Why I’m Still Catholic: A Deep, Scriptural Defense of My Faith

There’s something about Catholic spaces that stills the soul. The architecture speaks of reverence; the stained glass tells our story—one of sacrifice, saints, silence, and sacred continuity. For me, this isn’t just art. It’s a visual theology. A reminder that our faith is not new, not shallow, and never without beauty.

I am Catholic.

Not just because I was born into it, but because I continue to choose it, understand it, and grow in it.

My father is a Grand Knight in the Order of the Knights of Blessed Mulumba. My mother holds equal spiritual authority as a Lady of the same order. So yes, the Catholic heritage is not just something I grew up around, it’s something I was formed in. From the prayers on our lips to the Eucharist on our tongues, I have always known the quiet power of this faith.

Growing up, I didn’t always attend children’s church activities. Not because I wasn’t interested, but because of life. I spent a significant part of my upbringing in boarding school, and for most of those years, I was far away from my home parish. By the time I was old enough to participate in youth church programs, I was either in a different city, schooling, or adjusting to academic pressure. So while I may not have worn the uniform or attended every meeting, my formation remained deeply Catholic. The Mass, the teachings, and the rhythm of the Church remained part of me. They still are.

I’ve heard the arguments against Catholicism. I’ve heard people say we’re "religious but not spiritual." I’ve seen social media posts claiming we "pray to dead people," "worship Mary," or "chant repetitive prayers without heart." But I see something different when I read Scripture. Not just in fragments, but fully.

When Jesus said, "You are Peter, and on this rock I will build My Church" (Matthew 16:18), He gave Peter symbolic leadership and spiritual authority. In the next verse, Jesus adds, "I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 16:19). This "key" language echoes Isaiah 22:22, a sign of royal succession and office in biblical tradition.

Peter became the first bishop of Rome. Every pope since then has followed that office through apostolic succession, an unbroken line upheld through Church history, documented in writings from early Church Fathers like St. Irenaeus (who linked directly to John’s disciple, Polycarp). This has been one continuous line from Peter, Linus, to Cletus, to Clement, to Pope Francis. It's not just historical, it’s divine order.

The Rosary isn’t mindless repetition. It’s deep, biblical meditation. Each part is grounded in God’s Word. The Sign of the Cross comes directly from Matthew 28:19: "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit." The Apostles’ Creed reflects the message in Romans 10:9-10, which teaches that confession of faith is essential to salvation. The Our Father, also called the Lord’s Prayer, is in Matthew 6:9-13.

The Hail Mary draws its language from the Gospel: "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee" (Luke 1:28), and "Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb" (Luke 1:42). We call her "Holy Mary, Mother of God" because Elizabeth called her "the mother of my Lord" (Luke 1:43), and Jesus Himself, from the Cross, gave her to us all: "Behold your mother" (John 19:26–27).

Mary is not just honored in the Gospels; she is revealed as Queen and spiritual mother in Revelation. Revelation 12:12 reads, "A great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. She was pregnant and cried out in pain as she was about to give birth." This woman gives birth to a son who is to 'rule all the nations'" (Revelation 12:5). That Son is Christ, which makes the woman Mary. She appears again, not dead, but very much alive, radiant in Heaven. She is both our intercessor and spiritual mother.

We ask her to pray for us, not because we think she’s God, but because the Bible encourages intercession: "Pray for one another, that you may be healed" (James 5:16). If we can ask friends and pastors to pray for us, we can also ask those who are alive in Christ. As Jesus said, "He is not God of the dead, but of the living" (Luke 20:38). Hebrews 12:1 speaks of the "great cloud of witnesses" that surrounds us, the saints.

Even the Glory Be is scriptural: "To the only wise God be glory forever" (Romans 16:27). The Mysteries of the Rosary reflect on events straight from the life of Jesus and Mary, from the Annunciation (Luke 1), to the Crucifixion (John 19), to the Resurrection (Matthew 28). The optional Fatima Prayer, "O my Jesus, forgive us our sins," reflects the truth of 1 John 1:9: "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us."

Some say there is no such thing as purgatory in the Bible. But Scripture does speak of purification after death. In 2 Maccabees 12:45, prayers are offered for the dead: "Therefore he made atonement for the dead, so that they might be delivered from their sin." Even 1 Corinthians 3:15 says, "If anyone's work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he will be saved, but only as through fire." This describes a purifying fire, not hell, that prepares the soul for Heaven.

Why do we confess to priests? Because Jesus gave the apostles the authority to forgive sins. In John 20:22-23, Jesus breathed on them and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone's sins, they are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven." This authority didn’t die with the apostles; it was passed down through apostolic succession. Confession isn’t man-made. It is a sacrament given by Christ.

Someone very dear to me walks a different faith path. Her church is vibrant. Her spirit is sincere. She loves God in ways that challenge and inspire me. And I love and respect that about her. It’s not just about the church name or denominational identity. It’s about the substance of her devotion. But I also believe deeply in spiritual alignment, especially in the marriage covenant.

I believe that when God joins two people together, it’s not just about emotion, it’s about direction. And direction includes doctrine. As Paul wrote, "I appeal to you... that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in mind and thought" (1 Corinthians 1:10).

So yes, when that moment comes, I believe in building a home under one altar. A home where faith is not split or argued over but unified. That doesn’t mean she has to stop expressing her love for God the way she’s always done. It doesn’t mean she can’t attend her church’s special moments or celebrate parts of her journey. But in the heart of the house, in doctrine, raising children, and spiritual covering. I believe in walking under the Catholic truth that shaped me.

I say this not out of pride or stubbornness, but out of peace and clarity. Out of a sense of responsibility, I take it seriously. If I’m to lead, I want to lead well and truthfully. And I believe that truth lives deeply in the Catholic faith I profess.

I am Catholic. Still. Fully. Deeply.

Not because I reject others, but because I’ve found my foundation here. Not because it’s trendy, but because it’s true. And I carry that faith with conviction, peace, and quiet fire.