Press. Decades of Catholic scholarship have gone into producing this study Bible that stands head and shoulders above not only other Catholic Bibles, but the very best of the Protestant Bibles, as well. I would give one to every Catholic in the English-speaking world, if I could.

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Saint Teresa of Calcutta: Radical Love in Everyday Holiness

 

Some saints lived in monasteries. Some preached to kings. Saint Teresa of Calcutta spent most of her life washing wounds, holding the dying, and finding Christ in the gutters of human suffering.

She didn’t chase grandeur. She didn’t want fame. Her one mission—spoken clearly and lived daily—was this: “To love Jesus in the distressing disguise of the poor.”

In a noisy world full of ambition and distraction, Mother Teresa offers us something beautifully simple and radically holy: Love the person in front of you.

Holiness Starts at Home

One of her most quoted lines is also one of her most challenging:

“If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.”

Mother Teresa understood that true charity starts closest to us—not in distant missions or noble causes, but in the small, sometimes gritty work of loving the people we live with.

Before solving global poverty, she said, love the people who frustrate you. The ones who leave dishes in the sink. The ones whose wounds you can’t fix. The ones who need your patience more than your plans.

This message is especially relevant during Lent—a season not just for fasting, but for deepening love. What good is giving up chocolate if it doesn’t make us kinder? What’s the point of penance if it doesn’t soften our hearts?

No One Is Too Poor to Be Loved

Mother Teresa didn’t weigh who was “deserving.” She didn’t require moral backstories, insurance, or stability. She saw the face of Christ in every person, especially the poor and dying.

“Each one of them is Jesus in disguise.”

To her, no act of love was too small: a hand held, a smile offered, a mouth fed. Her radical vision of dignity aligned perfectly with Catholic social teaching. She embodied the principle that human life is sacred not because of what it produces, but because it reflects the image of God.

She didn’t serve the poor out of pity. She served them out of reverence.

Her Secret Suffering: The Long Night of the Soul

What many people don’t know is that Saint Teresa spent much of her life in spiritual darkness. Despite an early experience of God’s voice and call, she later entered what the mystics call the dark night of the soul—a prolonged sense of God’s absence.

Her prayers often felt unanswered. Her soul felt empty. And yet—she stayed.

She chose love over and over again, even when she couldn’t feel God’s presence. That hidden suffering became part of her sanctity. It allowed her to understand the loneliness of the poor more deeply—and to love them not from a place of comfort, but solidarity.

“I have come to love the darkness... for I believe now that it is a part, a very small part, of Jesus’ darkness and pain on earth.”

In her silence, she trusted. In her emptiness, she gave. And in her hidden agony, she loved God all the more.

What Mother Teresa Teaches Ordinary Catholics

Her holiness wasn’t found in visions or eloquence—it was formed in exhaustion, in repeated acts of mercy, in the decision to show up.

If you’ve ever:

• Felt like your prayer life is dry

• Wondered whether small things matter

• Been too tired to be “holy”

• Loved someone who didn’t love you back

...then Saint Teresa is your patron.

She teaches us that holiness isn’t about constant consolation or spiritual fireworks. It’s about staying close to Jesus through service, faithfulness, and trust—even in the absence of feeling.

How to Carry Her Spirit Into Lent

Mother Teresa didn’t ask us to suffer more—she asked us to love more.

This Lent, let your penance lead you to presence:

• Speak gently when you feel irritable

• Feed someone who can’t repay you

• Hold space for grief or loneliness

• Revisit your own family with patience

• Offer your spiritual dryness with trust

Don’t aim to impress God. Aim to reflect Him.

Because for Saint Teresa of Calcutta, holiness was never about drama—it was about love in action.

Final Reflection

If Lent feels complicated, Saint Teresa invites us to return to simplicity:

Love those around you. Trust God in the silence. Let grace into the smallest places of your day.

And when you feel like you’ve failed, remember: Mother Teresa’s holiness wasn’t built on spiritual success—it was built on surrender.

She is the saint of presence, the saint of trust, the saint of showing up.

And she walks with you.

Looking for More?
Mother Teresa lived Catholic social teaching in motion. For a deep dive into those foundations, check out the Encyclopedia of Catholic Social Thought (2-volume set).

Helpful Tool: Keep a small reminder of her courage and tenderness nearby. This Saint Teresa of Calcutta devotional statue is a beautiful, simple way to remember her presence and carry her mission of love into your daily life.

You might also find peace in praying with a Saint Teresa of Calcutta rosary—a tangible way to hold her presence close and meditate on the mysteries she lived so fully.

