When sharing or defending the faith, we can never overlook the power of our own testimony – evidence of how God has worked in our own lives. Let me explain by sharing my own story.
I, apparently, am a miracle baby. My mom should not have been able to have any children at all.
At the age of 3, I lay suffering from pneumonia in a Victoria hospital. The doctors sent me home to die, as there was nothing further they could do. But I did not die, and the only recollection I have from that time is a vision of an elderly man kneeling by my bedside in prayer in a glowing, golden light. I can see it today as clearly as I saw it then.
I’m not sure what specific event triggered it, but at the age of 9 I started reading my Bible every night. It could only have been the Holy Spirit, and I would never again turn out the light without having read at least a few verses of Scripture. This practice has stayed with me my whole life and was unquestionably the preparation for who I am today.
Fast forward to my 30s. While still a faithful Catholic – never missing Mass, going to confession regularly, loving the Church – I still found myself living a less than exemplary life at times – too many parties, often a poor example of a Christian.
Then something happened. I went to a Marian conference with my girlfriend Myrna. We listened as Protestant convert Steve Wood gave one of the greatest talks I have ever heard, tracing the Church’s teachings about the Blessed Mother in Scripture from Genesis to Revelation.
I was overwhelmed. I had never heard the faith taught this way: so grounded in Scripture, so clear, packed with quotes from the Early Church Fathers. I had never even heard of the Early Church Fathers, but they were a treasure and gave a powerful witness to the fact that the early Christian Church was unequivocally the Catholic Church.
I felt exhilarated, inspired, encouraged. The Holy Spirit had touched me in some way, and I would never be the same. I ran to buy some Steve Wood tapes, having never bought a Catholic tape in my life. The bookseller was out of Steve Wood tapes but insisted I buy Scott Hahn’s Conversion Story tape. I had never even heard of Scott Hahn, but it was only $1, so I bought it. Who knew I would soon be pulling my Jeep over to the side of the road to listen to it. If you have never heard this testimony, drop everything and listen to it.
Unknown to me, Myrna had been greatly affected by the conference as well. It was the day she knew she would marry me, something I wouldn’t find out until years later.
From then on, my truck never played secular music, only Scripture studies and defending the faith talks. I read Scripture constantly, often into the wee hours of the night, jotting down notes and Bible quotes. I began buying more Catholic books than I could ever read in a lifetime, and at this moment I have more than 40 books beside my bed, all in various stages of completion.
On one occasion, our pastor was called away and asked me to lead a Bible study for him. It happened to be on John 17, where Jesus prays for perfect unity in his followers. The significance of this passage hit me with a sudden, blinding clarity. Perfect Christian unity was the key to evangelizing the world. Pope John Paul II wrote an entire encyclical on this (Ut Unum Sint), and the Church Fathers had taught this for centuries.
This was the confirmation I needed, and it greatly affected my sense of urgency to share the faith, both with Catholics to strengthen their faith so they could better teach their children and acquaintances, but especially with our separated brothers and sisters in Christ. On these two groups largely rests the evangelization of the world. That is why I write this column.
I started sharing my faith and was particularly drawn to the questions Protestants would typically challenge Catholics with. (My dad is a non-practising Presbyterian). Eventually I would be asked to give conferences all over Western Canada and in more than 30 parishes in the Archdiocese of Vancouver. The experience would lead to the beginning of this column back in 2007.
At the first conference I ever gave, at Precious Blood in Cloverdale, a parish my saintly Grandma had helped build and the parish I was baptized in, something miraculous happened. The final day’s talk was on the Eucharist. As I began speaking, unknown to me the candles on either side of the tabernacle spontaneously lit. They flared brighter at the pinnacle of the talk, then went out on their own as I finished.
“Did you see it?” the parish secretary rushed up to me excitedly after the talk.
“See what?”
“The candles by the tabernacle!”
She then explained what she had seen. It was a profound experience.