As I stood in the warm glow of a church on the cold night of Easter Vigil 2007, only seconds away from receiving the Eucharist for the first time, I was overwhelmed with one terrifying thought: how very close I came to not being there at all.
Not only did I come from a background of lifelong atheism, but I was a worst-case scenario in terms of potential for conversion: I was raised in an atheist family and, until my late 20s, it had never once occurred to me that God might exist — not even as a child. I’d never said a prayer in my life, and was so ignorant of Christian doctrines that I didn’t know that Easter was a celebration of the Resurrection until I heard it in a class in college. I thought religion was nothing more than fairy tales, and categorized God and Jesus as no different than Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I wasn’t searching. I didn’t feel like anything was missing. I was just a happy, confident atheist.
Click here to read the rest of my article in this week’s issue of Our Sunday Visitor.
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