It’s no exaggeration to say that my life was transfigured when I became a Christian in the late ‘00s. I turned from the trajectory of liberal hedonism with its inevitably miserable end, to the difficult but beautiful way towards Christ.

Like an oil tanker, it took a long time for this U-turn to complete, and it still veers off course at times. I was greatly helped by the love of Scripture I absorbed from the Protestant evangelical churches I attended as a young adult and for the next 10 years, which helped me to question and ultimately reject the secular dogmas that had been instilled in me in increasingly secular England, where I live. The Bible truly became a living Word, helping me to grow and to love.

When I was newly baptized in an Anglican church, I attended a Catholic Mass and shed tears because I couldn’t receive the Eucharist. I must have sensed I was missing something important, yet it would be a decade before I even considered Mass an option for Sunday worship. This was first prompted by an ethereal experience of monks chanting Compline one Christmas Day evening in Ampleforth Abbey, as well as the inspiring example of sacrifice, poverty and humility of priests and religious. 

During repeated attendance at Mass on Sundays, I heard beautiful quotes from great saints that further attracted me to Catholicism and its presentation of Christ. I was particularly struck by St. Francis de Sales and his gentle but strict teaching on love and humility. Later I discovered he was the patron saint of journalists and that he battled my least favorite theological school, Calvinism, giving me a special affection for the great French bishop.

The more I read of old saints like my beloved Yorkshire’s St. Aelred of Rievaulx and St. Hilda of Whitby, the more depth, goodness and spiritual wisdom I perceived in the history and tradition of the Church through the ages. It’s a treasure that I have barely even sampled so far, even after several years of giving it the full attention of my serious addiction to books.

The writings of these holy Catholic men and women inspire me to open up my heart to God and to grow in love. Through their words, it seems holiness is possible, though my own efforts were increasingly revealed to be hopeless. I was steered to look above for the necessary grace to love and serve God, rather than serving myself. Praying the Holy Rosary daily led me to meditate on Jesus’ life and the Scriptures in a transformative way, especially the sorrowful mysteries. I feel as if I have received more practical teaching and discipleship through contemplating Gethsemane, the scourging, and the cross in the mysteries of the Rosary, than I have from a thousand Bible study groups. 

Then the much-lauded aesthetics: the gentle hum of Gregorian chant, striking art that brings biblical scenes to life, sweet-smelling incense, beautiful roses and lilies, the deference and respect of the worship for our Creator. With the Rosary, these all aid meditation on God and his goodness. 

All this would have been enough to persuade me to be received into the Catholic Church in 2021. But an important reason I’ve swum the Tiber is that I perceive it to have been a more reliable guardian of truth as it has been passed on from Jesus and his apostles down through the ages. Of course, it has been buffeted and battered by many assaults from the materialistic, individualistic philosophies that rage around us, just as Protestantism has been. But though there are threats from every side, the Catholic Church seems to have weathered the storm more successfully so far. 

There has been ample practical evidence of this in recent years. For example, in the culture I grew up in, the Catholic prohibition of contraception was widely perceived as incredibly stupid and backward, and nearly all Protestant denominations dropped this teaching at some point in the 20th century. Only now, looking back, can we see its wisdom, with dangerously declining birth rates and rampant promiscuity threatening us, to name just two of the negative consequences of the pill, which was the fuel for the intensely damaging sexual revolution. 

The Catholic Church is also one of the few Christian Churches to have held firmly to the principle of indissoluble marriage. It’s a tough rule to keep and has made my personal life much more difficult. But given the societal chaos caused by family breakdown, the Catholic adherence to Jesus’ teaching on divorce is right. Any personal sacrifice I make will support the greater good of more intact families and the blessings that they bring to the next generation. 

The pressing reason I have decided to talk about becoming Catholic however, is the horror that is the U.K.’s “Assisted Dying” legislation — better described as an attempt to introduce euthanasia — that the Labour government is in danger of imposing onto the U.K. My experience with vulnerable people informs me that this proposal has grave consequences. What a clear sign of our moral deterioration, that instead of a person’s final months being spent loved, heard and nurtured as nature takes its course, the state funds lethal drugs for a cold, controlled finale like a dog.

Many good evangelicals have been laboring hard to oppose this deeply disturbing proposal, and some in the Church of England have expressed concerns. But the witness from Protestant churches overall has been mixed or muted, not helped by the likes of former Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury George Carey actively supporting assisted suicide. There has been a similar mixture of apathy, anxiety and confusion regarding abortion for many years within Protestantism. I greatly appreciated the Catholic bishops’ quick, clear and uncompromising opposition to this tragic bill when it was announced, and the repeated pastoral letters urging parishioners to write to MPs, and encouragement to prayer. 

Increasingly, I suspect that this kind of moral clarity is only possible in a Church that submits to the authority of both a Church hierarchy and the teaching of the Church through the ages. There are also important questions that the Protestants must face about the witness of the early Church Fathers and their understanding of the sacraments, among other vital matters related to salvation.

Having heard almost every possible kind of interpretation of the Scriptures from Protestants who are earnestly committed to obeying the Bible, on vital moral and spiritual matters, it seems clear that Scripture alone is not enough to guide the reader into truth. Scripture is essential, but there must be other guardrails to prevent us from veering into heresy and confusion, which tradition and authority can provide. 

Of course, this short explanation merely scratches the surface of complicated theological, cultural and political phenomena. I am grateful for spiritual benefits and a closer walk with Christ and admire the Catholic Church’s ability to withstand the vicious assaults of the 20th century on truth, love and goodness. I hope that all of us claiming the name of Christian can do the same.

Heather Tomlinson is a freelance writer. Find more of her work at heathertomlinson.substack.com.