Drew Castel’s Testimony
My Journey Home began in the first fruits of my adult life. Between Sunday services and Thursday night Bibles studies, my religious endeavors was consumed by long-winded, late night conversations with a long time childhood friend. In brief, I grew up Protestant in a Four-Square church and transitioned to a non-denominational congregation in the earliest of my teenage years. I went to church weekly, and wove in and out of several Bible studies, searching along the Narrow Path, seeking to find my Journey Home.
The first mile stone in my faith was when I was asked one too many times which denomination of Christian I clung to. With adolescent naivety I replied, “Christian. To claim anything else to to be just…tribal. Why can’t we just be a solid Christian with nothing more to add or say.” These were Fighting words, the bread and butter of a young man’s life. But as I grew and didn’t depart from this idea of separation, it began to have an affect on me.
Why were we considered different?
After all, our pastor read from the Bible, that we should all be of one body, unified in the Christian faith. With spurts of random aging, I began to see that my non-denominational church was a smelting pot. A smelting pot of varying beliefs. Some adhered to the five theories of Calvinism. But that seemed too cruel and farce to be Christian; partial atonement was less than partially merciful or loving. It was judgmental and unforgiving; even to label it condemning could be seen as appropriate. Among the varying beliefs, I found those close to Baptist’s origins and others as Presbyter’s. What was the difference? I asked. There shouldn’t be one I replied, but I couldn’t defend it. But the norm that prevailed was Lutheranism. That struck me queerly. Why was a branch of Christianity named after…a man. Quite unsettling at first. And so I began to investigate. Much to my surprise, I came to find that Presbyterians, Baptists, Lutherans, Calvinists, and the like were all named after the men of their founding. What a debacle! Church was suppose to be solely for God, and yet I found much of institutions and theologies founded by men. Individual men who took upon themselves to decipher scripture and schism from one another in minuscule ways. The divisions ranged from establishment of hierarchy, to what day really is the sabbath, to how can miracles possible still occur. I have also found reincarnation among the thought of my Protestant peers!
I knew that wasn’t right.
So I investigated a little further. Why were their different denominations? How did the books of the Bible make it into the Bible? I knew there had been other books that were disregarded. I also knew that another branch of mere Christianity had contained additional books to scripture… these I called Catholics. But the thoughts of all these perturbed down to the core of me. Was my religion really that safeguarded? It became unfathomable to imagine there might be more, maybe even a significant piece to the religion of Christianity. Were all denominations all composited to be the whole Christianity? How unnerving. From the doorsteps of the varying churches built only blocks from each other screamed thoughts into my mind. Miracles don’t exist any longer! Speaking in tongues! Sabbath is on Saturdays! Another demanded Sundays! God is all sovereign! Echoing back from another doorstep came that man has some sovereignty in God’s grand scheme for mankind. Another rebuttaled that God is all in favor of election and predestination.
I began to doubt the ‘one body preaching’ I had heard for two decades. One body lacked fervor and conviction when a devote Christian could not come into communion with another because their theologies and beliefs conflicted. Many religious debates turned into two contentious men seeking only victory, not truth. How tedious my faith rapidly became. I began to see the fruits and true meaning of my self-titled ‘non-denominational’ Christian. It became evident to me, “of course it’s non, Drew, cause hardly anything could be agreed upon.” Of course, we mainly agreed on Christ’s divinity, as well as Scripture only, but even the valor of these beliefs were tested by the wearisome of heart and the liberal thoughts of few. How were we to be sheppard if no account of truth could we be submitted under? I began to pray differently, offering a foreign prayer that had never been known on my knees beside my bed. I prayed interiorly, “God. God.” And I sighed, a deep sigh of confusion, a sigh of rising hopeless. “How could I know anything. One man bearing the title of being led by the Blood of the Lamb has said this, and yet another man claiming an equivocal amount of Holiness claims something contrary. You are God, and yet I do not know how or where to seek You.” This prayer remained with me for the better of two years.
Just shy of the two years mark, I had engaged in a college Bible study, hosted by my non-denominational pastor. Along came my childhood friend, the Catholic. We reminisced about scripture and the nature of God. How peculiar, I found, that our views of God were much alike, if not identical. The study we attended soon disbanded and we sought another, next finding one more local to our home towns.
During this time, while attending our new Bible study, I kept up with church but began to feel depressed during worship, during the service, during communion. I sought after God’s presence by going to special events, hearing guest speakers and gracing different church events; all had sent me back into the world with not much more than I had entered their dwelling with.
As time passed, my friend and I grew settled in the new Bible study. But with time, the gloves came off, figuratively speaking, when it came to faiths. The leader picked at Catholicism, pointing to scripture that he said demanded a verdict that communion is only in remembrance of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I didn’t rebuttal this. I very much agreed, but kept quiet as to not insult my friend. He loved God vehemently, and a slight misunderstanding couldn’t be that detrimental, I thought. But in opposition to these accusations, he remained graceful and loving, yet quick to wisdom in the Scripture used in refute.