Want more saint reflections rooted in real life? Follow Converting to Hope or visit our Ko-fi store to support the work.

Three Sacrifices of Lent: Prayer, Fasting, and Charity

 

Lent invites us into a season of sacrifice—but not the kind the world imagines. This isn’t about punishment or pointless deprivation. It’s about offering something beautiful to God. When we willingly sacrifice during Lent, we’re choosing to give a gift of love—not because God demands it, but because love always wants to give.

At the heart of Lent are three traditional practices: prayer, fasting, and charity. Each one draws us deeper into relationship—with God, with ourselves, and with others. These aren’t burdens to carry. They’re invitations to love.

1. Prayer: A Gift of Time and Attention

When we give more time to prayer during Lent, we’re making a sacrifice of attention. In a world that constantly pulls our focus in every direction, choosing to pause and sit with God is a radical act of love.

Prayer isn’t about getting it “right.” It’s about presence. I’ve found that some of my most honest Lenten prayers have been just a few whispered words in the dark or a silent exhale when there were no words at all. God receives all of it.

Lenten prayer might look like:

• A few minutes of silence before the day begins

• Praying with Scripture (Lectio Divina)

• Adding a daily Rosary or Divine Mercy Chaplet

• Honest conversation with God about where you are right now

This sacrifice says: I choose to be with You, even when I have other options. That’s the heart of love.

2. Fasting: A Gift of Discipline and Desire

Fasting is often misunderstood. It’s not about punishing your body or proving spiritual strength. It’s about making space—stepping away from comfort so deeper desires can rise.

The Church traditionally invites fasting from food, but modern fasting might include:

• Social media

• Unnecessary spending

• Complaining or negativity

• Excessive screen time or noise

I once fasted from my tendency to over-apologize. It changed the way I spoke to myself and others. That’s the power of fasting—it clears the clutter so we can hear God more clearly.

This sacrifice says: I trust You more than my cravings. I want what You offer more than what numbs me.

3. Charity: A Gift of Compassion and Solidarity

Charity is sacrifice in action. It’s love with skin on it. Not just giving from overflow, but offering what costs something—your energy, time, resources, or comfort.

Lenten charity might look like:

• Donating to a cause that matters to you

• Volunteering time you’d rather keep for yourself

• Writing letters to those who are isolated or forgotten

• Practicing extraordinary kindness when it feels inconvenient

Charity reminds us that God doesn’t just ask for our prayers—He asks us to become part of someone else’s answered prayer.

“Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.” —Matthew 25:40

Living Lent in Real Life

It’s easy to think of these three practices—prayer, fasting, and charity—as lofty goals meant for saints and mystics. But they belong in the middle of our messy, modern lives. They’re for the mom who prays while folding laundry, the student fasting from negative self-talk, the commuter who offers up a stressful drive for someone who’s suffering.

Lent isn’t a retreat from the world. It’s a reorientation within it. The Church calls us into these practices not to separate us from daily life, but to transform it. Every prayer we whisper in traffic, every meal we skip for a deeper purpose, every act of kindness offered when we’re tired—it all counts. God sees it all.

If you feel like your Lenten efforts are small, remember the widow’s mite. Jesus didn’t praise her for giving a lot—He praised her for giving from the heart. That’s what Lent is about: not grand gestures, but love poured out in the quiet spaces.

Sacrifice is Love, Not Loss

If you remember nothing else about Lent, remember this: sacrifice is not a test. It’s an act of love.

When you pray, fast, and give, you’re not earning grace—you’re offering your heart. And that is the kind of gift God cherishes: not perfect, but sincere. Not flashy, but faithful.

Even if your Lent doesn’t go as planned—even if you forget, fall short, or change course—what matters most is the direction of your love. God is not measuring your performance. He’s receiving your offering.

For a deeper exploration of Lent and all the practices that shape Catholic life, I highly recommend the United States Catholic Catechism for Adults from the USCCB (find it here). It offers accessible, trustworthy teaching for every season of faith. And in a pinch, even the more mass-produced versions can help illuminate what Lent is really about: returning to God with all your heart.

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When You Can’t Pray: How to Come Back to God Without Shame

 

I. You’re Not Broken—You’re Human

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28

There are times in every faith journey when prayer feels impossible. Maybe you’re too exhausted to form words. Maybe you’re angry at God and not sure you even want to talk to Him. Maybe you’ve been so disconnected for so long that you feel embarrassed to show up now.

