I became Catholic as an adult catechumen, unbaptized and unschooled in the sacraments. Each time someone learns this, I get the same question: “How did that happen?”

They’re usually seeking the argument that clinched my conversion — either to bolster their own belief or to probe mine. On the rarer occasion, they want to talk me out of it.  

But I didn’t think my way into faith. I fell in love with Catholicism without knowing much about it — just like I fell in with my wife before I knew her middle name or favorite flavor of ice cream. 

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Belief wasn’t the result of an internal debate that went “point/counterpoint.” It was the result of an invasion of Grace.

To be sure, learning about the faith had its uncomfortable moments.”Catholicism demands faith in acts that defy science.” From the Fall of Adam to the parting of the Red Sea to the Virgin Birth, a leap of faith is always necessary. 

There is more evidence — historical, logical or otherwise — for some claims than for others. It’s easier to prove that the Apostles sincerely believed in the Resurrection, for instance, than for Jonah surviving three days in the belly of a whale (though, of course, many aspects of the Old Testament are allegorical and need not be taken literally). 

The papacy

One of the easier Catholic beliefs to accept, I’ve found, is the existence and authority of the papacy. That’s because the idea is supported by abundant historical evidence.

Peter, the rock of Christ’s church, stands as its leader throughout the New Testament. The preeminence of Peter’s eventual position, Bishop of Rome, was confirmed by numerous early Church fathers. “It is a matter of necessity that every Church should agree with this Church [Rome] on account of its preeminent authority,” wrote St. Iraneus of Lyons (c. 180 AD).

Peter’s early successors also demonstrated authority over non-Roman Christians. Popes Clement I (c. 91 AD) and Victor I (c. 189 AD) issued corrections and excommunications. And while they often experienced resistance, their authority was never denied.

And this all took place hundreds of years before the Roman Empire legalized Christianity — a point that blows a hole in the theory that the papacy was invented by Roman authorities to unify the church under its authority.

What’s more, the existence of an authoritative body for interpreting the faith always made sense to me. The alternative vision of Christianity, as expressed in Protestantism, believes scripture alone is the ultimate authority and that individuals are free to interpret scripture however they wish. 

As a matter of history, this innovation makes perfect sense: The Catholic Church at the time of the Reformation was deeply corrupt. It sold indulgences as well as church offices to the highest bidder, and clerical immorality abounded. 

But that doesn’t make “scripture alone” make sense. Protestantism’s thousands of clashing denominations expose this core flaw. 

Studying the matter as best I could deepened my commitment to Catholicism. In some ways, it simplified my faith journey — I’m happy to report that I possess no original thoughts on theology because I believe in the supreme teaching authority of the Magisterium — but in other ways, it became more complicated. It forced me to reckon with unsavory events in Church history, including the sexual abuse scandal that broke only years before my conversion. And when Pope Francis took the Chair of Peter, it forced me, repeatedly, to submit to the authority of someone I grew to personally dislike.

In other words, believing in the office of the papacy forced me to roll up my sleeves for the hard work of real love. 

Francis’s faults

Certainly, I’m not the only Catholic whose displeasure with Pope Francis the man made it difficult to respect Pope Francis the pontiff. For a large contingent of American Catholics, saying you dislike Pope Francis is a virtue signal in the same way planting an “In This House, We Believe” yard sign is for secular progressives. It’s a tragedy, but as with the Reformation, it’s understandable on an emotional level. 

While Pope Francis’s shortcomings as we understand them don’t approach the level of Reformation-era Catholic clerics, he’s gone out of his way to antagonize faithful Catholics who do not share his views. This is especially true on matters that extend beyond his infallible authority, which, according to Church doctrine, is limited to faith and morals — not politics, science, or personal opinions. 

From early in his reign, his insistence on emphasizing worldly issues, including his commitment to battling “man-made climate change” and critiquing capitalism, made his pontificate resemble any number of non-governmental organizations. I, along with many other American Catholics, felt our loyalties begin to strain.

In addition to these areas of honest disagreement, I found myself further alienated by Pope Francis’s many impromptu statements to the press that were vague, confusing, and immediately leveraged by Catholic progressives.

Consider his recent remark in Singapore that ”all religions are a path to arrive at God. They are like different languages to get there.” The most charitable interpretation here is that Pope Francis clumsily expressed the view that “elements of truth and holiness” are contained in other religions, which the Church teaches. 

But to those listening — me included — it sounded like every faith was equal. Catholic teaching, of course, says otherwise.

The pope’s bizarre crackdown on the Traditional Latin Mass, which I attend on occasion and revere, and his apparent support for the disgraced former priest Marco Rupnik, the sexual sadist credibly accused, stretched my commitment to the papacy to its limit. 

The hard work of love

But Francis’ missteps didn’t just test me — they taught me, too. Suffering, I’d learned in my time as a Catholic, is never useless or meaningless. And that includes the internal suffering that came as a result of the disorientation I and many Catholics experienced from Pope Francis’s often bewildering reign. 

At many moments, particularly in recent years, God used the collective unrest of the faithful to sharpen our intellectual edges and reestablish our commitment to the tenets of the Church as well as to the office of the papacy.

Though this papacy still unsettles me, I trust God redeems its flaws. When I realize that this is happening in prayer, my belief in Jesus and the Church founded upon the rock of Peter blooms within me.

There is so much that Jesus desires to teach us through our more difficult relationships. We know for sure that He wants us to love one another as we love ourselves, and that means everyone — even the people who annoy us or persecute us. 

And when we choose to love someone, we cannot help but see their virtues in addition to their flaws. Pope Francis is a staunch defender of life, for instance, likening abortion to hiring of a hitman. He has also had an incredible knack — a genius, really — for making grand Christian gestures and that stir the spiritual imagination, inducing his refusal of the grander papal living quarters. His unforgettable use of imagery, such as his description of the Church as a “field hospital” has also inspired innumerable souls to seek mercy and healing.

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The disorientation caused by Pope Francis presents the perfect opportunity to practice the hard work of love that Jesus demands. Despite the modern conflation of “love” with the bland niceness of moral relativism, the love of Jesus is tough, radical, and non-negotiable. 

It was best defined by Saint Thomas Aquinas as “willing the good of the other”: a formula that often invites conflict but enables us to see one another as God does: as stubborn and wayward souls in need of abundant forgiveness and Grace.