The plane was almost empty, so I was surprised to find the seat next to mine occupied by an opened New York Times and a pair of Levis. The fellow had his nose buried in the sports page and didn’t even notice that a man dressed in a black suit and Roman collar had settled in beside him.
Now, not many people would ask a stranger about his or her religious beliefs. Conventional wisdom tells us that it is wise to steer clear of two potentially divisive conversation topics: politics and religion. At least I thought so, until I got on board Delta Flight 715, Rome to New York.
It’s too bad that conventional wisdom has relegated faith to an hour on Sunday mornings. It has bred a generation of Catholics—my generation—who have severed witness from discipleship. We don’t preach what we practice. We Catholics have found the pearl of great price but often seem afraid to share it with others.
“So, what kind of questions do people ask a priest?”
I looked up, surprised at the question. It came from the man reading the paper, and, frankly, it sounded a bit aggressive. I have gotten all sorts of reactions to my Roman collar: inquiries, compliments, prayer requests, and even a few insults, but that question was a first.
“I’m an Evangelical pastor,” the man added.
Oh boy, I thought, this could be a long flight. I was afraid he was trying to pick a Scripture fight.
Evangelical Christians are typically less bashful than Catholics about faith-sharing, but Catholics weren’t always gun-shy. Fifty years ago, many American and European parishes were making over a hundred converts a year. It was usually a priest who taught the inquiry classes, but most of the prospective converts were invited by ordinary folks. In fact, many converts admitted that if it hadn’t been for lay people inviting them, they would have never dared set foot in a Catholic church, let alone spoken with a priest.
Nowadays many dioceses don’t reach a hundred converts a year. And when there’s a spiritual void, something is bound to fill it. Today’s fastest growing Evangelical and Fundamentalist congregations encourage aggressive convert-making. What’s more, many of their converts are ex-Catholics.
Frank J. Sheed, a layman, used to do soapbox preaching on Sunday afternoons. He would stand in London’s Hyde Park and give ten-minute talks to passersby about a given point of Catholic doctrine, then he would field questions from the crowd. Hundreds converted because of his witness.
Times have changed, and nobody is lamenting bygone years. Nowadays, soapboxing on Main Street would probably get you a one-way ticket to the cuckoo’s nest. But that doesn’t mean we should no longer preach what we practice.
Vatican II has given Catholics new and innovative ways to fulfil baptismal commitments, igniting lay involvement in our parishes in ways never dreamed of in the 1940s and ’50s. Preaching from a soapbox is not the only way to bear witness; not every Christian is called to be another John the Baptist.
But every Christian is called to be another Jesus Christ, and, like it or not, that means being a fisher of men. All of us—clergy, religious, and laity—are responsible for casting out the nets, albeit each in his own way. As the Council Fathers said, “the obligation of spreading the faith is imposed on every disciple of Christ, according to his state ” (Lumen Gentium 17). Jesus said it much more succinctly: “Go and make disciples” (Matt. 21:18). That’s an order, not an option.
Clare Boothe Luce was well known in New York’s top social circles in the 1930s and ’40s. She was the successful publisher of Vanity Fair and Vogue, she had several of her plays appear on Broadway, and she ran for Congress in 1942. In an age when women were rarely visible on the national political and social scene, Luce was center-stage. That is why her conversion to Catholicism in 1946 didn’t just surprise the New York socialites—it surprised everyone.
She too had found the pearl of great price, and she wasn’t about to keep it to herself. Sharing her new faith with old friends became a challenge for her, but she soon discovered that the soapbox method wouldn’t do at Park Avenue cocktail parties; her conversations simply ran aground. “When I first became a convert,” Luce later said, speaking to seminarians at Catholic University of America, “I thought to convince my friends with words and argument, the apologetical approach” (all her quotes are taken from her speech as reprinted in Winning Converts, John A. O’Brien, ed., published by Catholic Answers).