If any of that sounds familiar, you’re not broken—you’re human. And you’re not alone. Every single saint, every single mystic, and every single ordinary believer has faced this. Spiritual dryness, anger, grief, exhaustion—none of it disqualifies you from God’s love. In fact, these very struggles are often the doorway into deeper, more honest prayer.

II. Start With the Smallest Step

The enemy of prayer is perfectionism. You don’t have to show up with beautiful words, deep insights, or even a clear head. Start with a sigh. A glance. A single sentence: God, I’m here, and I don’t know what to say. That counts.

God Himself says, "I stand at the door and knock." Simply opening the door is enough.

III. Name the Block Out Loud

Sometimes the thing that stops us from praying is something we’re afraid to admit. Maybe you’re furious that a prayer went unanswered. Maybe you’re ashamed of something you’ve done. Maybe you just feel numb.

Whatever it is, name it. Say it out loud, even if all you can manage is a whisper. God already knows, but naming it helps you break the silence—and science backs this up. Studies show that naming your emotions out loud activates the prefrontal cortex, the part of your brain responsible for processing and regulating feelings.

When you name what you’re feeling, you begin to regain control over it. Naming turns something overwhelming into something you can work with—and that’s a powerful first step toward prayer.

IV. Use Other People’s Words

There’s a reason why liturgical traditions, like the Psalms or the Liturgy of the Hours, have endured for centuries. They offer structure when your spirit feels scattered. The Catechism of the Catholic Church (very affordable edition here, CCC 2562) reminds us that “prayer is the raising of one's mind and heart to God.” That can happen with your words—or with the borrowed voices of others who’ve prayed long before you.

In fact, studies in cognitive neuroscience suggest that structured prayer can lower anxiety, improve attention, and create feelings of connection—even when faith feels faint. Ritual doesn’t replace relationship, but it supports it. Like a trellis for a vine, pre-written prayers give your soul something to cling to as it grows.

If your own words won’t come, borrow someone else’s. Pray the Psalms, which are full of messy, honest prayers—some of them angry, some broken-hearted, some full of trust. Use a simple prayer like, Jesus, have mercy on me.

You don’t have to invent prayer from scratch. Many parishes will even offer you a free booklet of prayers if you ask—something you can tuck in your bag or bedside table for those wordless days.

You can also get a copy of The Liturgy of the Hours. It’s a set of pre-written prayers used by clergy, religious, and laypeople around the world to pray in solidarity. On days when your voice feels small, these words will carry you.

V. Find God Somewhere Other Than Words

St. Ignatius of Loyola taught that God can be found in all things. Not just in churches or formal prayer, but in the quiet unfolding of your real life. That’s not a poetic idea—it’s a spiritual discipline: to notice, to respond, to be present.

Therapists and spiritual directors alike affirm the healing power of sensory engagement. Watching trees sway, tending a small act of beauty, or lighting a candle can regulate the nervous system while opening the heart. These acts may not look like prayer, but they are invitations to communion.

Prayer isn’t always verbal. Sometimes you can find God in silence, music, nature, or art. Sit outside and watch the sky shift. Listen to a piece of music that stirs your heart. Light a candle and just be still.

God is present in all of it.

VI. Remember Who You’re Talking To

If you’ve grown up thinking God is a distant judge, prayer can feel like standing trial. But that’s not the God Jesus reveals.

Jesus shows us a God who runs to meet prodigals, who welcomes the broken-hearted, who never tires of hearing our voices. You’re not performing for Him—you’re being held by Him.

VII. Accept That Prayer Will Feel Different in Different Seasons

Prayer in grief isn’t like prayer in joy. Prayer in depression isn’t like prayer in peace. That’s okay. There’s no one right way to pray. The only mistake is thinking you have to get it right.

VIII. Trust That God Wants You Back

The saints weren’t immune to prayer droughts. St. Teresa of Calcutta went through years of spiritual dryness. St. John of the Cross wrote The Dark Night of the Soul not from distance but from inside his own desert. These weren’t signs of failure—they were paths toward deeper union.

If you’ve felt far from God, you’re in good company. And you’re still welcome.

God’s grace always moves first. You don’t have to earn the right to speak. He already sees you, already knows, already loves. Your return to prayer doesn’t start with words—it starts with willingness.

However long it’s been, however messy you feel, the door is always open. You don’t have to earn your way back into prayer. You just have to turn toward Him—even a little—and He’ll come running.

You were never meant to be perfect at prayer.

You were meant to love and be loved.

