Imagine what would happen if we rediscovered this kind of love—not just as an idea, but as a way of life. Not just in moments of sentimentality, but in the everyday grind of life. In traffic. At the dinner table. With co-workers. With our enemies.

Imagine if the Church—your church, my church—was so marked by this kind of agápē that the world had to take notice again.

In our quest for order and practicality, we’ve grown blind to the staggering miracle of existence itself. Rationalism, stripped of awe, leaves us with cold facts and no fire. But moments of art, of beauty, of spiritual ecstasy—these pierce the veil. They are brief, radiant flashes in which we remember how incredible this world truly is.

This isn’t an attempt to win anyone over to a particular doctrine. It’s just a glimpse into the healing process I’ve discovered. A way of understanding that grace doesn’t bypass suffering—it enters into it. God’s grace finds us in our broken boats, leaking and tired, and says, “Let’s start plugging these holes—together.”

I didn’t become Catholic by throwing away my past—I became Catholic by stepping into the fullness of the Christian story. These Protestant gifts haven’t lost their value. They’ve been deepened, reoriented, and completed in ways I never expected.

Theology has always been a touchy subject. Throughout human history, few things have sparked more division, wars, and destruction than our differing views of God. It’s strange to admit that something meant to bring us closer to ultimate truth — to goodness itself — has so often been wielded as a weapon. Yet history bears it out.

This Sunday is Easter—the heart of the Christian story. Over the past forty days, we’ve journeyed through Lent, a season meant to slow us down, draw our eyes to the cross, and tune our hearts to the rhythms of repentance, hope, and grace. I wish I could say I’ve been fully present in it. Truth is, I’ve been more distracted than usual this year.

Jesus wasn’t a Republican. He wasn’t a Democrat. He wasn’t a nationalist, nor was he a revolutionary in the way political parties often define it. He came proclaiming a different kind of kingdom—one that calls us to love God, love our neighbor, seek justice, walk humbly, and speak the truth in love.

“The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.”

In my early years, faith was presented to me like math. Logical. Precise. Black and white. This is true, and that is false. Simple, right? But as I grew, I realized faith isn’t as clean-cut as arithmetic. With math, 2 + 2 is always 4. There’s no debate, no interpretation. But with theology, interpretation is the battleground. And everyone, it seems, thinks their interpretation is the correct one—handed down from God Himself.

“If it’s just a symbol, to hell with it.”

Flannery O’Connor’s bold words challenge us to wrestle with what we really believe about the Eucharist. Is it just a reminder—or is it the real presence of Christ?

In this week’s blog, I reflect on my journey from viewing communion as a symbol to encountering Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. If you’ve ever wondered why the Eucharist matters so much to Catholics, this one’s for you.