No one was better at citing Bible quotes and philosophical arguments than the man who instructed her in the Catholic faith, Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen. Luce was one of a long list of shining stars and everyday souls whom Sheen hauled aboard the barque of Peter. He did so not merely with his intellect but with a passionate love for casting out the nets that so characterized his preaching. “Unless we cast a few sparks,” Sheen once asked, “how shall the convert catch fire?” Arguments from apologetics are necessary—yet they never open the door. Minds don’t win hearts. Hearts win hearts.
The inquiry about the faith may come from a colleague in your office or from the clerk in the grocery store or from the fellow sitting next to you on the plane. And it may come in one of a million forms, such as, “Gosh, I’ve always wanted to ask why you Catholics have a pope.”
“Believe me,” Luce said, “though the non-Catholic is asking about the infallibility, catholicity, apostolicity, unicity, or organicity of the Church, what is always and ever in question in the bottom of his mind is its piety and sanctity.” Before you come in with the apologetics pistols blazing, remember that old adage about catching more flies with honey than with vinegar. What will leave a lasting first impression on the non-Catholic is the example of prayer life and moral witness. It’s no wonder that hundreds of Evangelical Christians have converted thanks to the beautiful witness of Catholics engaged in the pro-life movement.
“The first thing people usually ask me is why I decided to become a priest,” I told the pastor in seat 26-F. “God touched my heart with grace and I want to help him touch the hearts of others,” I explained. “That’s why I gave my life to Jesus Christ.”
I half expected to hear an extract from Martin Luther’s 95 Theses, but instead his eyes lit up. “Amen, brother!” he said.
Getting my gumption up, I went on. “It’s a shame that Christians are divided. We could do so much by working together—Protestants and Catholics—to bring Christian values to TV, to the media, and to our young people.”
“Well, amen, brother!” I could tell by the look on his face that he was surprised.
“But before we talk about our faith, why don’t we pray together,” I suggested. The plane had just been cleared for takeoff, so it was a good time to pray anyway.
It was an intense moment. The Holy Spirit was casting sparks.
By now, The New York Times was folded up in the seat pouch and was there to stay. But we did read the Bible together—discussing a few passages here and there—we prayed more, and we shared experiences in ministry. We also touched upon some doctrinal points, and he was surprised to learn that Catholic teachings are scriptural.
I learned that he was rabidly anti-Catholic in his youth, and that a good number of the members of his church were ex-Catholics. “The Catholic Church is what I call the best pre-evangelization around,” he told me. He was referring, of course, to Catholics who undergo the “born-again” experience and convert to Protestantism.
By the time we landed at J.F.K. Airport nine hours later, he was beaming. “Well, I’ve never heard a priest talk like that before!” he admitted. I wanted to say “Amen, brother,” but I kept it to myself.
After her conversion, Clare Boothe Luce soon realized that what her friends really wanted to know was if she would still be her joyful, serene, happy, kind self now that she was a Catholic. “What they were judging was me—not my arguments,” she concluded. Indeed, there is a lesson to be learned in this.
Non-believers, Protestants, and fallen-away Catholics need to see our good examples of prayer, faith, and an upright moral life. With our witness we can be tremendous catalysts for conversions or for a return to the true faith. The doctrinal questions and the scriptural arguments will follow, but witness opens the doors to hearts. And you’ll know when the right time comes to pop the question: “Why don’t you join us next Sunday for Mass and I’ll introduce you to Father afterward? He’s a great priest. You’ll love him.”
My pastor friend is not a Catholic (not yet, at least), but by the time we parted ways he seemed to see the Church in a new light. All because the Holy Spirit cast a few sparks, and I was given the opportunity to cast out the nets, looking for common ground in faith and in prayer. Perhaps it was more than coincidence that of all the empty seats on that plane, someone gave me 26-E; if I knew who was in 26-F, I would probably not have chosen it myself.
Our example of sanctity and piety speaks much louder than words. And by preaching what we practice, Catholics can thus become instruments of “re-evangelization” and not “pre-evangelization.” That is best way to cast out the nets and by far the greatest soapbox ever invented.