Never had I heard such arguments against Christianity! Or so I initially thought. It almost seemed that Christianity, my Christianity, was being destroyed and rebuilt!
This led to weekly debates, soon four leaders of the study combated in theological whit against my solemn friend, who, although unofficially educated, unlike his mutual adversaries in this mock debate, had not attended college to learn apologetics. Oh the woes, I thought, that will surely be sown. Four officially indoctrinated men, fresh out of a Bible college, issuing verses to my close friend, a simple man with a passion for Catholicism.
Yet, little did I know.
Slowly, with patience and humility, my friend unthreaded the clever arguments of the leaders. I found it astounding! I began to listen more attentively to my friend for he spoke with humbler conviction and, so far, irrefutable truth – all from Holy Writ!
My curiosity revisited me. It grew from “why do we have ‘tribes’ in Christianity” and “why are these books in our Bible” to “what does history speak of the church? How about the old church fathers?” I knew that trinity and rapture were words that were never mentioned in Sacred Scripture; so who interjected them and with what authority?
I picked up a copy of Theology for Beginners by Frank Sheed. Renown for his street-corner evangelism and Catholic intellect, I picked up a copy of this masterpiece, and with a red pen I began to read. I sought the pages through and through, waiting to dash my red pen under key ideas that strayed from the Christian faith so that I might bring my Catholic friend into better harmony with his walk. By the time I had finished book from cover to cover, it was filled with red marking and writing. But none for my friend. All red was notes and comments were for myself, quick excerpts I could go back to and reference how harmonious and true the Catholic faith was. This book, in my ignorance, had became the pivotal point of my conversion. No contradiction. No error. I sought in my room and thought long and hard upon the truths that sat in that book and lingered in my mind. One question always drew back to me.
“Are you going to accept Truth?”
Many times I spoke back to this hint of supernatural intuition whispering in my mind, “Father, I am a man of some logic. But much of this, although detestable to some, I find no contradiction.” Again came that nuance of pursuit.
“Are you going to accept Truth?”
I began with, “well Mary can’t be sinless…” and instantly, almost with my own voice but not of my own merit returned “because man was once sinless and so are angels, and yet they aren’t divine? Don’t confuse sinlessness with divinity, for even the saints now united in Heaven are sinless yet still not divine.” I tried saying yes, but, till I heard my own reproach “God is the same yesterday, today, and forever” along with Christ’s words “I came to fulfill the law, not to change it.” I knew these sayings to be true. But why? So I sought again and heard “The LORD rested in the Dwelling of the Ark of the Covenant. No impurities could the Ark be built with. No man could touch the Ark.” Certainly. Again, in my own voice as tho logic reveled inside my head, also sustained only by the blessings and grace of God, again I heard “God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. And so it was with Mary, the new Ark. Carrying the same Holy Spirit of Life, she had to be absent of all iniquity and transgression, and untouched by man with her Virginal Birth.”
I had been awestruck.
And with much more prayer, conversations with my old friend, and research, God began opening up His truth to me. Surely I have witnessed “Seek and you shall find. Knock and the door shall be opened.” God had flooded me with revelation after revelation which the Church has been teaching since it left Christ’s blessed lips. Overwhelmed with conviction and inability to contend, I submitted to the pursuing truth and fullness of the love God instated. I began to understand the fullness of the seven sacraments, the necessity for weekly mass, and the fruits of prayer, love, and penance. I began to withdraw from myself in a way I never could before.
I had once mentioned in a conversation with a relative most intimate to heart, that as I began to understand God’s message better, I began to draw nearer to my brethren, in intercessory prayer and festered with a devotion to attest to truth. In my words I had said, “I have felt no greater joy in earthly pleasures or other initial and wanton passions than to be in sorrow in carrying my cross.”
Lastly, and most certainly not least, in my long Journey Home, one of the greatest supporters to keep my heart ambitious and diligent was my mother, who had found her Path to Journey Home just a few years before I did. Most certainly, she has mirrored our Blessed Mother and St. Monica in her drive to rear her children on the narrow Path to the Gate of Heaven.
With Love, Grace, and Blessing, Peace Be With You.
My testimony and My Journey Home can best be juxtaposed to Fulton Sheen’s quote, “The Catholic faith is like a lion in a cage. You don’t need to defend it – you simply need to open the cage door.” Just share what is true, because it is true. God will do the rest.
Yours,
Drew Castel.
Wow Drew very moving testimony Our young adults need to hear from you and Chad, I like your site! Keep going and thankyou for coming to my store Feed My Sheep