IX. A Prayer to Begin Again

Jesus, I don’t know how to talk to You right now. But I want to. I’m tired, or angry, or afraid, or numb—but I’m still here. Please meet me in the silence, and show me that You’re still here too.

Amen.

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Why Catholics Need Popes (Even When Some of Them Were a Hot Mess)

 

For Catholics, the pope isn’t just a religious figure—he’s a symbol of unity, a successor to St. Peter, and a spiritual anchor for the whole Church. But let’s be honest: history hasn’t exactly handed us a spotless lineup of saintly popes. Some were profoundly holy; others were… well, let’s just say they made headlines for all the wrong reasons.

So why does the Church even need a pope? And how do we reconcile the need for papal authority with the reality of deeply flawed men sometimes occupying the chair of St. Peter? Turn first, always, to your Catechism for answers (see CCC 882–891 and Lumen Gentium), but we will also make an attempt here.

The Biblical Roots of the Papacy

The concept of a pope isn’t some later invention—it’s rooted directly in the words of Christ. In Matthew 16:18-19, Jesus says to Peter:

"You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven."

That’s a transfer of authority—not just to Peter as a man, but to the office Peter holds. This is why Catholics see the pope not as a king or a celebrity priest, but as the keeper of the keys, entrusted with guarding and passing on the faith.

This authority is further confirmed in John 21:15-17, when Jesus tells Peter:

"Feed my lambs… Tend my sheep… Feed my sheep."

Peter is given the responsibility of shepherding the entire flock—which is why every pope after him takes on that same role.

Unity Requires a Visible Anchor

If you’ve ever seen what happens in churches without a central authority, you know why this matters. Human beings love to split hairs, and pretty soon, those hairs turn into full-blown divisions. The pope exists as a visible point of unity, the one who can say, “This is what the Church teaches, and this is not.”

That doesn’t mean every personal opinion a pope has is infallible (more on that in a second). But it does mean that when the pope teaches officially on faith and morals, he has the protection of the Holy Spirit to keep the Church from falling into error.

What About the Bad Popes?

Here’s where things get messy—because history doesn’t lie. There have been some truly awful popes:

• Pope Alexander VI (famous for his lavish corruption and scandalous personal life)

• Pope Benedict IX (literally sold the papacy—twice)

• Pope Stephen VI (held a posthumous trial for his predecessor, exhuming the corpse to stand trial)

The Church doesn’t deny these stories—but here’s the key: a pope’s personal sins don’t undo the authority of the office itself. The pope is the successor of Peter not because he’s the holiest man alive, but because the office exists to serve the Church, regardless of who temporarily holds it.

And the Good Popes?

For every corrupt pope, there are many who lived lives of extraordinary holiness and service:

• Pope Gregory the Great (reformed Church governance, championed the poor)

• Pope Leo the Great (defended the faith against heresy and literally stared down Attila the Hun)

• Pope John Paul II (helped topple communism, championed human dignity, inspired generations of young Catholics)

Their lives remind us that the office of Peter can be lived with profound humility, courage, and devotion.

The Office Is Bigger Than the Man

At the end of the day, Catholics don’t believe the pope is sinless—they believe that the Holy Spirit protects the office itself from officially teaching error on faith and morals. That’s infallibility in a nutshell: not a guarantee that the pope is always wise, kind, or good, but a divine safeguard that ensures the Church stays anchored to truth.

"The Roman Pontiff, head of the college of bishops, enjoys this infallibility in virtue of his office, when, as the supreme pastor and teacher of all the faithful... he proclaims by a definitive act a doctrine pertaining to faith or morals." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, 891

A Moment of Heart

As I mourn the loss of Pope Francis, I am comforted by Christ’s promise to His Church.

Pope Francis, with his mercy, humility, and passionate advocacy for the poor, reflected the heart of Christ to a wounded world. He called us to a Church of encounter, a Church that goes out to the margins, a Church that listens and loves. His legacy is one of tenderness, courage, and relentless hope.

In the days ahead, we await the election of our next Holy Father. The cardinals will gather in a conclave, guided not by human ambition but by the quiet whisper of the Holy Spirit. And we trust—not in men, but in God’s unbreakable promise: the gates of hell shall not prevail.

The Church remains steady because her foundation is not human brilliance—it is divine fidelity.

Final Thought

Catholics need a pope because Christ established the role to guard the faith and unify the Church. Some popes lived that calling heroically; others spectacularly failed. But the office itself—the rock Christ promised—stands firm.

Because the Church isn’t built on Peter’s perfection. It’s built on God’s promise.

We await the next shepherd with trust, knowing that Christ Himself holds the keys.

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