Letter from Abigail Hagerman

Dear Sisters,

Jesus was a close friend of my family’s growing up, in an evangelical home. We prayed morning and night, before every meal, and over our friends and neighbors in their times of need. My mom swears my first word was ‘Bible.’ Although she has yet to convince me that’s not revisionist history, it is undoubtedly true to form of my childhood passion for the Christian faith. I was raised in a Protestant denomination characterized by our undying commitment to “No Creed But Christ,” which yes, is technically a creed. This church introduced me to the Lord and my thirst for Him took deep roots. I used to “bap-a-tize” my little sister in the bathtub. I competed in an event called Bible Bowl (Yes, this is a real thing). In my heart of hearts, my faith was everything to me since as early as I can recall. And while I always craved to follow it wherever it may take me, I never would have imagined that meant all the way to the Catholic Church.

I think I was comfortable in my seeking God because for many years because my pursuit was like an uninterrupted cycle. I felt I already understood everything important about my faith and that understanding inspired me to read Scripture, to pray, to serve - and in doing so I was again met with a faith I comfortably understood. So on the cycle continued, surrounding me with surety. I felt assured taking on leadership roles in my church. I felt assured sharing my faith with anyone who would listen, God bless ‘em. And I felt assured when I stood and dedicated myself to the pursuit of vocational ministry at a conference my junior year of high school.

A couple of short years later, I packed up and headed to the regional Bible college and university that produced most of the pastors I had ever known. I dove deeper into the Scriptural canon and church history to be met with quite a surprise. The more I was learning about my faith, the fewer answers I felt I had, while my list of burning questions began compounding quickly. Slowly but surely that perpetual cycle of seeking and finding began to be interrupted.

While in college, I met a kindred spirit and fell in love. We shared a similar background and a similar thirst for the truth, except for every question I had...he had 20. I relished in trying to keep up with everything he was asking, even if the places it took me felt uncertain. He loved the Lord as unapologetically as anyone I had ever met, so as much uncertainty as there was in his seeking, I could see that his whole heart was invested in the search. When he asked me if I would marry him, I gladly signed up for a lifetime of pursuing more, still so unsure of where that might lead.

By the time we were married, my cycle of seeking had come to a halt. I was highly dissatisfied in my efforts to interpret Scripture completely removed from history and tradition. I needed creeds, but whose to turn to? Which version of church history? Whose tradition? Pulling at these threads the stakes were high. At this point, I was in full-time youth ministry and my husband was in divinity school studying theology, with the potential of the pastorate on the other side. It was not just our spiritual lives on the line, but our entire professional futures, as well. The comfort I once had in my understanding of the Bible had all but faded, aside from the lingering conviction that whatever Scripture was, it was sacred.

My husband, per usual, had been chasing these questions at a much faster pace and the Catholic Church came into his view sooner than it did mine. While my questions about the interpretation of Scripture and the tradition of the church seemed to be leading me towards Rome, there were still so many hurdles I had to jump to get there. I would come to him with questions about the idolatry of praying to the saints, protests about works-based salvation, and a laundry list of transgressions of the Catholic Church, past and present. I entered these conversations with my husband combative and intent on finding the evidence I needed to stay where I felt safe. For me, there was an impenetrable wall between other Protestant denominations and Catholicism. I was willing to keep following my questions all the way up until that line, but I was not going to cross it. Even if I took another glance at history, even if I admitted I knew as many careless Protestants as I did cultural Catholics- crossing that boundary felt like admitting that my entire faith had been a farce. For the first time, I was afraid that maybe I had taken the search too far.

My once safe cycle of faith had now fully transformed into a dangerous cliff. If I stopped asking the tough questions or I pacified myself with the canned answers I had heard against the Catholic Church for years, I could remain comfortable. I’d just have to reverse a bit to back away from the edge. And I have to tell you, I paused for a while and seriously considered this option. I told my husband that I wouldn’t go any further towards that forbidden boundary and he supported me. But idling on that cliff I was confronted with what that choice really meant. I was choosing to stop seeking Christ with all my heart, which is what I had been trying to do since as early as I could remember. And that is what would have actually made everything to have been for nothing. I knew that small voice of realization was the Lord. He was daring me to surrender my heart, drive for the edge of the cliff, and see what - or Who- I might find.

For the next year, I proceeded to go to 9:00 pm Mass after working my 10-hour Sundays at the church where I was in youth ministry. I had taken the dare and I showed up every week with an open and vulnerable heart. Opening your heart sounds like a really beautiful thing to do, and it is, but it is also terrifying and messy. For the first few months, yes months, of going to Mass I cried on the drive home. I would try and explain why I was crying and I felt embarrassed that I didn’t even seem to know why. Until one day, I recognized the feeling that sparked the welling behind my eyes--it was fear. There I was showing up every week, seeking with an open heart and the Lord was actually revealing Himself to me. Strangely enough, once I named just how terrified I was to go where I knew the Lord was clearly calling, my fear grew into an energy and excitement for my faith that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

In the summer of 2017, we began meeting separately with a priest who could walk with each of us at our own pace, knowing that our journeys were also intimately woven together as a married couple. That fall, my husband was Confirmed and Received into the Church and I followed in the spring of 2018. It certainly was not all rainbows and butterflies - there were many difficult and confusing conversations to be had with our families and former faith communities about this transition. If I’m being honest, my biggest fear in the whole process was that the people who I deeply loved and who had profound impacts on my faith life would feel abandoned by my conversion. All I knew to do was to cover each conversation with prayer and I was truly amazed by how much grace flowed through every tough talk. The pastors of the church I was working for were patient, understanding, and encouraging of my journey and we parted ways as brothers and sisters. My mom ended up driving 9 hours to attend my Confirmation. My husband’s father joined the Church himself this past spring. I’m still humbled by the ripple effects that continue in our lives and relationships to this day.

As a Catholic woman, I feel called to that bravery that brought me to Catholicism in the first place. The bravery of a yes to God no matter what lies on the other side. The bravery of searching with my whole heart. My journey to the Catholic Church was not the end of my pursuit of Christ. In fact, I understand the Sacramental Life to be just the opposite: it’s the perpetual seeking and finding more of the Lord. A way of living where my yes is not only figurative, it’s tangible. When I go to reconciliation, I am bravely opening myself and asking God to fill the places where I lack and He meets me there. As I dedicate myself to my vocation, I am courageously looking for the Lord to shape me into His image through the painstaking process of sanctification and He does. When I come to the table to receive the Eucharist, I am boldly seeking Christ and I receive Him. It is so easy to get caught up going through the motions and forget that these are all meant to be whole-hearted quests for more of God in our lives. More of God in our lives doesn’t translate into more of what we’re comfortable with, more of what we like, or more of what we picture for our own futures. To search for the Lord with all your heart means being willing to trade in anything and everything else.

It is a risky pursuit, but--I dare you.

Yours in Christ,
Abigail