I almost converted, then…

I’m Protestant, but for the past six plus months I’ve been deeply and intentionally studying church history and other Christian traditions. This has not been casual curiosity. It has been prayerful, emotional, and at times exhausting discernment.

For over four months I’ve been attending Mass. I’ve visited a Messianic Jewish synagogue. I’m planning to begin attending an Orthodox church soon. Each time I think I’m ready to take the leap and fully commit or convert, something surfaces that gives me serious pause.

About 4+ months ago, I felt myself leaning back toward Catholicism. I was born and raised Catholic and became Protestant as a teenager. But, I hit a wall.

I have real, specific questions about the intercession of Mary and the saints, and this has been one of the most difficult areas for me to reconcile, largely because the core question I am asking often goes unanswered.

What I keep coming back to is this: how can those in heaven be in a state of perfect peace, joy, and rest while also being aware of the ongoing suffering and needs of people on earth? Scripture describes heaven as the place where tears are wiped away and sorrow ceases. At the same time, intercessory prayer seems to require some form of awareness of earthly distress. I have not been able to understand how those two realities coexist without tension.

Closely connected to that is the question of how intercession actually functions. If Mary, the saints, or even our deceased loved ones are not omniscient, how are prayers known to them, especially at scale? If the explanation is that God reveals prayers to them selectively, then I struggle with what governs that revelation and why an additional layer of mediation is necessary at all. If God already hears, knows, and responds perfectly, why introduce an extra step rather than going directly to Him?

When I raise these questions, I am often given answers to different concerns. I am told that asking saints to pray for us is like asking a friend on earth to pray for us, or that the saints are more alive in heaven than we are here. I already affirm both of those things. The issue for me is not whether the saints are alive in Christ, nor whether believers can pray together or for each other. The issue is how heavenly awareness, intercession, and perfect peace are understood to function together without blurring the distinction between God’s unique attributes and those of created beings.

What I keep running into is not so much disagreement as unresolved mystery. I’m told that heaven is different, that this is something we cannot fully explain, and that the Church has always held these practices even if the mechanics are not clearly defined. I respect that. At the same time, this is one of the places where my mind and conscience have struggled to find rest, because I am trying to hold together the biblical vision of heaven’s perfection with a practice that seems to require awareness of earthly suffering in a way I cannot yet reconcile.

That being said, I’m still attending Mass every Sunday because I love the Priest’s homilies (sermons, as understood by Protestants) and his special care for the children at the end of every Mass. Not all Priests do what he does, but there is something about his love for the Lord that shines in a way I can’t stay away from. He has had substitutes when he’s been ill or away visiting family in Spain, and if I’m honest, if those substitutes had been my only experience of Catholic Mass, I probably wouldn’t go.

The substitute Priests have all been unenthusiastic and dry. The Masses feel overly routine, like something done out of habit rather than reverence and love for God. I really would have stepped away from exploring Catholicism long ago if not for this particular Priest. I leave every Mass either reflective, encouraged, or grateful. Maybe it’s wrong of me to allow myself to be influenced toward or away from the Catholic Church because of the enthusiasm of a Priest. I don’t know. God will convict me if I’m wrong in this.

At several points along this journey, I have felt very drawn to Messianic Judaism, and I still do. The rhythms feel ancient. The reverence for Scripture and continuity with Israel feel compelling. It seems to reflect the earliest Church more closely than modern Christianity often does.

That began to shift when I realized that many Messianic Jewish communities hesitate to explicitly refer to Jesus as God Himself in human form. For me, that is not a minor theological distinction. The apostles worshipped Jesus. They never corrected that worship. That reality moves beyond agency language. Any framework that blurs or softens Christ’s full divinity is something I cannot reconcile with Scripture.

That being said, I have actually found a Messianic Jewish synagogue that I really like. After speaking with several people at the Oneg following the service, I learned that this specific synagogue does, in fact, boldly acknowledge and affirm the Trinity. This was evident throughout the service as well, but I wanted to confirm it with some of the regular attendees afterward, just to be sure.

Unfortunately, the synagogue is almost an hour and a half away from where I live, which makes it difficult to truly immerse myself and discern whether any red flags might emerge as I learn more in real life, not just in theory, and whether this is the right path for me. Maybe I will be able to attend more regularly somehow, if finances and time permit.

I’m definitely not finished exploring this option yet, at least not with this specific synagogue and Rabbi. However, because I keep running into conflicting answers about Messianic Jewish views on the divinity of Christ, the sacraments and a few other theological issues when I research on my own, I think I really need to sit down with the Rabbi and ask all of my questions directly.

Orthodoxy keeps coming up as a strong contender again and again. In many ways, it addresses concerns I have with modern Protestantism. The reverence. The chanting. The way Scripture is prayed and sung. The seriousness with which worship is treated. All of that resonates deeply with me. Yet I recently learned that Orthodox Christians are generally instructed not to pray with those outside the Orthodox Church. That stopped me cold.

The idea that I could not pray with my Catholic father or my Protestant sister, both of whom affirm the Nicene Creed and confess Christ as Lord, feels impossible for me to accept. We share the same core faith. We confess the same Christ. The same Trinity. The same resurrection. That tension has become one I cannot simply dismiss.

I must add, that they too can not answer the same questions I have for the Catholics… so there’s that. From my understanding, Orthodox believers, like Catholics also believe in the intercession of the saints and Mary.

There is an Orthodox Church that is a little over an hour from me, and I am planning on attending a couple of services there in the very near future. I’ll also try to find someone in leadership there to speak with regarding my questions. I want to leave no stone unturned. :)

I am genuinely trying to be open-minded. I am sincerely seeking truth. I want to find the Church as Christ intended it to be. Yet after months of research, prayer, tears, and showing up in spaces that are unfamiliar and uncomfortable, I keep finding myself returning to Protestant Christianity.

Even so, I do not believe Protestants have it all right (like at all). Modern Protestantism, in particular, often feels reactionary and historically thin. The way Mary and the saints are treated, almost as something to be avoided or feared, sits wrong with me. Studying the lives of people who were radically faithful to Jesus should never feel threatening. In a world saturated with shallow role models, learning from men and women who gave everything for Christ seems like a gift, not a danger.

I also wrestle with how casually worship is sometimes approached. I long for reverence. I love Scripture being prayed. I love chanting. I love the weight and stillness of worship that feels oriented toward God rather than performance. I struggle when church feels more like a production than an offering.

So here I am. Still discerning, praying and asking God to lead me where He wants me, even if that place is uncomfortable or unexpected. I want truth. I want faithfulness. I want Christ at the center of everything. And I am trusting that God honors a heart that keeps seeking Him honestly, even when the answers feel slow and complicated.