Top Down to Jesus–A Jewish Physicist\’s Conversion Story

“Be not afraid of faith: some are born with faith, some achieve faith, and some have faith thrust upon them.” (with apologies to William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night.)

In my very first blog I promised to tell the story of my conversion—how an agnostic Jewish scientist became a Catholic in his senior years, to the horror of many colleagues, the amazement of his family, and the delight of his wife. Conversion stories interest the Catholic faithful (possibly because the missionary impulse that goes with faith is vicariously satisfied). However, in telling this story I have a different focus than auto-biographical, I propose to explore the roots of faith—revelation, grace and rational conviction. The last is not important for some and crucially important for others, but as Pascal pointed out in his wager, rational conviction can lead to grace-filled faith (see “The Pearl of Great Price—Pascal\’s Wager Revisited).

There is another continuation here: in my second blog, “Belief, Knowledge and Faith”, there was a promise to discuss further the difference between faith and what might be termed “scientific knowledge.” By distinguishing my belief in science from that in the dogma/doctrine of the Catholic Church, I hope to demonstrate the limits of the scientific domain and the unlimited power of rationally-based faith.

So, let\’s begin with the minimum bit of biography. I\’m not going to say much about my early religious life, other than I grew up as a secular Jew, despite having several rabbis as great-grandparents. (In the great wisdom of early adolescence, I refused to be Bar-Mitzvah\’d, believing it to be a sham ceremony when there was so much misery and injustice in the world, misery and injustice ignored by those fur-coated ladies parading in Temple.) Nevertheless, there was a belief of sorts in a Creator; my teen-age passion was astronomy, visiting the local planetarium and constructing (not well) a six-inch reflecting telescope. I realized instinctively the dictum of Psalm 19A, \”The Heavens declare the glory of God.\” Working during a college summer in the Yosemite forest service, lying underneath one of the big trees, I was filled with awe at the Creator\’s work here on earth. My wife is Catholic, and we were married in a Catholic church.  But I stayed my distance from the Church, only attending functions at my children\’s Catholic school and at baptisms (at one of these, for my oldest daughter, I was much embarrassed by being asked to serve as an altar boy for the priest–my protestations that I wasn\’t Catholic were to no avail).

Now into each life some rain must fall, and fall it did in mine. Without going into detail and violating confidences, I\’ll say that in my 60\’s I became a member of a Twelve Step Groups. \”Hi, I\’m Bob and I\’m  a ______ (fill in the blank).\” The presence of a Higher Power (uppercase obligatory), who will help to break addictive chains–alcohol, drugs, food, persons–is a guiding principle of such groups. I was disposed to believe in the presence of such a Higher Power, but I came to realize that the phrase was doublespeak, Orwellian \”sheer cloudy vagueness,\” a euphemism for God, so I began to search for a more satisfying way to think about the deity (at that time in lowercase).

Fortunately at this point the Holy Spirit intervened (exactly how, this old guy\’s memory fails), and I was prompted to read Who Moved the Stone by Frank Morison, a pseudonym for Albert Henry Ross, a British writer who originally set out to disprove the Resurrection, but who, on evaluating the biblical accounts, came to believe. I won\’t recount the evidence (it\’s detailed more fully in the linked articles), but it seemed to me that an impartial jury (not composed of evangelical atheists) would give a verdict of \”innocent,\” i.e. the arguments that the biblical account of the Resurrection were true. What struck me even more on going from Who Moved the Stone to the the New Testament, was that this bunch of uneducated yahoos–fishermen, tax collectors, women–had managed to out-talk the scholars of Judaism and thereby to spread the Christian faith through the Roman world. Surely they must have been inspired by encounters with the risen Jesus and the inner voice of the Holy Spirit.

It also occurred to me that if one does believe in the Gospel account of the Resurrection, then one should also credit other incidents described there, in particular the words of Jesus giving the keys of the Kingdom to Peter, thus founding the Catholic Church. Accordingly, the Christian religion to which I would convert should be Roman Catholic (this choice also eliminated a certain amount of domestic controversy).  I must emphasize that this whole process was one of rational decision making–no visions, no voices–whence \”Top Down to Jesus.\” I envy those  who have had visions of our Lord and heard His voice (and I have had first hand accounts of such from some of my friends), but this was not my good fortune.

Of course conversion is an ongoing process–study, service, prayer, adoration, retreats–all the tools and fertilizer to make the fig tree of faith bear ever more fruit. To fully recount this continuing process would take a book chapter, not a blog. Much is related or implied in my other blogs and in the biographical note below, but I\’ll add these brief (?) comments.

First, as a scientist, I had to struggle to believe in miracles. Fr. Mc___\’s answer during my initial catechesis to my questions on  points of dogma was, \”If you believe in one miracle, the Resurrection, why are you having problems with others?\” and \”If you believe in the possibility, even if you have questions, that is enough.\” That helped. As I looked at the evidence for contemporary miracles, particularly that reported by Dr. Alexis Carrell at Lourdes, and read what C.S. Lewis and Ralph McInerny had to say about the reality of miracles, my scientific skepticism waned. Second, those few non-\”Top Down\” but \”In the Heart\” moments where I felt the presence of Deity (not well defined, not as an image or as a voice) have been evoked by music:  Gregorian chant during a retreat at St. Vincent Archabbey, certain hymns and liturgical music, and very, very infrequently, at quiet times in early morning during Adoration or other prayer, when the melody of some favorite hymn would come to mind.